#frazzled ruminates

[frazzledsoul]

A few days away from the HOTD fandom and I realized I wasn't into the show that much (Rhaenyra sucks and it's really sloppily written) but I thrived on all this drama around a show that relies mostly on fanon to keep it going.

Though quite honestly I have to say I have never seen a case of a show where multiple writers and actors have completely divergent interpretations of the story that mostly have nothing to do with the plot whatsoever. It's so bizarre. Do they never talk to each other? And none of it matters, because the fans don't care what the plot is either! Multiple websites think an actress who is mostly an extra and has no dialogue whatsoever deserves an Emmy nomination...because they didn't watch. Did anyone? Did we just pretend to?

Despite all that, Aemond Targaryen remains my problematic fave. So if I do tune in again, it will mostly be for him.

[raitonsfw]

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Yūta's hands trembled as he slipped off the lace of your clothing, silently admiring the way you fell open for him for the first time; your wedding dress hanging neatly on the back of the door.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, fem!reader, virgin!reader, virgin!yūta, newlyweds!reader & yūta, first time, shyness, bit of anxiousness, slight clumsiness, p in v intercourse, creampie, implied fingering at end, yūta's the only one who cums (but it's implied he helps the reader at the end)

a/n: will probably write a part two or like an actual fic for this one (i'm enamored by the idea of newlywed!yūta- maybe i'll have him fuck reader in the wedding dress next?) wc: 600ish v-day m.list | m.list

thirst count: 1

divider credit: @hitobaby & @firefly-graphics

The moon had hung low in the night, the glow ruminating off the luxury of the sheets that littered the bed. You had finally gotten all of the pins out of your hair, freshly washed and your skin lax with moisturizer as you laid there underneath Yūta– a bit frazzled. 

You barely knew what you were doing as you ran your hand down his chest, a quiet sigh escaping you when you reached towards the drawstring of his sweats– right above his hardened cock. His hair was still damp as it tickled the near back of your neck as he pressed light kisses within the crook of it. A quiet groan had fallen from his lips seconds prior to this; it made you freeze in your tracks– pulling away to look at him. 

“Yūta, is ever–” You began, your eyes searching his face for any discomfort but you were met with a soft kiss and his arms holding you gently in an embrace. You were relieved and nervous all at the same time, his lips moving against yours in a way you’ve never quite felt before. It was intoxicating and you felt the butterflies in your stomach flutter as one of his hands trailed down towards your shorts. 

“A-Are you okay?” He breathed against you, pulling back gently to look at you with those doe eyes of his and you nodded. Yūta looped his fingers into the cotton of the shorts, tugging them down along with your panties and you gasped lightly as you felt so exposed now. Of course, he’s seen you dress before but nothing like this– your beautiful figure now on display as he stared in awe at you. 

After a bit of fumbling, he managed to get the two of you completely naked– albeit he almost tripped trying to get his sweats off from the sheer anxiousness of actually having sex with you for the first time; for the first time in general.

You had tried not to stare at his body, but his cock was hard not to stare at as it curved against your thigh, heavy and hot and waiting to fill you full. Another insistent urge hit you and you needed him inside you now, a quiet whine escaping you. 

“Yūta, you can put it in.” You eased him from his thoughts as he planted kisses down your collarbone to your chest, a shaky hand fondling your breast with slight curiosity. He wanted to see what you liked and when you looked down at him with a small smile, a blush spread throughout his cheeks at your words.

His cock twitched as he positioned himself right against your entrance and you wanted nothing more than his lips on yours as he slowly sank in. You threaded your fingers against the back of his hair, pulling him in needily as he started to push into you, a quiet moan from him being swallowed by your kiss.

It felt so intense and a slight pain sensed you raw until Yūta rolled his hips into you more adamantly, your name being the only thing he knew as he made sure you were okay.

You felt every inch of him dragging alongside your walls and he couldn’t help but bury himself into the crook of your neck after a while, fucking into you to chase his fast release.

You felt so good around him– much better than his hand and it felt like his cock was going to explode with the pleasure that clenched around it, as you squeezed him so tightly with every rock forward. His eyes rolled back as he gasped through his orgasm, his fingers digging into your hips as a desperate attempt to pull you closer to him. 

And when he pulled out, his eyes glanced down to your cunt as it dripped full of his cum– a shy expression painting his face as his fingers went to swipe into it innocently. “Here– I’ll help you finish…”

[studentbyday]

30 days of intentionality

starting this challenge with the goal of taking it one day at a time. i have a hard time doing that these days. i spend more time ruminating on the past or worrying about the future than staying in the present, even if that's when i'm most content. not sure how i'll format my posts and most likely, i'll only do weekly updates bc daily ones are too overwhelming. i'll just go with the flow, trying to trust that everything will end up as it's meant to be and maybe i'll be more productive as focusing primarily on the present moment becomes a habit.

---

1. suo gân (arr. john williams for the ambrosian junior choir): i believe that if everyone lived by the idea of global citizenship and so saw the humanity in every individual from every background, there would be no war. reading the news fills me with fear, sorrow, and anxiety, but i also feel the responsibility to stay informed. did some studying today, more than yesterday, but it was kind of uncomfortable with the state of global politics lurking in the back of my mind. i'm still a little behind on school.

2. souvenir de paganini (chopin): today is not so bad. i'm making progress academically, but i do need to make time for social activities soon or i will get lonely and lose what little motivation i have very quickly.

3. once upon a december (arr. emile pandolfi): sometimes in the face of events and issues much bigger than myself that i have no control over, i feel like my dreams are pointless bc i think there's no way achieving them or trying to achieve them could possibly empower me to make real and important change that can truly benefit many. who knows if the future would even allow me to get that far. there are many things that could change the course of our lives that we don't have control over. but if others in worse situations than me and others much better informed than me can still have hope, then so can i. i didn't do much other than pharmacology and a little bit of philosophy today. i made more progress in pharmacology than expected, but that's only bc i didn't do any psych work. i also earned a few more mastery points on khan academy's integrated math 1 (not a priority, i know, but i wanted an easy win) and started lab tasks. i'm far from done with that, i need to do a little every day... i don't want to let them down! 🥺 (note to self: lying in bed is maybe NOT a good study break activity bc that just makes me not wanna do anything else after that and it's very very very hard to get out of that procrastination rut once i let myself fall into it.) 4. let's stay together (al green): everything should be going well, except i'm easily overwhelmed, and this time, it wasn't in an openly frazzled way, it was in a tired and slightly defeated "what's the point?" way, so i didn't realize it as quickly as i usually do. after some bed rest, cuddles 🧸, listening to steve jobs' commencement speech, and a little yoga, i felt better. "You can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future." was something i didn't know i needed to hear today. i modified my to-do list and found that the list of things i "must do" was nearly as long as the list of things i "want to do" 😅

5. kreutzer sonata, movt. 1 (beethoven): pretty sure i've mentioned some of these songs before but...they really fit the mood! sometimes i feel things so strongly that i develop a tightening in my chest that can only be relieved in a scream... since i can't actually scream and i don't actually really like the physical feeling of it, i scream through exercise and music 😅 beethoven is very nice for when i'm feeling very annoyed or angry, especially if it's an anxious kind of angry or if it's anger at injustice/inequality. i can't find a piano solo version that does the fiery spirit of the violin justice. so in the vague future when i actually play this, either i try (and perhaps fail) to replicate that on the piano, or i find a violinist friend who would want to play with me 😅 right now though, imagining how i would physically create that sound on the piano will have to be enough. the prevailing thought/feeling of the day: sometimes i just really wanna believe in the good in people and believe that i can trust (some of) them. i long for that feeling of safety in a broader irl community that i actually belong in. i'm surprised by how often i long for it. but then my negativity is reinforced by news and people's opinions on it.

6. violin sonata no. 1 in g minor, bwv 1001 (j.s. bach): stuff was done. i felt calm/chill throughout the day, but even tho i feel good whenever that happens, it usually means i don't get an extraordinary amount of things done that day (lol since when do i ever). i'm not sure if it's enough, as there is still lots to do and i'm pretty sure that it's just wishful thinking that i'll achieve all my goals for this week by its end. i need to cut down my goals list to the realistic rather than idealistic version as always (school, lab, and basic self-maintenance tasks) 😅 gaawwwdd i hope i can do this...good night.

7. waltz in a minor, b. 150 (chopin): today and yesterday i have been able to keep my phone time under an hour. the days are blissful (if not at least calmer) and focused. 📚

8. only mine (laufey): cuddles in bed while listening to laufey is so soothing 🧸 takes me back to my childhood listening to lullabies in the dark 🥺 motivation to study is hard to find today. i just want to relax 🥺 i'll just do one tiny thing and see where i wanna go from there...

[nolongerapileofashprobably]

Hiya, me again! I’m loving your deep dives into character and plot for BotW/TotK, so I was wondering if you might like to give me your take on something I’m ruminating on for a WIP. I’d totally welcome others pitching in too! The question is this: what do you think that an emotional “breaking point” would look like for Link during TotK? He canonically masks his emotions to an extent and seems to have a history of trauma responses that include shutting down and dissociating, but what happens when it all gets to be too much? When a friend who’s trying to be helpful or sympathetic unwittingly presses too hard into an emotional sore spot and Link - already barely holding it together with everything that’s going on - just snaps? With everything bottled up so tight, what happens if the bottle explodes at the worst possible time: while he’s in the presence of others? Does he lash out? Break down? Flee? Some combination of all those, or something else entirely? I have my ideas but I’d love to get more takes!

Oooooohhhhh hi hi hi

I LOVE character analysis study time to determine how they would behave in a fic. I think Totk Link definitely shows far more emotion than we the players get to see and I think the best part of the game in general to determine that is the chase in Hyrule Castle.

As we know, Link canonically does go mute when he’s feeling a lot of emotion. But, he shows more emotion than is let on. Buliara tells us that Link is legitimately frazzled, utterly focused on ‘Zelda’, and in a space where he may “miss a wrung” in his haste to get up to the observation deck. And as he chases Zelda down and gets to the Sanctum, his expressions change for “oh my god Zelda is right here, I can see her” to “something is off. This isn’t Zelda” as she speaks. I can’t explain it properly, but this is that final nail in the coffin that YES. Zelda is the light dragon. She is going to be forever.

That is absolutely DEVASTATING. Because we know at this point in the game, Link is AWARE that it’s not the real Zelda that’s been seen across Hyrule. But he’s still so desperate.

And after the battle with the sages coming to aid him, everyone else is speaking and Link is just kinda there until Riju addresses him. And she goes “you should come to Lookout Landing too, Link”

While from a gaming perspective, that’s the way the game points the players back to Lookout Landing and of course Link isn’t going there with everyone else, because once the cutscene ends, Link will be by himself for the player to control.

However, in this case, we could argue that this was incredibly emotionally taxing for Link and he is at a breaking point.

So I think for him, it’s a sign that he will go mute and in a sense ‘run away’. He will seek a place to be alone and not surrounded by others who expect things of him. His breakdown point is led with a trauma response of becoming selectively mute and then seeking a safe place to break down with no one around him.

It’s so unsettling because for most characters, you get that explosive reaction, the one that erupts all of their emotions to whoever pushed them a tad too far… but Link’s trauma and his own training as a soldier creates an even worse response.

He doesn’t lash out in front of people. He doesn’t even let them know what he is thinking.

For a Link who is now far more expressive than he was previously, to shut down again and be mute, completely dissociating around some of his closest companions… that’s a LOT. And it’s a lot different from a writing perspective, but I think an internal breakdown, completely oblivious to the people around him, and a steady blow up once everyone is gone or he fled the area to be alone could be very emotionally impactful!

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

Not Rated Fics Masterlist (2)

Part 1 /

Created: August 29th, 2023

Last Checked:---

Do You Want To Do This?-endlessnightlock (Tumblr)

Summary: Post-MJ drabble. Implied sexual content. Drabble. Katniss realizes she lives Peeta and cannot help but to express this realization through action.

Elevators & Rooftops-MegaAuLover (AO3)

Summary: A short Drabble, Modern AU of the Elevator Scene in Catching Fire: "Baby" Peeta uttered again. Katniss' pert nose wiggled with immeasurable discomfort. He was not allowed to use that name in public. At least not after the stunt he was part of in the elevator ride down. Jealous Katniss.

Full Year of Everlark Kisses:October-atetherdmind/muttpeeta (Tumblr)

Summary: Drabble based on everlark fanart set Post-MJ where Katniss gets caught in the rain and Peeta is there with an umbrella.

Glasses Peeta Drabble-endlessnightlock (Tumblr)

Summary: In-panem, non-reaped Everlark drabble. Prompt: I didn't know you wore glasses, and I'm thinking normal and platonic thoughts about you right now, I swear.

Glasses Peeta Drabble 2-endlessnightlock (Tumblr)

Summary: In-panem, non-reaped Everlark drabble. Katniss is still thinking about Peeta with his glasses when he makes her an offer that would lead to them spending more time together.

I Don't Trust Anyone Else to Take Care of You-endlessnightlock (Tumblr)

Summary: Because I don’t trust anyone else to take care of you like I can. Fifty Reasons To Share A Bed

I Don't Want Your Apology-thelettersfromnoone (Tumblr)

Summary: She watches from the doorway, autumn’s whisper sneaking in on the late summer breeze. The sunset leaves his back in silhouette, some tiny part of her wanting, waiting for him to turn around and look back her way.

I Feel Fine-LilyMaid (AO3)

Summary: Everyone heads to the graduation party out at Madge's parents lakehouse for the weekend. Fluffy everlark.

I Think I'm Ready-eroticeverlark (Tumblr)

Summary: “I think I’m ready.” “For…?” I look at the side of her face, willing her to turn her head and keep speaking. This happens a lot. She’ll ruminate on something for a long time and then announce the conclusion with no explanation or preamble. I hang on to all the little shards of conversation and piece them together like a puzzle until I get a fully formed thought. It’s like a scavenger hunt for words. Tonight my nerves are too frazzled and I desperately need her to do some piecing for me./Sexual themes

Indulgent College Drabble-Abagail_Snow (Tumblr)

Summary: Katniss and Peeta are both attending the same University and Katniss is not happy about him and his "fake" goody-two-shoes attitude being around.

[sentmail]

kissing the top of their head as you hold them . // fashionably late but kunsel gets a smooch idk prob from a relieved roche :’)

kiss & tell

Sephiroth - SOLDIER 1st Class: Killed in action Zack Fair - SOLDIER 1st Class: Killed in action

He'd been missing for a week after the announcement, only to come back one day as easy as he'd left. His absence was caused by an immediate leave being enforced, his breakdown in the training room not without repercussion.

He was given a choice: collect himself, or be placed under continued watch.

And so he played the part, went on with his work, swallowed down the bitterness of anguish that coated his every word, hid glazed over eyes behind his helmet, going through the motions as he tried to reconcile with the facts he was being presented.

But he crumbled when faced with Roche. Where were you? What happened?

… They move to the stairwell, where few people linger, steps deterring anyone from trying to use them outside of a proper emergency. It was the closest thing to privacy they would be able to muster inside of the Shinra building, able to speak their mind even if only in hushed tones, but…

What could either of them say? What words could they share?

Kunsel holds his helmet under his arm, his expression a transparent show of his frazzled state of mind - he was tired, even after his leave, thoughts endlessly ruminating in his mind, still reeling, still clinging to denial. It was irrational to blame himself, but he couldn't not do it, not when he'd been there for Zack from the start, helping and guiding, always hyping him up, entertaining his dreams of being a hero.

It feels like a betrayal now, like he helped cause this, like there was something —

He's dragged into a hug before his thoughts have a chance to spiral further, helmet clattering to the floor as he stands there awkwardly, allowing Roche the means to express his own grief, his worry, and Kunsel can't help but wane in his hold, wilting into the hug. It was a tight grip, hesitant to let go, and Kunsel can feel the weight of his emotion in the hasty kiss pressed against the crown of his head, cheek then pressed against his hair, Roche's head resting on top of his.

Why did he act like he was alone? Like he was the only one that lost people? … What kind of friend is he?

And Kunsel can't help the way his hand reaches around Roche, clinging to the back of the other's uniform, tugging idly against it as he reciprocates the hug after lagging in his reaction, face pressed against a chest that lingered with the scent of fresh cigarettes, bringing to memory times spent under the illusion that they were carefree, kids making a mess of their lives just because they could, made to think they were immortal.

They weren't.

… He didn't mean to act distant, to hide away. Kunsel knows he's doing it, but he just doesn't know how else to handle this, how to deal with the tear in his heart without burying it, giving no thought on if anything would ever take root in his chest again. He manages not to cry only because he'd shed his tears already, but his expression remains pained, staring off to the side as he tries to get whatever comfort he can get out of such fleeting touch, earnest humanity having no place at a job like theirs.

They're still kids. By Ifrit, they're still kids.

[strywoven]

@bedlamology has requested a story : ' i don’t like that look, what happened? ' / faye, but typed on a phone / written out bc she lost her voice & for anyone u wanna toss miss mermaids way

𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒅.

Could not help but to think : Was settling in this small human town a mistake ? Was it worth the risk if it meant leaving herself , and now all her newfound friends and neighbors , vulnerable to attack ?

She ruffles herself further with ruminations of DOUBT & DREAD , steeping deep into the wellspring of self-reprimand ( how could she have been so foolish ? if only she had been better prepared , better on-guard , then perhaps this could have been avoided — ) .  Lhore is reasonably nettled after fending off her little antique store from some poachers , sitting there on the stoop to the humble storefront with her face in her clawed hands , her talons gripping at her frazzled hair.  She should have k n o w n that , even in these peaceful places , there are still chances for threat to be wary of.  And even in a modern world , hunters and those looking for a RARE PRIZE TO CLAIM are still afoot if the price is right and ready for the taking.

Sensing a presence , the immortal slowly lifts her head , her appearance altogether haggard and disheveled as she looks wearily up at the other woman , watching her fingers type away on a keypad before turning the screen outwards for her to read.  Lhore squints at the words , at the question printed there before sighing softly and getting to her feet.  Brushing at her skirts , she clasps her trembling hands in front of her , inclining her chin slightly to the other , offering a s m a l l , weak smile.  ❝ Just some ruffians , I’m afraid , nothing new. ❞  She glances back at her store , taking in the broken windows , the overturned shelves inside.  Wincing to herself , she looks back at her company , shaking her head.  ❝ Despite how it looks , the damages are minimal.  They did not come here for my store , but for me.  I’ll … Be fine. ❞  It does not sound convincing ( in fact , she is clearly a bit shaken up by the ordeal , but it is nothing she cannot overcome without a cup of tea & time to herself ) .

[paranomalyzone]

DEMONS Among Us!

Do DEMONS walk among us??  Yes, we ruminate about this fascinating topic yet again, but with potentially surprising commentary...PLUS, "Ghost Gab" tackles the paranormal "scratching" phenomena; We discuss an eerie "DARK Encounter" and frazzle our brains with some "Puzzling PARADOXES."  #Demons #Demonic #Paranormal #Scratches #Paradoxes 

Check out this episode!

[frazzledsoul]

Watched Saltburn.

That was...an experience.

I don't think it's a great movie or that it has anything terribly interesting to say about class. I think Oliver just wanted to be at the center of Felix's world, to be as interesting and charismatic and popular as he was, to become him and be loved by him. None of these insights are particularly new, of course, but since Oliver's insecurities come from being an outcast instead of actual hardship, he's still screwed in the end. He's rich AF but no one is going to love him and the butler's going to try to murder him ASAP so good luck with that, buddy.

Also, while Felix is obviously spoiled and not averse to rubbing salt in Oliver's wounds once he finds out the truth, didn't come off to me as particularly awful or malicious. He didn't deserve what happened to him.

I do think the movie could have used a follow-up on Micheal, because there's a good chance he made a name for himself on his own merits, not giving a shit whether people like him or not, while Oliver just sits around on his pay-off money waiting for the Cattons to die. Above all, I think Oliver was lazy AF and didn't want to have to work for it. It would be nice to know about someone who did.

[ponderosus]

FLASHBACK — The Final Trip

A MOTEL IN BLYTHEWOOD, SOUTH CAROLINA JUNE, 2004

"mum, mum, wake up." a sixteen year old layla crawls onto the bed, and begins shaking at the shoulder of her overtly hungover mother. she can smell the angry stench of bourbon on the dzia's shirt. there's no response, except a low groan and a hand gently swatting at layla's. the girl pouts, watching her mother turn over in the messy sheets, the squeak of the old spring mattress follows as she turns. she tries one more time, shaking the older woman's shoulder. "layla, դադարեցրեք դա" (stop that). the request falls on deaf ears. "mum, wake up. you didn't pay the bill, the mans said he'll get our car towed if you don't pay today!" silence. "dammit mum!" a final shake, harder this time. the swat comes back equally as harsh "for fucks sake layla, stop fucking shaking me!" dzia, in an annoyed stupor, lifts herself onto her elbow, rubbing her eye's with the back of her palm. layla opens her mouth, ready to comment thatt she'd slept well into the afternoon again, but decides to hold back on the comment.

kneeling on the corner of her bed, layla watches her mother slowly sit up and dangle her legs off the other side. back facing her daughter. for the last few days, layla hadn't been enjoying their trips as much as she usually did. ever since she was able to walk, she remembers being secured into the car at any obscure hour by her mother, and driving off down a highway to wherever fate took them. they were an escape, a journey to places far away from home, and most importantly — time out of school. her father had long stopped protesting the girls ventures, and to be honest, narek had long stopped being involved of much of their lives. he moved between the family bar he ran, the tv, and bed, offering little in regards to conversation. and the days the boyajian house was most silent, usually meant her mother would soon get one of her urges to get out of town.

the girls had made it to south carolina, a place if they ever ventured here usually meant a good time. but for the last week, the usual rose coloured glasses layla spectated their dubbed 'thelma & louise' trips had begun to disintegrate. questions she once tossed aside, suddenly she was beginning to ruminate on. and maybe, dzia was holding out the hope they'd never come, because the moment they did the frazzled woman nearly stormed out of the arby's they sat in. the illusion had begun to shatter, and dzia wasn't ready to answer for her actions.

layla remains still on the corner of the bed, playing nervously with the hem of her shirt, her mother slipping on a cleaner shirt in the midst of the silence they shared. dzia knows the hotel bill is overdue, and they'd overstayed their welcome, purely because she didn't have any money left to pay it. whatever she did at the bar last night sucked up their last fifty dollars, and she doesn't have the heart to tell layla just yet. she knew the reception wouldn't be good. her daughter was so much easier to take on these trips when she was little, too young to ask questions, and was just along for the ride to have fun. as layla got older, she was harder to coerce. sure, she always came along for the ride, but so did the questions. dzia didn't like questions. pulling back her long brown hair, she looks over her shoulder to see layla sitting in the darkness of the dingy hotel. "pack your stuff, we need to go. right now." facing her mother with a narrow expression, it wasn't the first time her mother had offered a vague insinuation they needed to leave without any sought of remuneration for a places services. she'd become a little expert on the five finger discount, and didn't see past the thrill of the moment before slowly maturing up to the consequences of her actions as she got older. "you're broke, aren't you?" a pointed question, one that usually resulted in a sharp exhale and silence from her mother. which like clockwork, dzia emits into the atmosphere. "im not broke." she retorts, though it's not a believable argument. "you spent all our money on alcohol, i can smell it on you." layla was playing with fire, but at this point she didn't really seem to care. she'd spent the last week treading on eggshells around her mother, which was unlike her. once joined at the hip, her best friend, the tide had suddenly turned on their bond. "don't you take that tone with me." dzia grits back, she's never reprimanded layla like this before, it doesn't feel nice. the young girl shakes her head, watching her mother turn her back to stuff lazily thrown clothes into a backpack.

"what is wrong with you?" oh, a loaded question indeed. it's met with a suddenly pause from dzia, stiffening. "you sound just like your father..." she breaks the moment of silence, tending back to the backpack. "well maybe he's right! is this any of this normal?" layla arms jutt out, motioning between them. "i don't know any other kids who go on random car drives across the country with no money, or no plan. that know how to jumpstart cars, and dine-&-dash..." layla begins, pushing up onto her feet. "they go to school, do dumb sports and go to movies with friends. and even if their families are fucked up like ours, they make it work — why won't you both at least try to make it work?! isn't why you came to this country?!" the silence, it creeps back. lingering in the air, and the crevices of the motel furniture. dzia keeps pack, each shove of crinkled shirts a little harder than before. "do you go hungry? do you not have a place to sleep at night?" dzia protests back, despite knowing very well there had been nights the pair had slept in cars, "and i do— i have tried..." "bullshit." "layla!" "every time things go south, we have to leave. i don't think ive ever seen you not try and run away from a problem like an adult." the motel cupboard draw slams shut, and the silence creeps back in. dzia doesn't know what to say, layla was right, but it was the first time anyone had brought it up to her that wasn't narek. she doesn't want to fight, not with her daughter. layla was her bestfriend, the only one that ever stood by her. she was asking the right questions, just not the ones dzia had any answer for. "...please, baby girl, pack your things." layla takes a deep inhale, "are we going home this time?"

"yes, baby girl, we're going home this time."

[recitedemise]

"Oh? I'm curious to hear what these 'magical academic advantages' would entail."

Wendell may possibly read him to the bone. For heaven's sake, he's an admired academic and has proven himself a sharp, keen eye! Yet, Gale hopes nonetheless, clinging to the thought that his myriad of covers will not be blown. However, he's only but a fool, a shade whose hope wastes in dug-deep trenches, and the offhanded question rolling easily off those lips? Gale frazzles. Take care, he tells himself, or Wendell, this guest, will discover him completely.

Still, it's harder than he thinks, smothering his worries as he quietly ruminates. He'd spoken correctly, of course, with one's entry into Cambridge not at all a tell of one's acceptance here. One must harbor some spellcraft, dancing lights, mage hand, or a crackling fire bolt. They're a campus, after all, whose focus on magic has kept them hidden for years and years. It's a quality she'd liked, his mentor, his goddess, and his now-distant love. Gale thinks of her here, how he captured her eye like a rhinestone waiting for a scavenging magpie. A shadow takes his face, something he's fighting to pass as casual. But, gosh, like all things about him from his pride to his rambling, his ache, regret, reads bold as flame. "Likening gods to faeries is as novel as it is daring, but all things considered," he tries, "I suppose there are far wilder comparisons that came before. True enough, to win the interest of the gods, one must first come to capture their attention. It varies, of course, but even excelling at magic would be cause enough. Still, though difficult as it is to wrest their gaze, upholding their favor would prove all the more challenging. Correct if I'm wrong, but disappointing the Folk is a dangerous affair." Wronging them, wronging her, his dear leady of mysteries... "Likewise, there are more pleasant things to be than be spurned by a god."

What an interesting thing to say! Righting himself, Gale can declare the very same for Wendell. Mustering his calm, he turns back to find stray flecks of a croissant buttering up that mouth. It makes him look -- young, innocent in a flavor that's at odds with his getup. It makes Gale smile, a playful furrow cropping into the line of his brow. He stirs his coffee and raises his mug. Sipping at it, that sharp arabica sharpens his tongue. "Right. And do you normally broach conversation asking colleagues who so stun your senses if they're of a kind beyond our own?" he teases. "Believe me, I'm not as interested in 'treats' as I am in lavish, succulent meals. That said, I'm not entirely sure I can show you my specialty without a very dead subject to work with. I'm, um, tenured here teaching courses on necromancy at the moment." A punishment, really. "Admittedly, it's not the most favored branch out there these days, but were one to ask me, there's not a field of magic not worth the study. Make no mistake, though, I'm very capable of teaching any school that comes my way." Any school. Here, Gale looks up, a scant wag of his finger conjuring a veil of some shimmery borealis. It waltzes soft between them, curling around their legs and tickling the back of Wendell's trousers. It smells deliciously cold, arctic, winter, and clinging like sugar to the wet of his gums. Gale feels a need to deeply impress, doesn't he? He takes another sip. Wizards, as they say, and their hubris. "I find I'm able to enchant just as the Folk would. Hypothetically speaking, were I to keep this up, how soon can one expect a thesis on Gale Dekarios?"

It's for the best that Gale doesn't bring up the twinkling. Bambleby would never let him live that down, the smug bastard. Oh, he's very well aware of how handsome he is. Just as much so, he's aware of how his own magic is stirring, as if it's comfortable amongst those capable of similar feats. If only it were so simple.

Now his mind wanders to magical preparatory schools with a parallel education pipeline to what he's used to seeing from the mortals who end up in his lecture hall. "Hypothetically there can therefore be those who didn't quite meet the acceptance criteria for Baldur's Gate at Cambridge. What I mean to say is I should be paying more attention to magical academic advantages." Not that he particularly cares if his students show minimal academic integrity. "Now, what must one do to draw the interest of a god? I imagine it must be like faeries. Give them an offering? Prove yourself worthy of their attention?" Let's hope Dr. Dekarios didn't want to quickly change the subject.

"I can imagine it would be entertaining to invite the brightest minds to your fine establishment and surprise them with your talents." Wendell figures he likely should have kept the question to himself, but it seems Gale is utterly amused by it. "It is a normal question in the field of dryadology. One can never be too sure..." Would it be stranger if he'd expressed his firm belief that Gale is mortal? Brought up his lack of faerie blood? Perhaps the strange questioning is the best path to take. "You think you have what it takes to render me speechless? My, it seems I'm in for a treat, aren't I?" His croissant doesn't quite render him speechless, but it does render him pleased by its lovely flakey exterior combined with the just out of the oven warmth. Or perhaps it has rendered him speechless because he's stuffed it in his mouth. Had he been any less graceful of a being, he would have likely spit its buttery goodness out in reaction to the following comment. "I'll take that as a compliment, though I'm sure there are Folk whose love of good tailoring outpaces mine. I am happy to hear my writing evokes a sense of familiarity with my subject matter. It's good to know that I may keep my job. But enough about me when there's so much to learn about your magical university. Is there a particular magic you specialize in?"

[cosmic-jet]

Today I felt myself falling into an anxious spiral. I could basically feel the adrenaline starting to seep into my blood lol. Typically, I become very frazzled. I start shaking, I fall into a spiral of negative self thought and self blame, start ruminating over prevention actions I could've taken etc etc. And the interesting thing is, I'm a very preventative person. I do a LOT already, but I often take on other people's responsibilities in the form of self blame. Like, "of course they did that, you should've known they would do that, you should've known X, you should've done X."

I'm starting to realise that we can always do more. That doesn't mean that we didn't do enough. That doesn't mean that I get to be mean to myself, that doesn't mean that I'm not allowed to be imperfect or that I have to take responsibility for the shortcomings of others. Or that I have to make my poor body and mind suffer incessantly for something I had no hand in? Anyway, I was able to redirect my thoughts productively: what can I do in this moment? let's me start making plans that can help me. i.e., where is the bus stop going back etc.

I just let it go. And God, it felt so good to just let it go.

[pagesoflauren]

House of Stone (3/5)

professor!Andy Barber x student!single mom!reader

Premise: Spin-off/sequel to Wooden Façade; Settling into his new life as a bachelor, Andy is helping his brother Ari prepare for his wedding to their mother’s former nurse. Between wedding planning and teaching, you enter his life and your eccentric one-year-old daughter catches his attention.

Warnings: mentions of sudden death, divorce, familial conflicts, spousal conflicts, pregnancy, and Parkinson’s disease; Laurie Barber slander; teacher-student friendship; romantic/sexual tension; awkward and cringey moments; blindsiding siblings (Ari and Bunny are menaces to Andy); Andy wears glasses and is a hot professor

A/N: Important to note that the events of Defending Jacob do not occur before, during, or after this series. Andy and Laurie are divorced and Jacob lives with Laurie.

Thank you as always to @eightcevanscentral

Read Wooden Façade here

House of Stone Masterlist

Main Masterlist

By March, the spring semester is halfway through. With each passing day, you find yourself closer to the finish line, closer to graduation day. Closer to nights with Ivy, and closer to…

Your laptop chimes, startling you from the drowsiness making your eyelids heavy as you try to catch up on readings. 

It’s an email from Andy, clearing up your confusion about a policy he lectured on last week. 

You smiled, sending him a quick thank-you email.

He replies once more:

No worries. It’s late, you should get to bed. Goodnight, mama bear. Hope baby bear’s well. - AB

It was strange how being on a first-name/nickname basis with your professor changed the dynamic between the two of you so much. There wasn’t a need to be so proper when you emailed or spoke privately. You didn’t feel the need to stand on ceremony or control your reactions. When he cracked the occasional joke during class, you laughed freely, and he always looked right at you. 

He checked in on you and Ivy more often, making himself available to meet with you to help with assignments at your convenience. It made things easier, alleviating the stress of needing to bend over backward to make meetings with professors on their schedules. Instead, you were able to find more of a balance between being a parent and being a student. 

There was a part of you that couldn’t deny the giddiness that came with the new evolution of your interactions with Andy. You hoped it wasn’t just him being accommodating or kind; you hoped there was something more, something he recognized and felt too. 

You knew it was silly to think that way. There was a clear line and neither of you have really crossed it. The closest instance of that was at your friend’s wedding in December when you danced with him. He got a little close, but nothing you felt was violating or uncomfortable. It felt…nice. Good, even, to be so near to him. 

You liked the way he held your body in his hands. In the chaotic haze of your double life, you found yourself stabilized and almost carefree until Ivy cried. Even then, when you heard her, you weren’t so frazzled and worried as you had been in previous instances where you felt like you had to rush to her.

Sighing, you knew you could go on until 6 AM with these thoughts, your mind running towards a nonexistent finish line. You may never get answers to your ruminations. Or, if you do get answers, they may be the ones you don’t want. 

It could all mean nothing to him. He could be doing this with no afterthought about you; something platonic to help you until you can fully stand on your feet as a paralegal. 

Deciding to fully put your thoughts to rest, you shake your head and close your laptop, turn off the lights, and head to bed. 

- - - – -

“Have a seat, Barber.” 

Making himself comfortable on the chair in front of the dean’s desk, smoothing out his tie. 

“What’s this about, Desdimone?”

“I’ll get straight to the point since you have a class in an hour; the university’s IT security team randomly audits professor’s emails to make sure everyone’s adhering to policies. HIPAA, appropriate behavior, you know the drill.”

Andy furrows his brows. “I don’t think I was aware of this.”

“It was in the contract you signed when we hired you and mentioned in your IT training during orientation when we onboarded you.” 

Biting the inside of his cheek, he realizes he has no leg to stand on to argue and decides to get to the root of the issue. Though he can probably guess which emails have called him into question, he feigns ignorance. “So, I assume there’s a problem with my emails?”

Dean Desdimone pulls out a folder and places two pieces of paper on the desk. “They were audited this past week. These are the emails we found between you and one of your students.” 

When Andy leans forward to read them, he spots your school email address at the top of the pages.

“You call her ‘mama bear’ and mention a ‘baby bear,’” Desdimone states in a matter-of-fact tone. “Care to explain?”

Andy sighs and relaxes in his chair; it’ll be easy to get out of this one. 

“Miss Y/L/N is a single mom. I call her ‘mama bear’ and her daughter ‘baby bear.’ It’s just me acknowledging that.”

“Do you think it’s appropriate?”

“There’s nothing more to it than that. As you can see, everything we talk about is strictly school-related. Any discussion about her daughter is only as it pertains to her being able to attend classes or counseling meetings with me.”

Desdimone leans back himself, pondering his responses for a moment. He taps his fingers twice, not looking convinced. 

“Come on, Desdimone, you know me. I’d never do anything like what you’re suggesting.” 

The dean shakes his head. “I know you’re a good lawyer, Barber, and this university is lucky to have you because of that, but that’s about it. I’ll let you off with a warning this time, but if this continues, then I’ll have to take action and remove her from your class.” 

Pursuing his lips, Andy agrees. 

With that, he’s dismissed from the meeting, face flushing when he thinks about how just two weeks ago, he let another nickname for you slip. 

He couldn’t help it. You’re soft, so sweet and he just wants to hold you all the time, like a teddy bear. 

He remembers the anxiety that settled in his chest as he sent the email calling you that for the first time. 

It’s no problem, Teddy. Goodnight. - AB

He was mortified, but you didn’t seem to be bothered. 

It was dumb luck that he was audited this week and not last week; he needed to be more careful. 

- - - - -

As students filed in for his evening class, Andy did his usual routine: busying himself at the podium with organizing his notes, making sure his bottle of water is filled, cleaning his glasses, and checking for last-minute absences in his inbox. He responded to students that greeted him on their way in but noticed something was missing. 

Or rather, someone. 

As his alarm beeped to signal the beginning of class, you hadn’t greeted him yet. 

Pressing his glasses up his nose, he looks up to the third row of the center section, the second seat from the left. 

It’s empty. You’re not there. 

He looks at his inbox one more time, hitting the refresh button. There’s no email from you saying you’ll be late or missing class. 

“Um…um,” he stammers, trying to find the words. “Let’s-let’s wait another five minutes before we start, just in case anyone else needs to trickle in.”

He feels like a fool saying that; despite giving you most of his attention, he knows what a full class for this evening time slot looks like: it looks exactly like the clustered arrangement of students in front of him. 

But you not being there was enough to make it all look so empty. 

He watches the door. He waits for his laptop to chime. He waits for his phone to ring; you never call, but maybe you will this time.

Five minutes pass, and he has no choice. Clearing his throat, he clicks to the first slide. “Let’s get started.”

- - -

As the last of his students exit the lecture hall, Andy’s worry escalates. 

You never miss class. You never miss an opportunity to communicate what’s going on with you and Ivy. Whatever’s going on, it must be an emergency. 

He begins to type on his laptop before halting suddenly and looking up at the end of the lecture hall. There, perched in the center of the ceiling behind the projection screen, is a camera. There are two others in the corners. 

He can’t do this here. As he packs his things, he realizes he can’t do it anywhere in the school building. He’s been audited already, and with the meeting with the dean earlier, he suspects there’s already a red flag on his shoulder. 

Deciding to not take any chances, he walks to his car and gets in. Opening his laptop again, Andy disconnects from the school wifi and uses the hot spot on his phone to get onto the internet, using a private window. It feels odd to have access to the information he’s looking for as he clicks through the university database, finding your name and phone number. 

Looking around in the empty parking lot, he dials and brings his phone to his ear, listening to it ring and waiting for you to pick up.

“Andy?” you ask on the other side.

He clears his throat, “Hi, yeah. How’d you know it was me?” 

“I…the phones do that now. With the Caller ID.” 

“Oh, oh, right…” he trails off, feeling like an idiot. He changes the subject quickly, “I just wanted to check on you. You…you weren’t in class.” 

“Yeah, um,” you begin. He hears a sharp inhale and your voice comes shakily as you continue, “I’m fine. Um, there’s just been a situation…with Ivy.” 

His heart nearly stops. “Is everything okay?” 

“Mhmm,” you hum, “She’s good. Safe.” 

“Teddy…” Andy’s voice comes out like a warning, sensing there’s more that you’re not telling him. “What happened?”

You begin to sob, harsh breaths sounding like static in his ear. “I-I can’t talk about it, it’s hard.” 

Closing his eyes, his heart squeezes and he knows he’d be risking a lot by offering, but he offers anyway. It’s almost instinctive; whatever’s hurting you, he needs to help somehow. “Do you want me to come over? Maybe I can help?”

You huff a little. “I think it’s a bit above your pay grade as a professor. It’s not much of a university matter.” 

“If there’s anything I can do, I’m happy to do it. You know that. Anything.” 

You’re quiet for a few moments. He pulls the phone back to see if the call is still going. Placing the phone back on his ear, he says your name. 

You give him the address before hanging up. Starting his car, he drives over without a second thought. 

Knocking on the door of your apartment, he’s barely begun to retract his hand before you open the door. 

“Hey, come in,” you say, stepping aside and allowing him to enter. He can see how you’re still trying to put up a front, smiling while your eyes are red and swollen. 

Shutting the door behind you, you offer him something to eat or drink.

“No, thank you,” he shakes his head, looking around at the small space you and Ivy call home. The kitchen lights are on, but there aren’t any dishes in the sink. “Have you eaten?” 

He turns as he asks the question, facing you. You look guilty as you shake your head. 

Andy walks into the kitchen, opening the different cupboards and cabinets before finding an appropriate pot. He goes through the drawers next, putting up a slotted cooking spoon and setting it on the counter. He fills the pot with water and puts it on the stove before turning on the fire. 

“What are you doing?”

He opens the pantry door and scans the shelves. He pulls out a box of mac and cheese, salt, pepper, and a jar of pesto sauce. 

“I’m making you dinner,” he answers, opening the fridge and taking out butter and milk. 

He also grabs the neck of a bottle of wine, setting it on the counter and rifling through the cupboards again to find a pair of wine glasses. 

Unstopping the bottle, he pours one for himself and one for you, far more generous than his own. He turns and offers you the glass. 

You give him a sad smile, walking over and taking it by the stem. Clinking it against his, you both take a sip as the water heats up. 

“Thank you,” you sigh after you swallow, leaning against the tiny island in the middle of the kitchen. 

“Not a problem,” he smiles, placing his glass on the counter. Gripping the edges of the worktop, he leans back and looks at you. “So, what’s wrong?” 

Pursing your lips, you take another sip before you answer. “It’s Troy–Ivy’s dad. It’s his parents; her grandparents.” 

You move around the island and stand at the dining table, looking through a stack of papers. Up until now, Andy had thought they were just school documents. Now, giving them a good look and seeing the manila envelope with your name and address, he knows something more nefarious is at play. When you find the paper you’re looking for, you read it, then hand it to him with watery eyes. 

Andy reads the top of the document and his heart drops. 

“They’re making a play for custody of Ivy,” you tell him, your voice trembling as you wipe your tears. “They…they did this last year when she was born.”

“What do you mean?”

“They didn’t want anything to do with us when I was pregnant, especially after Troy died. But then, when they found out she was born, they were coming over every day.” 

You laugh bitterly, looking up to the ceiling and shaking your head as if chastising yourself for being so foolish. “I thought…I thought I wasn’t alone anymore. I had Ivy, I had my aunt and my cousin, I had them.”

Andy dreads the “but…” that’s coming. 

“They hung around for a week, and at the end, they said they were going back home. I thought they were coming around to say goodbye, but they brought boxes and tried to pack Ivy’s things. When I asked what they were doing, they asked me to give her to them. And I know grief can make people do crazy things, but asking a mother who just gave birth to give her baby to you? That really takes the cake. Because fuck me, right? Just forget the fact that I’m the woman who carried her for nine months and pushed her out of my vagina–” 

You stop suddenly, seeming to catch yourself. 

“Sorry, I just…” you begin to sob, “I’m so angry and I have no chance against them. They’re trying to claim custody and I would give it to them partially, but they were awful.” 

You pause, pressing your hands to your face; Andy suspects the memories are replaying in your head. 

“I lost Troy, too. And I think they’re only doing this because his birthday passed two weeks ago. They don’t know her. They don’t care about her. If they did, they would’ve been around, they would’ve been helping me this whole time. They wouldn’t have left me alone. They only care about salvaging whatever pieces of their son they can get and–” 

You break down, hunching over and bursting into tears. Pushing off the counter, Andy wraps his arms around you, bringing you into his chest. You tremble in his hold but he keeps you secure against him, murmuring “It’s okay,” over and over again. Maybe it doesn’t feel that way, maybe it’s a bad choice of words, but he wants to do everything he can to make it okay. 

There’s a pause in your sobbing and you pull back slightly to wipe your cheeks before leaning your head against his chest. 

“I can’t lose her, Andy,” you mumble. “I don’t trust them, who knows what they’ve claimed to their lawyer? I have nothing, and if they take Ivy, I’ll have no one–”

He shushes you, pressing a kiss onto your forehead and stroking your hair. “Don’t worry,” he tells you, “You have me.” 

- - -

Andy smiled bashfully as you complimented his genius in adding pesto to boxed mac and cheese. He made a point to clear the dining table of any pieces of paper to help you forget the court case for the time being. 

“Thank you for this,” you tell him. “You didn’t have to. I warned you it was above your pay grade but I really appreciate it.”

He chuckles, scooping another serving before he shakes his head. “You don’t have to worry about it. I’m happy to do it.�� 

Smiling, you take another bite and sigh. You enjoy the silence with him, professor-student standing be damned. This was nice. 

You hear whimpering from down the hall, more motherly instincts kicking in, making you get up from your chair and disappear down the hall to the bedrooms. 

When you come back, Ivy is in your arms, bleary-eyed and wrapped in a blanket with her hair in all different directions. You smooth the strands down and bring her to the table. 

“I think she knows that I’ve been stressed,” you say, sitting down. When she reaches for your bowl, you stop her to prevent food from flying everywhere. “Oh, no, no, hold on.”

“Here,” Andy says, reaching for her. He pulls her out of your lap and into his. Picking up his spoon, he shakes off excess noodles and brings the edge of it to her mouth, letting her feed easily. 

She does her exaggerated hum of satisfaction, happily slapping his hand for more. “Mmm! Deedee!” she giggles. 

“You want more?” 

“Mo’!” she replies. 

He laughs as he feeds her again, and you decide to just enjoy the moment. You and Ivy will have a hard few weeks ahead of you, but Andy reassured you that he would be there every step of the way. 

You nearly burst into tears after she eats a few more bites and rubs her eyes. Yawning, she squeaks before pressing her face into Andy’s chest as her eyes close. He adjusts her in his lap to make her more comfortable before he continues to finish his bowl.

You can’t deny how he made it all better. With this looming over you and the prospect of losing your daughter, he holds all your pain in his hand, taking it from you and letting you see this. 

If the judge could see the three of you now, they’d realize Ivy has everything she needs. 

And so do you. 

- - - - - 

“Alright, baby bear,” Andy mutters as he places Ivy on her bed. He arranges the blankets around her, making sure she’s tucked in and comfortable. “Sleep well.” 

He steps out, shutting the bedroom door behind him, and meets you in the living area. 

“Thank you. I know I’ve been saying that a lot this evening, but I–”

“You know I don’t mind,” he smiles.

“Of course I do.” 

Putting on his jacket, Andy picks up his work bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow about the case.” 

You purse your lips, seeming to remember everything. It had all gotten away from you in the hour that you spent watching Andy cook and eating with him. “Yeah…I’ll…wait for the call.” 

“It’ll all be okay,” he says, bringing you back into his chest, caging you between his arms to hide you from the sting of reality. “I promise, I’m gonna do everything I can to make this go our way.” 

Pulling away, you look at him with a curious expression. “‘Our way?’”

“I…” he buffers for a moment, failing to find the right words to explain himself. The truth is, there is no explanation. “Your way. I meant…”

Your body surges as you throw your arms around his neck, bringing him closer as you press your lips to his. 

He’s stunned for a moment, frozen as his face reacts with raised eyebrows and flushing cheeks but his body doesn’t move a muscle. His heart races and he shuts his eyes, kissing you back the way he wanted to when he had you on the dance floor at his brother’s wedding. 

The two of you pull away and you step back, covering the lower half of your face with your hands. “I…I’m sorry, that was uncalled for and wildly inappropriate. I don’t know what came over me–”

Smiling like an idiot, Andy doesn’t have the patience to listen to a bullshit excuse from you. 

You kissed him. That was all the blessing he needed. 

Sweeping you into his arms again, he kisses you once, twice, and a third time, loving the feeling of your hands in his hair as they creep up his neck, engulfing him in you. 

You step back again, laughing shyly. “That was…”

“It was…”

“Nice.” “Good.”

“I agree,” he nods. 

“Good. Um…”

“But we probably shouldn’t do that again.”

You nod as well, “Right, yes, I agree.”

“At least not until after you graduate.”

“Oh, yes, good point. After I graduate.”

“Because then you won’t be my student anymore.” 

“Mhmm, yup.” 

Silence falls over the two of you and you begin to walk towards the door. “Um, I’ll wait for your call tomorrow.”

Getting the cue, Andy nods and heads toward the door, stepping out into the atrium of the apartment building. “Yes, I’ll keep you posted. And I’ll see you next week. Don’t worry about the paper, by the way. If you need more time, I’m happy to give it to you.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. But thanks, anyway.” 

“Okay.” 

He stands there and you look at him. Neither of you wants to say goodbye.

You blink, smiling at him and leaning your head against the door. “Goodnight, Professor Barber.” 

“Goodnight,” he breathes. “Goodnight, Teddy.” 

Lingering your gaze on him the entire time you close the door, you can’t help but lean against it as it shuts. You cover your face with your hands and smile, skin heating up in giddiness. 

If it wasn’t for Ivy, Andy never would have made it to your apartment tonight. Things would have looked so differently for the two of you. 

He gives you hope; a second vine crawling over your heart, protecting you from anything that could hurt you. 

An ivy. 

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[brick-a-doodle-do]

Snippet of Miraculous AU :]

@beckyu

“Fuck,” Tommy muttered as he stumbled back and fell onto the metal ground. One thing remains after he got loose the wire. Time slipped away as he wasted seconds brushing dirt that didn’t exist off of his clothes. The battle grunts and orders of Ruminator rung through the walls in a muffled tone, telling him that he might have a bit more time than he first thought, yet still not nearly enough to calm his frazzled mind. He shot to action once again after declaring his unofficial and unnecessary break over. Tommy stepped over the fallen green wire and shifted to the side of the shiny panel, gazing at the two levers easily taller than him. He sighed, knowing exactly what needed to happen before he can leave.

[vileintcnt]

Farrah wasn't naive enough to let James go scot-free just because he made her ego inflate. No, he'd been a bad, bad boy. And Farrah felt that warranted punishment. She'd kept it to herself, of course. Boyfriend blissfully aware of her hyperfixation. So, she had done a little digging of her own. James Warner, nice car, terrible penchant for parking it outside of her home, it seemed. Married, she'd sussed that much, no single man came to the strip club that often. She had this information on hand solely to instill a little sense. A wake up call, as it were. That, and well, she was having far too much fun watching him squirm, she deserved that, right? Provocative moan sounded around his digit, parting lips in favor of letting her tongue hang from her mouth as she slid it against his finger, looking up at him with doe eyed gaze. Only stopping, as hand gently removed the digit, to answer his 'innocent' question. "See, I thought that- But my landlord said there's been this black BMW hanging around, and my neighbor doesn't recognize it either. Has to be some creep, right?" Of course, she couldn't let him ruminate on it, throwing him off with nymphomaniacal fulfillment of his fantasy made for good technique when trying to frazzle his brain. So, the blonde gave a particularly amused little grin, before allowing her hand to graze the length of his hardened shaft, somehow absolving herself of any relationship guilt on account of this familiar setting being a 'safe space' for debauchery. "Wow, seems like you really did miss me, James. I figured you'd had enough private shows to last you a lifetime, by now..." Another subtle dig, one of which could easily be construed as a reference to his patronage at the club, but they both knew better than that. A plump lipped and brief kiss to the tightened fabric of his trousers followed, before standing up in favor of perching on his lap, bracing her back against his chest as she lay her head back against his shoulder. "Well, I missed you too." And the blonde, grasping his jaw, planted a firm kiss to his cheek.

He'd been going crazy. Well...crazier. James had thought for sure that she hadn't bought his excuse, that she'd decided he'd gone too far and had taken herself out of the equation entirely. He'd been back to club each night ( the shifts he knew damn well were hers ) only to be filled with disappointment and dread each time. Of course, he hadn't been left entirely without a fix. His post outside her apartment, with it's wide windows practically begging for an audience, had been somewhat of a lifeline. But it was never enough. To see her and not be able to touch was an even worse torture than not being able to really put his hands on her the way he thought about. The elation he'd felt when he walked in to see her working tonight bordered on euphoria. He was shaking his head at her apology, gaze already darkening as it took in her perfect form, hands practically itching to be on her. She was his bad habit, and it had been far too long since he'd had a real hit. So caught up in the sight of her sultry approach that it took his mind a moment to process the reason for the absence. Wait. Missing mail. Cameras? Jesus Christ, he was a fucking idiot. An idiot that couldn't think as his goddess sank to her knees before him. "I – yes." His answer came out in a breathless little moan, and already he was gripping at the arm of the chair in an effort not to adjust his stiffening cock. Her warm, wet mouth around his finger sent his mind reeling with possibilities, so much so that he found himself struggling to get back to topic she'd broached. "What if — mmm — " His teeth caught his bottom lip with a hum as he delicately slid his finger in and out of her perfect mouth, his cock throbbing enviously. "What if it's just a mix-up?" he managed to ask, voice gruff with want. "Just some things getting lost along the way?" he suggested, free hand moving to ghost over the bulge in his slacks — for relief or concealment, even he wasn't sure.

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter sixteen — “aftermath”

delicate masterlist

word count: 1.5k

synopsis: steve finds bucky a bit stressed and acting (only slightly) neurotic. he aims to uncover the source of his best friend’s conflict... and he’s not surprised at the answer.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

[A/N:] ‘doll dizzy’ is 40’s slang for “a boy who is crazy about girls” also this is kind of a filler chapter, sorry :(

The walk back to his living quarters was hazy and slow. His mind went back and forth from scattered to blank, in complete disbelief that what just happened happened. It was surreal; it almost felt like it didn't happen.

It wasn't... supposed to happen. They were supposed to be friends. Conceptually he knew this, but then she was there and she was so close and her hands were on him and she was saying such sweet, gentle things.

Briefly, so Bucky touched his lips lightly with the pads of his index and middle finger. If he focused hard enough, he could still feel it, feel her. Before he could dig himself another grave, the rational part of his brain yanked him back to reality.

Did he ruin everything? After all, it was him that leaned in this time. How different would they be from the last time the two of them got too close? The rumination would've continued, but the voice of a blonde super soldier interrupted his thoughts.

"Buck, you day drinkin' now?" Steve called, jokingly.

"What?"

"You look drunk."

Post fuck up delirium? He bet he looked like an idiot. To be honest, he felt a little inebriated after what he just experienced.

"I can't get drunk."

"Yeah, that's why I'm confused."

"I just..." he trailed off, thinking of an excuse, "was on a run. That's all."

As Bucky walked up to him, he could more clearly see the confusion on Steve's face.

"In those clothes?"

"...yes."

"Whatever you say, pal..."

Bucky didn't have time for so many questions! He didn't even have time to think; he had no idea what he was going to do, what was going to happen. Then Steve started talking again.

"Hey, Sam and I were going to-"

"I gotta go," Bucky interrupted, needing to find someplace to suffer through his thoughts.

"Buck-"

"I'll see ya later."

From there, he left his best friend more confused than when he found him.

—

Bucky paced around his room, his worried, worried mind running in circles. In the heat of the moment, she said she wouldn't leave, but how could she not? And what the fuck was transference? Was that what was actually happening? Even if it was, how could she condone his actions? There was no way she could stay after that! Right?

The rest of the session was so awkward and they left things in such a weird place and Bucky was so confused but also feeling all sorts of other things and-

"Bucky."

He turned to see Steve march through the entryway with a kind of glorious purpose only Steve Rogers seemed to have.

He sighed. "What do you need?"

"What is up with you, man?"

"What?"

"What's up with you? You're acting weird."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are. Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong!"

"You're a terrible liar," he deadpanned with a hint of a smile.

"I'm actually a good liar. I just... got a lot on my mind, okay? So, you can go be a worryin' geezer somewhere else. I'll be just fine."

"Geezer? Did you forget that you're literally older than me?"

"Shut up," Bucky all but pouted, too frazzled to muster up some creative banter. "Punk."

"Just tell me what's wrong, ya jerk."

He knew Steve wouldn't budge. At first he thought, stubborn ass. But then, he remembered how Y/N said Steve's stubbornness was something she really respected about him.

Bucky sighed, giving in and slouching into a chair near his bed. "It's Y/N."

"The... therapist?"

"Yes. The therapist."

"What about her? Did she do something? Is this another Zemo situation?"

Steve's voice got more defensive with each word. Like he was ready to kick someone's ass if need be. Steve Rogers: loyal to a fault. What else is new?

"No! No, nothing like that. Things are just... kinda complicated..."

"Complicated how?"

Yeah, how exactly was he supposed to explain this part? He didn't want to reveal any details and get her fired. Obviously. Steve wouldn't tell anyone anything that would get Bucky in trouble. That much he knew. But with Y/N, he wasn't sure. He decided to play it safe, proving that he was, in fact, a good liar. Or, at least a good only-tell-certain-parts-of-the-truth-er.

"Complicated like she might leave."

"Why would she leave? Are you guys done with the therapy?"

"Not exactly. It's... things between us are... odd."

"Odd?" Steve asked, clearly wanting some kind of elaboration.

"Yes," Bucky said curtly, giving him nothing of the sorts.

Steve stared at him for a moment, and it looked like he was trying to solve a math problem in his head. Bucky almost laughed.

"Buck, you didn't..."

"Didn't what?!"

"She's your therapist!" he exclaimed, although he didn't look very upset. More so surprised.

Now Bucky was starting to lose his composure. "What are you talking about?!"

"Well, I guess you really are getting back your old self because this is probably what he would do."

Did he just get called a man slut?

"What is that supposed to mean?" he crossed his arms.

"You've always been... what'd we used to call it? 'Doll dizzy?' Yeah. It's making a reappearance."

"I-..." Bucky exasperated.

Okay, maybe he was a little doll dizzy back when he was a kid, but now? Certainly not now. That's ridiculous.

"What? You're gonna look at me and you're gonna tell me that I'm wrong?"

"What exactly are you implying?"

"Are you..." he stuttered, slightly embarrassed, thinking of how to choose his words, "being intimate... with your therapist?"

If he wasn't preoccupied with worrying about his psychologist leaving, he might have laughed at Steve's awkwardness.

"What! No! It's not like that!" He felt flustered.

Steve laughed. He fucking laughed. "Then what?"

Bucky rubbed his eyes, groaning in annoyance. "We're... just friends."

Well, they were supposed to be. He's not sure what they were now... or what was going to happen. Beforehand, any cursed feelings he had were just that: feelings. They were in the back of his mind, barely making themselves conscious long enough to be known, long enough for him to be fully aware of them. But now, he felt like an exposed nerve, feeling all too much too fast.

"Just friends?" he raised his brows in disbelief.

"Yeah, just... yeah..."

"I think you guys look at each other a little too long to be just friends..."

Bucky scoffed. "What does that even mean?"

"I saw you two at the bonfire."

"Okay? Whatdya want, a trophy?"

"Yeah, yeah. And whenever she wasn't looking at you, you were gawkin' at her."

"I don't gawk," he rolled his eyes.

"Oh, but you do."

"And since when are you tracking everyone's eye movements?"

"You were subtle, I'll give you that. But I know ya, Buck. And I'm observant."

"Yeah, and I'm screwed."

"Why?"

"'Cause she's probably gonna leave now. I mean, she said she didn't have to, but she'll probably think everything over and end up leaving."

"What, 'cause you looked at her?"

"No, 'cause I kissed her!"

A smile grew on Steve's face. "I knew it."

Once more, Bucky let out a loud and annoyed groan of frustration. "Man, I fucked up. I had a good thing going for me... god damn transference... shit."

"Transference?"

"It's a thing she told me about, it's like... apparently my feelings about something else get transferred to her, so I don't really feel that way about her, but it seems like I do... I think."

"That's... a thing?"

"Apparently- I don't know," Bucky flailed his hands, beginning to pace again. "That's what she told me at least."

"Well... did she kiss you back?"

Bucky stopped moving.

"She did..." he said, while realizing that, yes, she actually did kiss him back and shocked that she... actually kissed him back.

He guessed his mind hadn't caught up to him yet. He hadn't analyzed their actions and each physical change between them. He guessed he was still stuck in that moment. In his head, they were still kissing.

"That's a good sign... right?" Steve shrugged.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, brain all but malfunctioning. "I don't know what it is. I don't know anything anymore. I'm a crummy patient..."

"Oh, come on. What happened to Brooklyn's ladies man?"

"He fell off a train."

Steve looked only slightly mortified, but it made Bucky laugh. Comedic catharsis seemed to ease the tension in his chest.

"Look," Bucky started, "she's like the best thing that's happened to me in a long time. And I think I might've ruined it. I just want things to be okay with us... I don't want her to leave."

"Did you talk to her about it?"

"No, we ended the session early 'cause of me. It was... awkward after."

"Well, go talk to her then!"

"I can't, I just left. I wanna at least give her some space."

"You didn't seem to care about space earlier," Steve teased.

Bucky smacked his best friend's arm. "Would you cut it out!"

"Wait, but how did it happen? Like did you just leap up and grab her face? How did it go down?"

"I'm gonna kill you."

"I thought I was the wing man! I need details!"

Bucky turned. "Oh yeah, wingman? How's Sharon?"

Steve shut up.

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