#NO BOOK CLUB?? [slams desk and cries]

[tamagotchikgs]

this is the funniest fucking thing i have ever seen in my life im laughing sohard it feels out of place in the show why he is so devastated about that in specific

[tuturica]

The last card

A briefcase. This is how it all began. A gun slipped so quietly, so carefully into a Lord's briefcase. However, nobility does not matter in a card game. It doesn’t matter how much you bet, how you play or other minor details. A game begins with an ace of a black heart, and a life ends with a gun, the sounds of the ambulance, and of course, a briefcase. ***-Clarissa! Clarissa! sais a loud voice from the other end of the room. The open eyes, the emptiness, the banality, the words of the woman who cries out to her no longer bother the concentrated mind of the person called. Once she wakes up, Clarissa sees her sister, Iris, by the door. The handcuffs in her pocket tried to hide behind a pair of embroidered gloves, the prisoners' files were flattened in a bag with a pattern of pearls and a pistol, probably received from the ward. She was sent by the forensic team.

-What did Carter get now? A kidnapping? Robbery? What else is he sending you to me this time? Especially, why in secret? Clarissa sais whit a bored voice.

However, she left the book she was reading down, a simple sign Iris needed to know she had her attention

-The Inspector told me not to get you involved in a case that apeared today. He needs a lot of approvals, papers over papers. It is a wonder that you have not heard of the murder. He told me to make my life easy, given the fact that the family of the murdered one is wealthier and could also be tied to inheritances, and then I would have to go to every sister or brother of the deceased and ask to go to the interrogation. A never-ending race if you don’t know if the killer is in the country or not.

Clarissa got up from the upholstered armchair and went to take the files out of her bag, but her sister held her in place:

- I will tell you everything you need to know. Carter will have nothing to do with you, and if you solve the case, maybe I’ll get a raise too. It is to your taste. Death at a poker game.

Clarissa gave her a stingy smile, and before she said anything, Iris continued:

- Young Lord, 18 years old, wealthy, his records say he tried to commit suicide twice, but each time was stopped by his younger brother. The murder took place in a club. He was alone. The only suspect is the driver.

-Weapon?

-Pistol, possibly won in a bet.

- Body at the station?

- It is waiting for you! 

                     ***

Clarissa nonchalantly enters the station and ignores Inspector Carter's shouts. The walls of the office seemed to shrink by the second. She didn't know if he was ready to leave the past behind and focus on the future. One man, one life had been taken and that was all that mattered...at least in her case.

- Carter, if you have anything else to say besides meaningless yelling, please let me know. I'm the only option for this case and you want to deny it. I'm doing you a favor! Clarissa snaps back.

-How do you know that? asks the inspector with a mixture of anger and puzzlement.

-The sheets on your desk are empty, your meaningless list has only people crossed out on it, and yet the newspapers are talking about the tragic death of Lord Tweksberry. Ironic, isn't it? Considering you owe me!

A deep silence falls over the desk. Even the pictures on the walls seemed to be listening to the thoughtful dialogue of the two. Even so Carter, threatened, continues:

-Woods, do you really want to lose your relationship with the police? Without a gun you can't play detective!

-Well, I don't think it's that hard if you keep wearing the detective mask for so long! But back to the case... You've made too much of a fool of yourself. Don't forget your promises Thomas! He'll be back for revenge. So you're going to give me the keys to get into the morgue without question and forget this ever happened.

The inspector finally gives up and gives Clarissa the keys.

- Good luck Woods! says a voice from behind the office door.

Disgusted and with a hint of anger, but at the same time with a smile on her face, Clarissa slams the door behind her. Outside, by the morgue, Iris, who had heard the conversation, is waiting for her with a puzzled look on her face:

-Why did we come to the morgue if we already know the lord was shot?

-I want to see if that's all that happened that night. The police always give half the truth, the other half they don't understand, Clarissa replies firmly.

The door of the mortuary opens reluctantly, leaving behind it a chilling creak. Darkness envelops the room and every sound leaves a faint echo, like a whisper. On a metal table lay the disembodied body of Lord Tweksberry, with two holes in it, reddened with thick, warm blood.

- When was the body brought in? Clarissa asked with a straight face, a shield she always wore to hide her natural fear of a dead body.

The body on the table with closed eyes still had a smile on its face. A sly one, one that might show courage in the face of certain death or more plausibly the number of shots drunk from the table.

-A few hours ago... The murder took place last night... Iris says out of reflex, though with a hint of pain.

She should have been used to seeing cases like this, but you get a twinge in your heart when you realize that this person isn't just a murder victim, but was a person in a complicated society that can't entirely stop such crimes.

-Where are the bullets?

-In Carter's. He asked to keep them. Still doesn't make any sense.

It was their goal to connect the pieces of the puzzle, the scraps of information left by this mystery, but they couldn't. They couldn't solve this part of the case because they didn't have a piece of the puzzle. More like two pieces, two bullets, but they knew the person from whom they could retrieve them.

-Thomas is hiding something. I'm not surprised, but doing it to the police would be out of his comfort zone.

The women quickly exit the morgue and head for the inspector's office.

Inspector Carter is pulled from his thoughts when he hears the thud of the door slamming against the wall. He didn't expect to see the Woods sisters cross his threshold so quickly:

-Ladies? To what purpose have you come? Carter says with eyes searching every corner of the room, avoiding their gaze, especially Clarissa's.

-That's why you wouldn't let anyone work on the case! You didn't want anyone to know! Clarissa says with satisfaction.

It's always the same. She thinks she's uncovering something, a page from the album of this mystery, but she has to persuade a confused mind to give her the information she so desperately wants. It's not impossible, but sometimes it can be a waste of time, especially when a killer is on the loose.

Carter, startled, manages to ask:

-And what exactly would I be hiding from the police?

Clarissa gives him a disgusted look before answering:

-Part of Christian Tweksberry's death.

Clarissa knows she's cornered the inspector, she feels his fear, she knows he's threatened, and she knows that at this moment, on the brink, he's forced to give her what she asks for.

-The family insisted that the police not bother... That everyone "knows" the lord was shot by a neutral, unimportant man in the club. They offered a handsome price on that fact. I just have to keep my mouth shut.

- There you failed miserably! Bribe?! I didn't expect you to be so vile.

[stardusttrails]

brick by brick | kaz brekker

cw: mentions of rape(?), beating

You watched from your post by the Crow Club's door as Kaz surveyed the room. You watched as his sharp eyes picked out every shuffle of the cards and every flick of the wrist. You watched as he reached for his cane and made his way across the room to one of the tables in the back corner. You watched as he lifted his crow's head cane and slammed it on the dealers wrist with a sharp crack.

The dealer screamed in agony and clutched at his hand, which was hanging limply from his now shattered wrist. The patrons of the club turned and stared with wide eyes, some filled with terror and some filled with a bloodlust you knew could only be served in the Barrel.

You turned your gaze back to the spluttering dealer.

"Kaz! What was that for?" He sobbed.

Kaz's expression never broke from his cool, indifferent gaze as he said, "This is the price you pay for stealing from me, Rexen."

Rexen made to respond but Kaz whipped his cane around and smashed it into Rexen's already broken wrist again. Rexen howled and fell to the floor, curled to try to protect himself from that wicked cane.

"I never done nothing!" Rexen cried. "I didn't do nothing!"

Rexen sobbed into the threadbare carpet and Kaz looked up for the first time, briefly meeting your gaze before turning back to the groveling man at his feet. You felt an unfamiliar flutter in your stomach when Kaz had made eye contact with you. It seemed to be happening more frequently and you couldn't afford to get distracted. Kaz counted on you.

"You have until the end of the night to clear your things out from the Slat. If anything is still there by morning, it belongs to the crew and if you're still here by morning, you'll wish you weren't."

"You really are a demon, Brekker." Rexen hiccuped.

"Born of shadows and monsters." Kaz responded with a smirk and limped to the stairs that led to his office.

The patrons slowly turned back to their tables with hushed whispers and half hidden glances. No one offered to help Rexen with his things. Once Kaz Brekker had branded you a thief, the Dregs offered no allegiance.

You waited to make sure Rexen didn't cause any scenes and when the dealer finally left, you slipped silently away from your post and made your way up the stairs to the top floor where Kaz kept his office.

You knocked only once, not bothering to wait for an answer and slipped inside the door.

You found Kaz sitting at his desk, deep in thought, staring at the crow's head on the head of his cane and he twisted it back and forth.

"Well...there were a whole lot of better ways to handle that." You said.

Kaz paused and snapped his eyes to you, stopping you in your tracks.

"If you're going to complain, leave."

You rolled your eyes and sighed. "Honestly, Kaz. How did you even know he was cheating? He was doing everything right."

"The books came up a couple hundred kruge short every month and only on the third week of the month. I checked to see who the dealers were the third week of the month and only one table was coming up short." Kaz said, almost bored. "Do you have any other questions?"

You glared at him, unamused with his sarcasm.

"I need you for a job. Dime Lions. I need you to get the list of the dock workers Pekka Rollins has on his payroll."

"Okay. Why? If you need more dock workers I'm sure there's plenty looking for work." You asked.

"No." He said. "I need that payroll from Pekka."

You opened your mouth to argue more when there was a great crash from downstairs followed by screaming and shouting. In an instant you were both on your feet and rushing for the door when it burst open.

"Pekka Rollins." Kaz spat.

"Kaz Brekker. What a surprise." Pekka Rollins drawled. "You know, it wasn't easy getting in here. You little children are surprisingly good at your jobs."

"What business, Pekka?" Kaz stared venomously at the Kaelish mob boss. You were aware of Kaz's history and you knew how much he hated the man.

"Your girl."

You froze. The color drained from Kaz's face and he was already shaking his head.

"No."

"I wasn't asking." Pekka leveled his pistol at Kaz's chest and two more men crowded into Kaz's office.

"I hear she's got a talent for slipping into tight spaces and getting people with tight lips to loosen up."

Pekka turned his attention to you and raked his gaze up and down your body. It reminded you of the way the men looked at the women in the pleasure houses and you had to fight to not shudder, to not show any weakness in front of this man.

"She's also not bad on the eyes. Who knows? Maybe I'll let my men have some fun with her, eh, Brekker?"

Kaz's stare was murderous.

"If you so much as touch her, I will kill you and every man that has ever been associated with you."

Pekka clicked his tongue. "Now I don't think you're going to do that and here's why. I'm going to let you live and I won't burn down the miserable hovel you call a home and in exchange I get the girl. Win-win and no one gets hurt."

Kaz lunged for his cane at the same moment Rollins' two bruisers lunged for Kaz.

Kaz was up with his cane in less than a second and was swinging and dodging with reckless abandon. You were so enthralled with the way his cane became a part of him that you didn't notice Pekka Rollins grab you until it was too late.

"Enough, Brekker." Rollins said. "Before someone gets hurt."

Kaz freezed immediately as Pekka cocked his gun and placed it at your temple. The two bruisers wasted no time in snatching Kaz's cane before he could use it on them again.

"Let. Her. Go." Kaz growled as one of the bruisers looped his arm through Kaz's behind his back. You saw a shiver of revulsion ripple through Kaz's body but he hid it well; the men haven't seen it.

"Not yet." Pekka said and the other man holding Kaz's cane pulled back and swung it into Kaz's stomach. He wheezed and his knees gave out; the only thing keeping him from collapsing completely was the man behind him.

"I'm sure we could come to some sort of deal." Rollins said casually. "What would you be willing to give up to save her?"

Kaz lifted his eyes to stare into Pekka Rollins gaze. The hate you see there made you flinch. Even though you knew why Kaz hated him you never got used to seeing it in Kaz's eyes.

"You know, I did hear that a deKappel had been stolen and I've been looking to add to my collection. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Kaz didn't say anything and after a heartbeat of silence...two...three... you felt a sharp pain in the back of your head as Pekka Rollins' gun collided with it. You fell to your knees with a cry and your vision turned spotty. Kaz struggled against his captor, fighting to reach you. Pekka Rollins leveled his gun at you once more as you blinked rapidly, trying to return your vision to normal.

When Kaz still didn't answer, Pekka Rollins pulled back his leg and landed a solid kick to your midriff and you gasped, curling into a ball as blow after blow landed on you.

"Enough!"

It stopped.

"It's at the sugar silos. In the Warehouse District."

You were finally able to open your eyes enough to see Kaz's murderous glare directed at Pekka.

"Pleasure doing business with you." The greasy man smirked. "Although I hope you know I'll be back." He laughed and the man holding Kaz shoved him, toppling him to his knees.

"I'm counting on it."

As the men leave, Kaz crawled to you and gently turned you over on your back. You winced at the movement in your ribs and your vision turned fuzzy. When it returned, you saw Kaz looking at you with such pain it took you aback. Had Pekka Rollins hurt him?

You saw him move to reach out to you but pull back at the last moment and he stared at his gloved hands as if he wanted to cut them off.

You whimpered at the confliction warring on his face, wanting to reach out and smooth the crease from between his brows and take his face in your hands and hold him until he felt like he didn't have to take on the world alone.

The last thing you remembered before blacking out was hearing Kaz mutter to himself, "I will tear him apart. Brick by brick."

[fivelakesinwriting]

can you do a barry one where you’re rafe and sarah’s sister and you’ve been sneaking barry into your room every night while you’re home from college bc your friends with benefits but when ward goes to give barry the money that rafe owes him he says something like “why don’t you ask your daughter who’s she’s been sneaking into her room every night. so ward comes home pissed to wake you up and ask you about it so you go to barry’s house and confront him and it leads to smut

Author's Notes: I wrote her as the Littlest Cameron from Ward's first marriage - because I kinda love that idea. All characters are 18+

Warnings: OBX Spoilers - Only for Season 1 (I assume we've all been there done that..) Swearing, Mentions of drugs/ drug debt, Guns, Sexual references - Sexual innuendos, Smutty.

Requested? YES! Requests for OBX are OPEN!

*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo

For almost six weeks he had been sneaking into her bedroom at night, completely unseen to anyone. Not even the boy who spent the majority of his days on his couch, passed out or begging for a fix.

This time it was his turn to beg.

He crawled through the window - left open like always for him - and tossed his legs through in to her bedroom. He grunted when her body collided with his in the dark, sending him backwards towards the wall.

"We said 11pm. It's 11:17pm." She mumbled as she pressed on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck.

"Sorry. Got wrapped up in some shit. Thought I forgot?" He smirked as he hitched at the waist to wrap his arms around her, reciprocating her affection.

"Yes." She whispered into his shoulder as her fingertips curled into the material of his coveralls.

Barry only lifted her up in response, always amazed that a girl with a brother the size of Rafe Cameron could be so tiny. He carried her over to her bed and laid her on her back, crawling on top of her to take up the space between her thighs. He placed feather-light kisses down her neck, a smile on his face as she pulled at his coveralls.

"Hey, Tiny. I need to borrow some fucking cash. You don't still have that stupid piggy bank or some shit - what the fuck is this?" Rafe came stomping into her bedroom without knocking and flicked the lights on, his hands pushing all the trinkets and books off her dresser as he searched.

"Rafe, what the fuck! Knock first, asshole!" She screamed as she tossed a decorative pillow off her bed and towards her older brother who stood dumbfounded on the other side of her bedroom.

"The fuck is this? Why is he here?" Rafe questioned as he pointed his index finger at the older man on top of his younger sister.

"What's up, Country Club?" Barry smirked as he turned his face to look at Rafe, as if he weren't on top of his little sister.

"T.C, he has to leave. Now. I'm fucking serious." Rafe grumbled with a stern look, a pinch of his nostrils and then exited her bedroom with a slam of the door.

"T.C?" Barry grinned as he propped himself up on his arms above her and looked down at her embarrassed face.

"Tiny Cameron." She sighed as she pressed one hand to his lower back and the other to her forehead.

"That's cute. Shit's real cute. He take money from you a lot?" Barry asked as he leaned his weight on one forearm to run his fingertips over his top lip.

"Not a lot. Sometimes. Mostly takes it from dad, but he asks for money a lot more often now. I'm assuming it's to pay you." She replied softly.

"Some of it. Your brother got a nice new bike out there and he still runnin' up a tab with me, so..." Barry trailed as he placed his hand back down beside her on the bed.

"Don't get me started on that stupid dirt bike." She sighed as she rolled her head back on the sheets.

"Listen, I'm gonna go. I can hear him pacing outside that fucking door. But don't let him take your money, T.C." Barry winked before he gave her a quick kiss on her lips and pulled himself off the bed, heading back towards the window.

"Fuck you, Barry." She whined with a pout, sitting up on the bed to watch him leave.

"Next time." He grinned, flashing her his gold tooth.

*

It had been close to one week since the night Rafe had caught Barry in his little sister's room, and since then his debt had grown exponentially. Rafe felt overwhelmed and reckless as he entered the combination to his father's wall safe. Perhaps that's why he got caught.

"Dad, I swear I learned my lesson. Okay? Let's not do this. Please." Rafe begged from the front seat of his father's S.U.V as they idled out front of Barry's house.

"Stay in the car." Ward ordered as he unbuckled his seat belt and opened his door.

Ward Cameron walked up the dirt path, lit by the lights of his vehicle and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. He saw the young man sitting at the fire pit, a bottle of liquor in his hand.

"Are you Barry?" He called as he opened his wallet and began to count the bills.

"Might be. You lost?" Barry asked as he took a swig of the whiskey in his hand and looked over the clean cut older man standing a few feet in front of him.

"No. My son Rafe owes you money. I'm here to pay his tab." Ward replied with a shake of his head as he pulled out the wad of cash, and folded it in half.

"Big Daddy Cameron, huh?" Barry smirked as he stood up from his chair and took a few steps towards Ward.

"That should cover it. Don't sell my son drugs anymore." Ward growled as he tossed the cash on the ground at Barry's feet and turned to walk away.

"Got no problem not selling drugs to your delinquent son. But it's your daughter who might have a problem staying away from me." Barry replied his stance strong as he watched Ward Cameron stop dead in his tracks, his back rigid.

"Sarah?" Ward asked as he turned around, his eyes wide as he looked the dealer up then down.

"You forget you have more than one daughter, don't you? Talking about the little one. Think Rafe calls her...T.C?" Barry replied as he pushed his hands into his pockets.

Ward Cameron ran a shaky hand over his beard as he continued to stare at Barry. He turned to leave, but changed his mind and stalked back over to him, and stood directly in front of the shorter man.

"Stay away from my family. My son and especially my daughter." Ward growled a finger pressed into Barry's chest before he turned on his heel and stomped back towards the S.U.V.

"Big Daddy Cameron." Barry scoffed with a shake of his head as he crouched down to pick up the bills on the ground. He knew he had just lit a match under the Cameron patriarch, but he was fine with it.

Back at Tannyhill Rafe walked quickly into the house and up the stairs, his head hung low as he blinked back tears. He walked passed each of his sisters' rooms towards his own, stopping at the one of the left.

"T.C, better gear up. Dad knows about Barry. He's coming upstairs. Fire is lit." Rafe grumbled with a sniff and then made his way towards his bedroom with a slam of his door.

"What do you mean dad knows about - Hi, daddy." She mumbled as she scrambled off the bed after her brother, only to be met in the doorway by a livid Ward Cameron.

"How long?" Ward asked as he tried to keep his voice even, despite the way his body shook with pure anger. He had one daughter running around on The Cut, a son stealing from him to pay for his drug habit, and now his other daughter - his baby - was sleeping with that drug dealer.

What had he done wrong?

"Since I got home from school. Rafe introduced us at a party." She replied softly, avoiding her father's gaze.

"Are you snorting that shit like Rafe is?" Ward asked, his voice just a whisper and terrified.

"No, dad. I'm not. I swear. It's not like that with Barry. He likes me. He likes me a lot, and we're just hanging out together." She replied quickly as she reached for her father, her hands on his wrists that hung at his sides.

"But you're sleeping with him." Ward scoffed with a glare down at her. So tiny. Just like her mother. Everything about her reminded him of his first wife.

"I...I mean, yes. We're sleeping together. I go and visit him, and he comes over here sometimes." She nodded with a squeeze of his wrists.

"T.C, he comes here? To my house?" Ward glared down at his daughter.

"Dad, I -"

"I can't look at you right now." Ward grumbled as he pulled his wrists from her grip, rubbed his face and walked out of her bedroom, down the hall to his office.

"Shit." She whispered, pushing her hands through her hair. She walked back into her room, over to her desk and grabbed her bag. She walked over to her window, slid it open as quietly as she could and climbed out.

The knock at Barry's door was a surprise. He was expecting no visitors. He slowly raised his body up from the tattered couch, grabbed his gun from the waistband of his pants and walked cautiously to the front door.

"What you want?" He yelled, gun raised.

"It's me, you ass." Her sad voice sobbed back with a slam of her fist against the door once again.

"Fuck." Barry sighed as he reached for the several locking mechanisms on his door and let her in.

"What the fuck did you say to my dad!" She cried with a push of his strong chest.

Barry stood in the doorway and took each hit to the chest. He knew he may have overstepped a boundary or two that night, telling Ward Cameron he was sleeping with his daughter. But, he didn't like to have people come up to his home uninvited, telling him what to do and who to see. So he bit back.

"Stop. Listen to me. He came over here with your brother in the car, tossed money at me and told me to stop selling to Rafe." Barry muttered as he grabbed her wrists then held them against his chest to keep her close.

"And what did you say?" She struggled in his arms and looked up at him with those eyes that were all Cameron. He wished he didn't like them so much.

"I told him that was fine, but he might have an issue keeping his little girl out of my bed." Barry replied with a slight smirk, his gold tooth taking hold of his bottom lip.

"That isn't funny, Barry." She pouted up at him as she struggled to pull her wrists from his grip.

"It's a little funny."

"My dad is livid, Barry! Rafe is holed up in bedroom doing and thinking who knows what. And I - " She pulled her wrists from his grasp and stepped into his small home, beginning to pace.

"They ain't an issue for you anymore. Rafe's tab is paid, and now Big Daddy Cameron knows about us. So, I don't know what's got your panties in such a twist. But you should take them off if they're bothering you so much." Barry muttered as he ran his fingertips over his top lip, and leaned against the door frame as he watched her.

"No. I'm mad at you." She whispered as she crossed her arms over her chest, looking at him with a furrowed brow.

"Nipples say otherwise." Barry muttered with a point to her chest, pushed up under her forearms.

"Don't!" She whined as she covered her breasts from his view.

She was mad at him. It was the first time in the few weeks they had been dating she had felt angry with him. She scowled as she looked him up then down as he stayed leaned up against the door frame. The both of them challenging the other to make the first move.

"Well, are you staying the night or did you just come to yell at me and flash your nipples in my fucking face?" Barry grunted as he pushed himself off the door frame and slowly made his way towards the back of the house, slipping his gun back in the waistband of his pants.

"They aren't in your face." She mumbled but followed him towards his bedroom with a shuffle of her feet.

Barry sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the gun from the waistband of his pants and placing it delicately on his nightstand. He spread his knees and beckoned her over with a wave of his hand.

"I'm mad at you." She stated with her arms crossed over her chest still, looking him over. She did as instructed, though, walking over to his slowly and stood between his knees.

"Well. I don't wanna be mad at you." Barry replied as he placed his hands on her hips to pull her against his chest.

"You shouldn't have said those things to my dad, Barry." She whispered as she uncrossed her arms and placed her palms on his shoulders.

"I was right, wasn't I? You busted out the house and now you're here with me, ain't you?" Barry grinned up at her as his fingertips pushed up the hem of her shirt to touch her skin, still warm from her bike ride over.

"Well, yeah. But that doesn't mean you have to say it to my dad. Asshole." She pouted as she slapped his chest playfully before she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I could have said way worse shit to him than that. Like how you liked to be tied up." Barry chuckled as he placed his hands on her backside and raised his eyebrows at her. He grabbed at her elbows, lifting her arms from around his neck and held her arms behind her back.

"Barry." She whined as she dropped her forehead to his.

"Guess I'll save that one for next time." Barry muttered as he kept his grip on her arms behind her back strong, but leaned in to press his lips to hers.

"Be nice to me." She pouted against his lips as she struggled weakly in his grip.

"No. You gotta make up for your dad coming in and fucking up my night." Barry smirked as he held her wrists behind her back with one hand as the other reached to the front of her shirt, pushing it beneath her breasts.

"I knew you had a daddy kink, Barry. But if you wanna fuck my dad that's a deal breaker for me." She grinned as she squirmed in his grip.

"Get on your hands and knees. Tiny Cameron." Barry growled as he let her wrists go and slapped her backside firmly.

"Ow! Fuck you." She whined as she crawled over his lap and onto the bed.

"About time." Barry mumbled as he stood up, turning the face the bed to see her back arched the way liked. He ran his thumb over his top lip and smiled softly to himself.

He wasn't going to stop selling to Rafe Cameron, that was something Rafe had to decide for himself. And he certainly wasn't going to stop seeing or sleeping with the girl currently in his bed, wiggling her ass at him for his attention.

Ward Cameron would have to kill him first.

Hottie List: @starkey-babie @sodasback @fashion-fasting @barrysjumpsuit @beauvibaby @professional-busboy @soph0864 @vinniehcker

*tag list still open if you'd like to be added - just let me know! Please let me know what you think if you have a moment! Thank you so much! xoxo

Requests for OBX ARE OPEN!

[knightofameris]

naturally — sugawara koushi

✎ gender. uhm neutral? ✎ contains. mutual pining, childhood friends, reader is a manager, also reader has a lot of anxiety when it comes to relationships, not beta read ✎ wc. 1.6k

✎ summary. the time you were thankfully wrong in your assumptions.

✎ ameris’ notes. i came back just to post this because this is my favorite piece I’ve written so far on this blog i think. also noticed many writers deactivating ;—; and just a lack of content (esp for suga). i was originally going to post this when i came back fully along with everything else but this is fine. (i will reply to all messages later <3 thank you everyone for your kind words)

also tried a different writing style for this,,,

i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it. ♡ 

previous title: i thought we already were [i still suck at titles this might still change]

You couldn’t help but slam your head against your desk. Ennoshita sighed at your predicament when it came to the crush you had on your upperclassman, Sugawara Koushi. Except, to you he was so much more. Not in just the fact that he was your crush but he’s been someone you’ve known for almost your entire life. 

“What if he doesn’t like me, Ennoshita,” you cried into your arms, not able to take the heartbreak that could come with Sugawara rejecting your feelings and your 10+ year friendship turning to dogshit. 

Ennoshita tapped his fingers against the desk, “I don’t think he’d break off your friendship just like that even if he didn’t. And if he doesn’t like you I personally give you permission to murder myself and-or Tanaka, your choice.” 

In a different class at the time, Tanaka sneezed in the middle of eating his sandwich. 

At this point, Ennoshita, and every other club member, was tired. Even Sugawara would shrug when Daichi asked him in the clubroom what was going on between him and you. Asahi, the one who was possibly the most oblivious when it came to people pining for another, was even frustrated at how the two of you would dance around each other. 

“Why don’t you just ask them out?” Asahi asked Sugawara. In the middle of changing, Sugawara stopped in thought, his shirt barely on. 

“Hmm, I don’t want to ask them before they’re ready,” Sugawara answered simply, sliding his shirt on over his head. 

It was a rough life being friends with both you and Sugawara. 

It was sort of sweet though, no? The fact that Sugawara wanted to wait till you were ready. He knew about your anxieties when it came to relationships. It wasn’t that your past relationships were bad, per se, but rather any time you’d enter one the anxieties just came through. Sometimes it’d be insecurities or suddenly the red flags would pop up. It was as if entering the relationship made you realize how much of a terrible person the other was. 

You didn’t want that for Koushi. So he’d wait, wait till you’re comfortable to talk things out. But he will admit that it is maybe a little frustrating some days. 

Especially, especially, the days when you’re closer than usually. Physically. Emotionally.

Some days you’d find yourself lying in Koushi’s bed after finishing a bit of homework. He’d be sitting on the floor at the table, still working the last few problems. You’d both have a small conversation, something to fill the room while he finished up. Then he’d crawl into bed, next to you. 

“Just like when we were kids, right?” He’d grin at you, and you couldn’t help the way you felt your cheeks heat up. 

“Yeah, just like when we were kids,” you’d reply and reach out for his hands, shifting to lay on your side. Koushi doing the same and inching even closer to you. He’d bring your hands up to chest level, playing with your fingers just like he’d do when the two of you were younger. 

And then the two of you would fall asleep. His arm draped over your waist, pulling you close into his chest with your legs tangled with his. 

You always fell asleep last, always so anxious about the whole ordeal. It’s different sleeping and cuddling together when you’re older compared to when you were both younger. 

When you were younger it was just platonic feelings. And now that you’re both older and know about romantic feelings, well, something bloomed between the two of you. 

Before you’d fall asleep you’d stare up at his soft face, your fingers slightly hovering over his face and especially over the beauty mark that you loved so much. He was no longer embarrassed about it like he used to be (because of you and your adoration for it). Then your hand would return back to resting on his chest and you’d nuzzle your head into him as well. 

Koushi’s breathing always soothed you; it was deep and heavy. Always peaceful as you watched his chest rise and fall. You nuzzled your face into him even deeper if it was possible, your fingers lightly tapping against his sturdy chest. 

He smelled a bit like lavender. It was subtle, sweet and calming. There were a few other scents too but they weren’t overbearing and never quite lingered in your nose like the lavender scent. And whenever you think about him, you just think of Koushi’s lavender scent as well as how he smelled like home. 

Home. 

Yeah, being with him felt like home. Even when—no—especially when your own home didn’t feel like home. You felt comfortable with him, like it was you and him versus the world. This felt natural, normal. 

The lingering glances, the subtle touches. 

I think it was safe to say that you’re in love. You felt stupid for saying so, even thinking so. You are in high school, barely seventeen as a second year. People would always cringe when high schoolers said they were in love. 

But no one can invalidate your feelings. Only you knew what you felt and no one could say otherwise. 

You’re in love with Sugawara Koushi and it didn’t scare you. 

You’re in love with Sugawara Koushi and it comforted you. 

You knew him better than you knew yourself and you were sure he felt the same about you, knowing you well, I mean. You still weren’t sure if he returned your feelings. 

That’s how you found yourself outside his house, standing in front of him. Sugawara stared at you, head tilted with confusion since usually the two of you would just head in to get started on homework. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his hand reaching for yours. He called out for you again, your name gracing his lips. His thumb rubbed small circles on the back of your hand and you looked down off to the side, scared and unsure. 

“I-uhm,” your heart felt like it was going to leap out of your throat. Speaking was hard, and god you don’t think you could stare up at him while you confessed your feelings. 

Rip it off like a bandaid. Just rip it off like a bandaid. Just. Rip it off! LIKE A—

With closed eyes and your hand clasping around his, you stuttered out, “I-I-uh-I really like you Koushi! It’s-It’s fine if you don’t, y’know, feel the same. I just-I just had to tell you.” 

You pursed your lips and the small caresses on the back of your hand stopped. Good thing you planned to do this before entering into his house. Now you could just book it home. But then he laughed and his hand holding yours tightened back before you could run off; as if he knew you were going to do so. 

You just confessed to Sugawara Koushi and he’s laughing. You felt like crying, honestly. 

But Koushi was laughing because he was relieved. Relieved that he didn’t have to hold back anymore, that he no longer had to wait. Koushi had wanted you to make the first move because he already knew you liked him. He just wanted you to feel comfortable enough with your feelings before anything else happened. 

All of the soft touches, the cuddling, the approaching you from behind and hugging you as you do manager work, Koushi let happen naturally. Because they were natural. It’s not like you didn’t do it back. 

Whenever he’d be on break, drinking water he’d find your arms wrapped around his torso no matter how sweaty he was. Or on bus rides to practice matches or to the Sendai gym for games the two of you would sit next to each other and one of you would always fall asleep with your head resting against the other’s shoulder. 

And you know, maybe Koushi was partially laughing at the fact that you couldn’t tell he likes you back. He thought it was obvious at least. 

“Wh-what are you laughing about Koushi!” You pouted, tears slightly gathering at the corner of your eyes out of anxiety and fear of rejection. 

“No, no, nothing bad, you’re so cute,” he sighed out, a smile apparent on his face as he took a step closer to you. “It’s just that-” he gestures with his free hand back and forth between you and himself “-I thought you knew I liked you. Because I knew you liked me. And with how we’ve been cuddling and—”

“Ah!” You shouted, lightly hitting his chest with your free hand. He let out an ‘oof’ before you placed your head against his chest out of embarrassment. You felt his chest reverberate as he laughed, his other hand coming up to rest on the top of your head, his fingers drawing soothing circles on your scalp. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, your voice muffled against his chest. Koushi sighed, the corners of his lips tugging upwards. 

“I thought we already were, y’know, together? I just wasn’t too sure,” Koushi replied. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable either. Wanted to wait till you were comfortable.”

“What if I never was?”

“I’d wait forever then.” 

You huffed against his chest, wrapping your other arm around him, the hand holding his tightening. Koushi set his arm around your back, pulling you in closer as he turned to place his cheek against your head. 

“You’re cheesy, Kou.” y

“Only for you.” He turned his head to kiss the crown of yours before laying his cheek against you once more. “Now let’s go inside, get some homework done and cuddle some more.”

“I hate you.” 

Koushi hummed, being the first to pull away, holding your hand tightly to walk towards his house, “Whatever you say. I know you don’t.” 

✎ ameris’ notes. a scene straight from my and my friends’ self-ship AU that I thought could work well as a reader-insert LOL. shifted it around so that their characters (themself?) don’t appear. actually well, it’s not really straight from it. i haven’t written this part in the AU but i wanted to write it anyway hahdfkjhakjfh LOL i tried my best not to make reader too much like myself, i only used part of the reason for relationship anxiety of mine looool. 

[unmaskedagain]

Tattered Remains of Broken Dreams (Yours, not Mine)

This is based off a prompt I came across. It’s a one-shot. @virgil-is-a-cutie​ and @thyladyanput​. Hope you two like lit.

The pieces were scattered across her desk. Marinette had known something was up the moment she stepped into the classroom. Everyone had gone quiet. A few had glared at her. Some had snickered. And they all watched as she walked to her desk.

Nathanial had tried to wave her down; shaking his head with sorrow in his eyes. He had gotten there a few minutes before she did.

It took her a few seconds to recognize what the torn pieces of what had been weeks of hard work.

Once she realized what it was, Marinette wondered if it made her a bad person that she wanted to smile. Because while she honestly wanted to feel bad, all she felt was a relief. Like ten tons of weight had just been lifted from her shoulders.

Marinette looked at her desk, pulled out her phone, took a picture, and then sent several texts.

Then she shrugged, tossed the mess into a nearby trashcan, and pulled out a fresh sketchbook.

The other students, the ones who had waited for a reaction, were stunned. Where were the tears? The rage? Anything?

“Don’t you care?” Alya yelled, frustrated with her ex-bestie. “Your sketchbook was destroyed.”

           Marinette glanced up at her, “No. A sketchbook was destroyed. My sketchbook with all my worthwhile designs in safely locked away at my house. You all,” She looked around the classroom; memorizing every face.  Lila looked particularly bewildered because she had wanted to see the Asian girl cry. “ Destroyed my school sketchbook; the one I use for school-related events designs from various classmates, plans for birthday parties, and the like.”

“But you worked so hard,” Rose said.

           Mylene nodded, “You worked in it every day for months.”

“Yeah, it sucks,” Marinette shrugged. “For you.”

           That got everyone’s attention.

“What do you mean for us, Dudette?” Nino asked.

           Marinette sighed, “The sketchbook was filled with all the projects that were either requested by people in this room or were for people in this room. By destroying it, I can no longer do any of those projects,” She explained. “I did it in my free time. As my main work schedule is full of commission I’m actually being paid for. I don’t have time to redesign or remake those sketches. So I sent texts to Bustier, Luka, and anyone else involved that I can no longer work on their specific project.”

           The other students blinked.

           Marinette rolled her eyes, “That means I can’t do the costumes for the school play,”  Mylene and Sabrina gasped. “No new outfits for Kitty Section.” Rose and the other members of the band got tears in their eyes. “I can’t do the set design for Nino’s next gig.” The boy in questioned paled as he had been counting on Marinette’s design skills to wow the crowd. “The new design layout for the Ladyblog is canceled.” Alya clenched her fists. “The costume for Mylene’s short film is too. I had to back out of the school fundraiser. Let the Coach know I can no longer do any banner work. Or design the new team uniforms.” Alix and Kim’s mouths dropped. “Max’s Game-Con costume is out of the question now.” Max visibly deflated. “Ivan’s mom’s gift for her birthday is out too; pity that dress was so beautiful.” Ivan gasped. “I can plan any birthday parties or make custom cakes. The charity work you wanted my help with, I can’t do. My idea for the school trip to New York city is canceled as all my contacts and trip itinerary ideas are gone. I let Bustier know that I’ll be too busy to be class president so she’ll have to assign someone else the role. The dresses for the school dance you girls requested, I can’t do anymore.” She shrugged again. “Oh well.”

“But, but, Luka!” Juleka cried, worried about how her brother will react.

           Rose was crying. So was Mylene.

“Can’t you redo it,” Sabrina asked. “The drama department was counting on us.”

           Marinette narrowed her eyes. Us? Sabrina nor anyone else had lifted a finger to help Marinette come up with idea for the costumes for the school play. “Afraid not. There’s not enough time; to resketch everything and then actually make it. I have to focus on the designs I’m being actually being paid for. They come first.”

           Alix slammed her hands on the table, “We only did it because you were bullying Lila!”

           There were nods.

“Yeah, girl,” Alya said. “We just wanted you to know what being bullied was like. We didn’t know our stuff was in there.”

“First I never bullied Lila,” Marinette said and before anyone could protest, she continued. “Second of all, I was bullied by Chloe for years, why would you think I would ever bully anyone else,” She looked directly at Nino when she asked this. Her childhood friend. His eyes widened and he looked away. “Lastly, why should I go to the trouble and take time out of my already swamped schedule to redesign projects I did for you that you destroyed. The way I see it, it’s your own fault.”

           The entire class went silent again. Each mind weighing the consequences of their actions.

“Nathanial,” Marinette said. The redhead boy looked up. “You don’ t have to worry. You paid for your work; it was a commission. It will arrive on schedule; even if I have to work all night for a week to redo it.”

           Nathanial’s face lit up, “Thank you, Marc’s going to love it.”

“You’re redoing his work,” Alya screeched. “That’s not fair.”

“I didn’t destroy all her hard work, so yes it is,” Nathaniel snapped back at the girl before Marinette could. “Not only that but I paid for my stuff. Something none of you have ever even offered to do.”

           Some of the other students looked ashamed. It was true.

“They were custom made designs,” Marinette explained. “Any other designer would make you pay hundreds for all that works. Thousands, if it was a fully trained professional, right Adrien?”

           Adrien swallowed hard. He hadn’t been involved in actively destroying the bluenette’s sketchbook but he hadn’t stopped it either. The blond nodded, “My father would charge a lot. His last custom piece was sold for five grand, and it was just a simple pants suit.”

“What about your mom, Chloe?” Marinette asked the blond who had arrived mere seconds after Marinette and had stayed by the door to watch the fireworks.

Chloe gave the class a vindictive smirk, “For the dresses for the school dance, fifteen hundred dollars apiece; more if she had to hand sow them herself. For the rest of the work, combined, may be less than twenty grand if she cut you a deal. Anyway between ten and fifteen grand when she was still at Marinette’s level. Shame.”

Marinette shook her head, “Fifteen thousand dollars of work you were going to get for free, gone.”

Most of her classmates' faces had drained of color at the price, at realization of how big of a screw up they made. They had no idea just how much work Marinette did.

Lila was seething because it would be too hard to turn this around.

“I’m sorry,” Rose rushed to say. “We’re sorry.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Marinette shrugged. “There’s nothing to do. And now that I know that there are people in this class who can’t keep their hands to themselves, all free commissions are now canceled.” Gasps filled the room. “From now on, if you want some work done; you’ll go to my website and request a consultation like all my other customers. Keep in mind, for custom designs, depending the size of the job, you’ll have to book anywhere between a month and six months in advance. Www.MDC-designs.com.”

           Chloe walked to the back of the classroom and sat down next to the Bluenette, “You’re still doing my dress for the dance, though right?”

“Chloe, you did a consult a year early and paid well in advance,” Marinette smiled. “You’re dress is done. You can do your final fitting anytime.”

           Miss Bustier walked into class with a smile that quickly turned to a frown at the sight of Marinette, “Oh Marinette, I was so sad when you told me you had to back out of being class president and planning the school trip and, well, so many other things. You had such wonderful ideas. How on earth you got us on the list for a tour of Stark Industries, the Gotham times, Marvel Studios, and Vogue; I’ll never know. It’s a pity that can’t happen now. All canceled, you said?” The teacher shook her head. Totally unaware of the sheer horror her words at unleashed in her students. “It’s a shame about what happened to your sketchbook. Do you have any idea what happened?”

           Marinette just leaned back in her chair, “Not a clue.”

           That time, she smirked.

           The new few weeks were horrible for the students of Miss Bustier’s class. As they all scrambled to design, plan, and actually make/do their own projects.

           Sabrina and Mylene had realized quickly they had no designing skills and were forced to tell the drama department that the promised costumes weren’t coming. Aurora, leader of the Drama club, and Marinette s friend had heard about what happened from Nathianal and spread the news to the other club members. Most were artists too and knew they would’ve died if something like that were happening. The ones that weren’t couldn’t believe they had been getting all that for free and a bunch of idiots ruined it.

           Alix and Kim found themselves participating in a lot more school fundraisers to raise money for the new uniforms and to pay for all the team trips to the away games.

           Luka had been disappointed in his bandmates and his sister and had threatened to go solo.

           Alya was forced to do more babysitting to help pay for new website design and a dress for the dance.

           Nino had no clue just how hard the set design was. And ended up nearly causing a fire at his gig.

           Lila had no clue on where to start for planning a trip as fabulous as the one Bustier made Marinette’s sound.

           Birthdays went without cake, had only cheap decorations from the store, and immaculate gift that had come to be expected every year.

           The entire class, apart from three, felt the pressure of planning the school dance, fundraising for the field trips, affording their dresses for the dance, on top of all their other many after school activities.

           No one would bother to mention just how badly their actual school work suffered; there was barely any time to study for tests or do their homework. Grades dropped. Parents were furious.

           Alix nearly lost her spot on the team. Kim did lose his spot until his grades were brought back up. Alya was forced to stop her work with the Ladyblog until her grade improved. Nino’s parents forbid him from doing any more gigs. Mylene’s dad stopped her movie work altogether. Sabrina’s dad just straight up grounded his daughter so she could have time to relax and study when she had the time. Ivan’s mom actually started tutoring him. Max’s grades didn’t drop but his stress levels increased so much his parents pulled him out of all his extracurriculars.

           Luka had no choice but to go solo as his bandmates rarely showed up for practice. It was fine, though, Marinette got Jagged to work with him on a demo album. In exchange for a new few new pieces of wardrobe…

           For Fang.

           It got so bad even the headstrong Alya burst into tears at the pressure one day. The stress was too much. Some kids found themselves constantly being late, never getting enough sleep, and were constantly worried and checking their phone just in case something went wrong And somehow something always went wrong. A few kids started having anxiety attacks. Relationships and friendship suffered as no one had time to talk or spend any time together as foretime was a rarity. Mylene and Ivan broke up. So did Nino and Alya, who got into a fight so bad in front of the school, that Nino left in tears.

           Hawkmoth had a field day with it all. Until he started noticing all the akumas came from his son’s class, and that his son was looking too good either. Gabriel Agrest may be a heartless son of a bitch but he wasn’t a complete monster.

           …Plus the Akumas were all worthless anyway. Most were sleep akuma who just put people to sleep. A couple was literally dedicated to forcing people to plan their days better. There was an akuma that literally made everyone around them feel less stressful. Ladybug didn’t even bother to show up defeat that one. Hawkmoth just pulled it back eventually.

           Marinette watched it all; not with joy or happiness as her classmates' misery, just a sense of relief that for once it wasn’t her. Everyone noticed how Marinette was nearly never late anymore. She glowed with all the sleep she was finally making up. Her grades while never anything less than good improved dramatically. Her parents were happy their daughter was so much more relaxed and happier. It was like she was a new person.

           She even found she had more time to not only design stuff for herself but actually make it. Her dress for the school dance was going to be amazing.

           …If there was a school dance. With the way, things were going and the miserable looks of her ex-friends face when anyone brought it up, there was a good chance there wouldn’t be one.

           A week after Marinette had that thought, the school play was canceled. Some sports teams were forced to forfeit away games due to budgeting issues; losing their number one spot.

           It wasn’t long after that Rose came up to Marinette’s lunch table. Chloe and Nathaniel eyed the pixie-cut blond with suspicion.

“I’m sorry,” Rose whispered. “I didn’t know how much you did. How hard you worked. You did so much for us, and we never even realized. You must think we’re monsters.”

           Marinette shook her head, “. I still don’t understand why you would do something so horrible as destroying my private property but I think don’t your monsters. Just not very good friends,” She frowned. “Not friends at all, actually”

           Rose winced at the truthful words. Now that she didn’t have time to hang off Lila’s every word, it was easy to hear just how ridiculous all her stories were. She nodded, “I requested a consult on your website. Based on your prices, I think I finally enough money for an MDC original dress for the school dance.”

           So someone in class could learn. Most of the class still muttered under their breaths whenever Marinette walked by. Not willing to take the blame for their own mistakes. Though she did see Alya casting her pitiful glances every now and then as if Marinette would suddenly take mercy and start doing everything for the class again.

“I’m glad to hear,” Marinette smiled. “I think you’ll look great in a lovely turquoise; really make those eyes pop.”

[soldrawss]

Ok, this morning I opened Tumblr, found your blog, started checking all your rottmnt tagged posts, found your big brother Mikey AU, CRIED FOR ALMOST AN HOUR as I red every post about it, drooled all over your gorgeous art, smiled like a crazy person reading all your Human AU posts, got up with the sun in my chest and more energy than I know what to do with and have been productive since then. I don’t know what to ask (or if you take asks) but I crave more infos about your big brother Mikey AU❤️

WOAH OK this was such an incredibly sweet ask and I’m SO HAPPY that my BBM au could bring you so much joy and ahhhh!!! Just thank you so much, this ask made my night <3 Here’s one of the many little stories I’ve written for the AU that I’ve sent to my friend @zacharandom (thanks for always reading my little emotional blurbs about these kiddos Zach~) Enjoy!

(I haven’t gotten into it yet (I will, it’s a separate ask I’m working on) But Leatherhead is a BIG part of the BBM au. Zach had asked if any of the kiddos had ever been to LH’s place, since LH always stays over at the Hamato’s, and I said yes, but only Donnie, and then this mini fic was born.)    Donnie and Mikey get into a 'fight'. And I say 'fight' because Donnie doesn't really know what else to call it. Because he doesn't pick fights, not really, not with Mikey. He doesn't go looking for them with Mikey like he does with Leo. Leo, who can take the worst of Donnie’s shitty teenage attitude and come out of it alright, wearing the worst of Donnie’s temper and anger like a bulletproof vest. Donnie can afford to hurt Leo cause Leo won't break because of it. He's safe to hurt. But it's different with Mikey. Mikey, who's so tired he can barely stand straight most days. Who has bags under his eyes like dark stickers, that not even doe-eyed and ever adoring Raph can peel away. And Donnie KNOWS better than to pick a fight with Mikey about it, it was mostly why he was trying to avoid the conversation altogether. Why he had hidden all the school letters and hacked into Mikey's phone to block all the emails and texts and phone calls from the school about it. He didn't expect Mikey to run into one of his teachers after work and basically blow everything Donnies worked so hard to avoid. He didn't want to skip a few grades. He didn't care what his teachers or his GPA said. He didn't CARE if they thought he was ‘wasting his potential’. He wasn't, and they had no right to complain about it to his big brother like they did. Donnie had TOLD Mikey that he didn't want to. Had gone all the extra lengths to take as many of the AP classes the adjacent high school offered, bargained and pleaded and BEGGED them. He’d do whatever it took, but he didn't want to move grades. He didn't want to quit the robotics club. He didn't want to go to school with a bunch of kids older than him and be the butt end of every baby freshmen joke in the book. He didn't want to be separated from Leo. He really, really, really didn't. And he had explained this all to Mikey. And he knew that Mikey KNEW this. But the teachers wouldn't stop hounding him, and Mikey was already so tired anyway, the weight of the world always seemed to be a weighted pressure on his shoulders that looked physical, with the way Mikey’s whole body sagged. Like every move he made was a conscious effort and pain. Donnie knew this, and he still yelled at Mikey about it anyway. And Mikey didn't yell back, cause Mikey never yelled back at them, but his voice was stern and tired and it just begged Donnie to at least consider talking about it. But Donnie’s 13, and the biggest jerk in the world because he doesn't want to talk about it anymore. And Mikey didn't deserve the one sided shouting match that was all Donnie, he didn't deserve the pointed "I can't believe you would take THEIR side, you NEVER listen to me!" And Mikey DEFINITELY didn't deserve the front door slamming in his face, the last words Donnie said hanging in the air behind him. "I HATE IT HERE!" It wasn't raining, but there was a misty cold hanging in the November air as Donnie sat at an empty park bench, somewhere in Flushing, feeling like the biggest loser in the world the second he ran away and oh,,, oh God. He ran AWAY. How could he run away? He didn't want to run away! He didn't want to run away from anything, especially if it was away from Mikey. Mikey, who deserved more than Donnie’s cold shoulder and heated words, but took it anyway, and he didn't even flinch as Donnie practically screamed at him. He just looked tired. More tired than ever. And accepted Donnie’s temper tantrum like he accepted every other bad thing that has ever happened to him. Like he thought he deserved it. And he was sad. Sad in a way that made Donnie want to throw up. Because he was one of the people who were NEVER supposed to hurt Mikey like that. But he did. He did and he ran away like a little kid and he felt so STUPID about it, jumping on the first bus he could and taking it to God knows what neighborhood and now he was sitting alone on some random park bench, the November cold sinking into his skin and thin shirt cause he didn't have the mind to grab a jacket on his way out and GOD what was he doing? He was cold and alone and probably lost and Mikey probably hated him and now- "Donatello?" Came a voice from behind Donnie, and Donnie whirled around on the park bench because he'd recognize that low and gentle voice anywhere and... Yup. There he was. Lieven Heather, or Leatherhead as Mikey always affectionately called him, standing tall and curious like. His long black hair pulled into a low bun, his green eyes leaf-like and bright, piercing through the dark park like fireflies, looking at Donnie like he was searching for an answer before he got the chance to ask the question and WOAH was Donnie not the emotional type, but he could have cried when he saw the familiar face.

Actually, he was already crying before, but crying because you’re happy to see someone and crying because you’re a jerk to your big brother are two completely different types of emotions, and Donnie tried to hide it either way by rubbing at his face with the back of his wrist. LH’s namesake leather jacket is HUGE on Donnie, but the 12 year old takes it without a fight because LH does NOT look like he's willing to negotiate, as he holds a bag of groceries in one hand and holds an umbrella over the both of them in the other, saying that his apartment is just a few blocks away, and it'd be best to get out of the cold. The tall man doesn't press Donnie for details, doesn't ask why his friend's kid brother is out at 8pm on a school night, all the way on the other side of the city, eyes red with something between tempered anger and grief and skin pale with November cold. Donnie is thankful for it. He doesn't feel like explaining himself quite yet. The second hand hurt from before is still raw in his chest, and even though he knows he's the one at fault, he can't really shake off the sinking black hole feeling in his chest. So the 10-minute walk is mostly silent. LH lives in a grey bricked building, on the third floor, and his apartment is exactly what Donnie would expect if he really thought hard about it. It was a simple studio, minimalist and uncluttered, but that seemed more because the place felt untouched rather than because LH was a particularly clean guy. All the electronics on in the kitchen where stainless steel and spotless, Donnie half suspected they were untouched because of the garbage can filled with dollar store Ramen noodle cups and forks in the sink. His grey walls were bare, and he didn't have a TV,  but there was a large bookshelf that covered the expanse of one wall, filled to the brim with thick books that looked like they belonged in the reference section of a library. There was a little queen-sized bed shoved in the corner, neatly made, and looked rarely slept in. The only sign of life in the little apartment that felt much too small for the nearly 7-foot man was the little desk that sat beside the bed, which was covered in astrophysics textbooks, notebooks filled with scribbled notes and a few orange study note cards that had Donnie's older brother written (metaphorically) all over them. Lh motioned to the chair at the desk with a nodded, "you can sit there if you want. I'll make some Valerian tea." "Valerian tea?" "Helps with stress." "I'm not stressed." "Right, of course not. Still tastes good." And Donnie doesn't really like tea, he'd much prefer coffee, or one of the energy drinks Leo sneaks him during school lunches because Mikey doesn’t buy them, but he knows better than to ask for that. He knew about LH’s anxiety disorder and underlying PTSD, from a past that Donnie didn't know any details about except from snippets he'd overhear here and there from the hushed late-night conversations LH and Mikey would have when they thought that Leo and Donnie and Raph were asleep, and he knew that caffeine wasn't something LH indulged in often because of it. The tea tastes fine though. It's hot, and burns his throat a little, but Donnie doesn't care enough to wait for it to cool down to enjoy it. Because it hurts, and Donnie figures he kinda deserves the pain. It's after a few quiet minutes, Donnie sitting at LH’s desk while LH leans against his kitchen counter, that Donnie reaches for a courage he doesn't usually possess and tells LH everything.

About the extra AP classes, and the nosey teachers, and the way it feels a bit too suffocating trying to be everything everyone wants him to be.

And how it all feels too lonely. He barely remembers his mom. He’s starting to forget dad. Mikey works all the time and Raph goes to a completely different school. If he moves up a few grades, then he loses Leo too. And he just can’t deal with that. He can’t deal with everyone, some way or another, leaving him. And how in some, backward, twisted way, it sometimes feels like people are trying to get rid of him. And he just can’t take it anymore. Donnie likes LH. He's smart and collective and cool and he's super nice to Mikey and he’s pretty much everything that Donnie wants to be when he grows up. And he's friends with LH. LH gives him pointers on his science projects and he teaches Leo how to punch a bully like its nothing and he's patient and understanding and helpful with Raph's temper and he's a godsend of a friend the Hamato clan didn't know they could afford after April had came into their lives and Donnie LIKES Lh. But he didn't think they were good enough friends for Donnie to deserve THIS. LH listened to him patiently and quietly. Nodding at the appropriate moments in Donnie’s tearful and half-hysterical rambling about his school and his GPA and how he didn't mean to take it out on Mikey and he didn't mean to run away but GOD he was so sick of everyone looking down on him like a little kid and like HE didn't know what was best for him and didn't have a choice in deciding HIS future. And he expects LH to get mad at him too, cause he was Mikey’s friend first before Donnie’s, and Donnie YELLED at Mikey, and Donnie WASNT going to sob like a child about it, but his head lowers and there's a stupid stinging in his eyes and he sniffs once or twice anyway when he mutters "God, I'm so stupid. Mikey probably hates me right now and is so mad at me." And he can hear LH sigh, and put his own cup of tea down, before walking over to where Donnie sat and crouching before his chair. "That's funny you think that, because when I texted him earlier, he sounded nothing short of scared out of his mind and relieved." "You texted him???" "Well yeah, of course. He called me shortly after you ran out, singing the same tune you are about how you're so mad at him and he didn’t mean to fight with you and that you probably hate him. That’s probably the only reason I even saw you, I wouldn't have known to look out for you if he hadn't told me to keep a lookout for you." And that, woah, Donnie felt a million times worse now because of COURSE, he didn't hate Mikey! Donnie wasn't even MAD at him. He was just being a stupid stubborn teen who took out all his frustrations and insecurities on the last person in the world who deserved it and boy oh boy, this whole thing was so stupid anyway.

“How about he finish our tea, wait for you to get a little bit warmed up first, and then get you back home so that you can tell everything you just told me to your brother. Because I think we both know how much he’d want to hear how you truly felt about this situation.”

And that... that sounded good. Because after his entire mini-rant, it felt like a shadow had been cleared from over Donnie’s heart, and now he wanted nothing more than to go home and hug his big brother for all his worth and apologize about a million and half times. Maybe more. Donnie hadn’t decided yet.

After they had finished their cup of tea, and LH had given Donnie one of his warmer college sweaters to wear before they took the subway back to the Hamato residence, where Mikey stood in front of the building, red-cheeked and shivering from the cold in a giant puff jacket and pajama bottoms, waiting for them.

Donnie didn't even wait, he ran the second he saw the familiar orange jacket that belonged to one of his favorite people on the planet and broke into a breakneck sprint, colliding into his older brother’s chest and waiting arms, and breaking into a choked cough when Mikey’s arms instantly wrapped around him like he always belonged there.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to run away!" Donnie rushed to say because he didn't want a second to go by without Mikey knowing that, but Mikey was already running a gentle hand through his hair and hushing into the crown of his head.

"Shhhh, shhhh it's ok, buddy. I know. I'm just glad you're home." And Mikey still had bags like bruises under his eyes, and looked on the point of breaking if Donnie hugged him too tightly, but he still smiled at Donnie with all the affection and warmth of the world when they pulled away, and Donnie couldn't fight the urge to spit out, "I don't hate it here! And I don't hate you. Ever! I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry Mikey." And Mikey replied with a soft smile and an "I know, kiddo. It’s ok." But there was relief like a balloon losing helium in his eyes and shoulders, like he would have believed differently if Donnie hadn't said anything, and Donnie made the promise there and then that he’d do everything in his power to make sure Mikey never thought that way, even for a second, again. LH hadn't stayed over for the pizza movie night that Mikey offered as a silent ‘thanks for bringing my kid home’, so Mikey and Donnie saw him off at the subway station, and made the few blocks back to their waiting apartment and waiting little brothers with their arms around each other in a side hug. Neither one of them wanting to let each other out of their grasps. And there had been a promise to talk about it later, because Donnie was feeling a little more up for negotiation even though Mikey swore up and down that he’d back whatever Donnie decided to do 110%, but it could wait till another day, when both of their nerves and hearts weren't so tender and raw with emotion. Tonight, they would just sink into the weathered old couch that was softened by a million quilts, and out on a Mothra vs Godzilla movie, and squeeze themselves between an over-excited Raph, who couldn't stay still and just HAD to act out all the Godzilla fight scenes, and a relaxed Leo, who sprawled his legs over Donnie's lap despite Donnie complaining about it, but Donnie didn't make any effort to push him away because Leo kept keeping a wary and watchful eye on his two older brothers, probably knowing more about both sides than either one of them, and keeping his legs over Donnie was half for familiarity and half to keep him from jumping up and running out again and huh, maybe he wasn’t so relaxed after all. Guess Donnie had more than a million and a half apologies to make. Better round it off to a good 2 million, just to be safe. Because Donnie couldn't rightly blame him for keeping a careful eye out, but Donnie had learned his lesson. He wasn't running away again. He wasn't running anywhere if it was away from his brothers. Away from the only family he’s ever had. Because donnie was stubborn and stuck in his ways. And he wasn't going to quit the robotics club, and he wasn't going to skip grades and he wasn't going to leave Leo behind and he wasn't going to be left behind. Donnie wasn’t going to run away. Because Donnie wasnt going anywhere.

(one of the doodles I did for this particular story)

[genevievemd]

I posted 4,744 times in 2021

3064 posts created (65%)

1680 posts reblogged (35%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.5 posts.

I added 5,696 tags in 2021

#asked and answered - 1669 posts

#anonymous - 1136 posts

#ethan ramsey x mc - 607 posts

#ethan x gen - 599 posts

#open heart - 455 posts

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#the year between - 239 posts

#oph replay - 204 posts

#oh fic rec - 193 posts

Longest Tag: 135 characters

#these mfs are pushing 30 and 40 and have yet to have any serious concrete conversation about their future ..... its really embarrassing

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Evermore (3/3)

Book: Open Heart 3 Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Genevieve McClure) Word Count: 4,753 Rating: T Category: Angst, mini series wip, partially Ethan POV Trope(s): and they broke up, mutual pining

Summary: Leland forces Ethan and MC apart, will they find a way back to each other or be lost forever.

Warnings: A couple curse words but nothing else. 

A/N: Here we are, my friends, at the end of the angsty journey. Thank you for all the support and love you’ve given this mini series. I wish I could give you all the biggest hugs. 

Here’s hoping you enjoy the end and don’t want to murder me lol

Also, I need to give @gryffindordaughterofathena the biggest shoutout because I changed the end of this series like 4 times and everytime she was there to help me sort it all out and make it work and give me ideas. This fic would be nothing without her. I love you to the moon and back, Dri. 

Part 1 ~ Part 2

Thursday, December 9th, 12:19pm

It’s been two weeks since he learned of Genevieve’s moment in the supply closet, since she saw him leave with Addy and cried because of him. 

Another fracture to her heart that he’s unintentionally caused. 

He half wishes Sarah hadn’t told him, he hasn’t been able to think about anything else. Every time he sees Genevieve, he pictures her in the dark closet. Heartbroken and alone.

It seems like she’s always crying because of him. Every frown, every tear, every bruise on her heart in the last four months has been caused by him. 

All because he was too blind to see that she was right, a life with together was worth the risk. 

He rolls his neck as he leans back in his chair, eyes drifting towards the framed photo on his desk. A candid shot from the Hopeful Hearts Gala taken by Sienna. It’s one of his favorites, a private moment forever frozen in time. Ethan could’ve happily lived in that blissful few minutes for the rest of his life, holding Gen in his arms as they shared one final dance for the evening. 

There had been many moments that year, where he realized he never wanted to let her go, never wanted to spend another day without her in his arms. 

And here they were, almost a year later, and he’s without her. Whatever promises they had made for the future, whether they were said aloud or not, have been broken. But when he pictures what he wants for the rest of his life, any and every version is entangled with her. Without question, or hesitation.

Ethan stands from the desk, quickly making his way to the administration floor before he has time to second guess his decision. Gen may never take him back, this may all be for naught, but whatever the outcome, he’s putting an end to Leland’s threat once and for all. 

He steps out of the elevator, not bothering to check with Leland’s secretary before barging into his ostentatious office. 

“We need to talk.” Ethan slams the door shut behind him, the force of it rattling the picture on the wall. 

“What is so important that you couldn’t bother to make an appointment.” 

“Dr. McClure. Take your threat off the table.” 

Leland scoffs, condescension marking his face as he rolls his eyes. “Last I checked, Dr. Ramsey, this was my hospital, and you work for me.” 

“And it would be nothing if not for me and my team.” Ethan steps closer, fury scorching through his veins. “You claim she makes me unfocused, distracted, but I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” He takes another step, watching as the older man leans back in his chair, “I’ve been in love with Dr. McClure for years.” The words leave his mouth with ease, no longer afraid to admit that she’s owned his heart for as long as he’s known her. 

“What?”

“When we first took your case, when you pitted my team against Kenmore, I was in love with her. You never had a clue, did you?”

“No.” Leland shakes his head, his eyes avoiding Ethan’s stone cold expression. 

“And when you brought Caroline in eight months ago, I was in love with Gen. More than I was when we first crossed paths. And again, you hadn’t a clue.” He takes another step, calculated and intimidating, “What you and Caroline are going through, I went through with Genevieve. That entire day, solving your wife’s case, I pushed down every urge I had to touch Gen. To hold her and so did she, because we had a job to do. A job we both do damn well.”

“What’s your point, Ramsey.”

“My point is that your threat is baseless and tyrannical. You’re running a hospital not a dictatorship and I won’t sit back and let it happen for a minute longer. Take your goddamn ultimatum off the table.” 

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151 notes • Posted 2021-02-09 08:36:11 GMT

#4

Their Forever

Book: Open Heart Third Year Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Genevieve McClure) Word Count: 1327 Rating: G Category: fluff, domesitc bliss  Trope(s): and one of them cooks, and there was a bit of hurt/comfort

Summary: Ethan had a terrible day, and MC surprises him with dinner.

No Warnings

A/N: Follow up to Day 46 of Genevieve’s 101 Days of Smiles. But you don’t need to see the edit to enjoy the fic. As this is just Ethan’s reaction to Gen’s surprise of cooking him dinner. So... Enjoy the fluff and an extra pictagram edit at the end (below tag lists). Because I had no chill today.

Also, as always, a shoutout to the absolute queen that is @gryffindordaughterofathena​, the best beta and brain twin. 

He reads her text again as he enters the elevator of his building, mentally preparing himself for whatever surprise Genevieve has in store for him. On any other night, her entirely too loud and peppy personality is endearing. But not tonight. After the absolute train wreck of a day he’s had, all Ethan wants is a glass of scotch and silence. 

He sighs as he exits the elevator, fishing his keys out of his pockets as he makes it to his front door. The faintest smile appears as he hears Gen on the other side of the door, excitedly alerting Jenner that he’s home. 

Ethan attempts to open it, only to have it thrown open a second later with Gen on the other side. He feels the days tension fall away just the slightest bit at the sight of her, hair in a messy bun with more than a few strands loose, wearing his Hopkins sweatshirt and leggings. 

“Hi.” It’s all he can muster in his brief state of shock. 

“Hi!” Gen smiles brightly, grabbing his arm to pull him inside. “This is for you and I’ll take these.” She hands him the glass of scotch while taking his briefcase and jacket from him, setting them down by the door. “Now follow me.” 

Ethan takes her hand, letting her lead him to the living room with an eyebrow raised. 

“Sit.” 

He does as he’s told, a soft smile on his face as he takes in the array of food and wine on the coffee table. “What’s all this?” 

“Your surprise. You, my love, are to do nothing but sit here and relax. There’s red wine, I made sure to get your favorite, and a fancy cheese board.” 

“Charcuterie Board.” 

“Same thing.” She waves her hand dismissively, causing Ethan to smirk. “Dinner is almost ready.” Gen leans down to kiss him, an all too brief touch for his liking before loosening his tie. “Stay there. Don’t move a muscle.” 

He watches her trot back to the kitchen and though she told him to not move, he’s powerless to do anything but follow her. 

“You didn’t have to do all this, Gen.” 

“I told you to stay on the couch.” She swats at him playfully when he’s at her side. “And yes, I did.” 

She turns off the stove, taking the pot off the burner before turning to him, placing her hand on his chest with a soft smile. “Today was a crap day. You’re always doing things for me, taking care of me and making my bad days better. I wanted to do the same for you.” She shrugs, walking to the cabinet to grab plates. “So I made you dinner and lit some candles. Oh, I also took Jenner for his walk so he should be good for the night. And I even made dessert. Tonight your only job is -“ 

Ethan puts his glass down, walking to her side in one quick stride, cupping her cheeks in his hands before cutting her off with a kiss. He smiles against her lips as she sighs, holding onto his arms as the surprise of his actions wears off. He holds her for a second more before slowing pulling away, committing her starry eyed expression to memory. 

He hopes she never loses that look. The one of pure and overwhelming joy.

“I love you.” His thumbs brush against her cheekbones, smiling softly as her hands come around his waist. 

“I love you.” Gen leans up on the tips of her toes, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Go back to the couch.” 

“Yes dear.” 

Reluctantly, he lets her go, grabbing his glass from the counter and walking back to the living room. 

He slumps back on the couch, taking off his tie completely as he watches her plate their dinner. 

“Now fair warning, I am nowhere near as good a cook as you. So you’re getting pasta and I didn’t have time to make a homemade red sauce.” Gen walks back to him, balancing a plate in each hand. “So it’s jar sauce, but the one you had in the pantry and I added to it a bit to make it less, you know, plebeian.” 

“It’s perfect.” Ethan takes a dish from her, leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead. 

See the full post

151 notes • Posted 2021-02-18 06:49:56 GMT

#3

Champagne Problems

Book: Post Open Heart: Third Year Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Genevieve McClure), Ethan Ramsey x OC (Camila Ellington) Word Count: 1243 Rating: G Category: angst Trope(s): 

Summary: She has every intention of rekindling her relationship with Ethan Ramsey, but is faced with a heartbreaking discovering. Her lost love, is engaged. 

No Warnings

A/N: I have nothing to say, other than it’s inspired by Taylor Swift’s song “Champagne Problems”... also thank you @gryffindordaughterofathena​ for rereading this for me, you’re the best and I love you. 

It’s been years since she’d stepped foot in Massachusetts, let alone Boston. She had almost forgotten how hectic it could be. It was nowhere near the level of chaos that erupted daily in New York, but it was by no means a quiet city. 

The Friday night crowds congested the sidewalks, loud with laughter and drunken antics. But it does little to mask the voices in her head, the whispers of heartache. She only ever thinks of one thing when she lands here. 

Ethan Ramsey. 

Her one that got away. 

Letting him go was the biggest mistake she’d ever made and there isn’t a day when she doesn’t think of him. Where she doesn’t long for his touch, miss the deep blue of his eyes, the way he’d laugh at her ridiculous jokes. 

He was her perfect match and her younger self had foolishly let him slip right through her fingers. 

But she’s made a vow this time, to not leave the city until she sees him again and perhaps fix her broken heart and get him back.

The bright lights of Edenbrook twinkle in the distance, her eyes darting to what she believes is the seventh floor. He’s probably there now, working late into the night, just as she does in New York. They always had the same work ethic, studious and determined. Doing whatever it took to reach the top, to solve medicine’s biggest questions. 

They were a perfect match that way. 

She could go there now, take a leap of faith instead of waiting until after her meeting at Solomon Kenmore. But it’s late, and although she’s half sure Ethan is there, it’s better to wait until work hours. She turns to the bar at her right, the fluorescent sign glowing against the brick building. 

Donahue’s. 

She takes a breath, turning to open the door. Drink tonight and focus on getting Ethan back tomorrow. 

The bar is subdued compared to the streets, the patrons all lost in their conversations. It’s not dissimilar to the doctor’s watering hole in New York, just as dingy and dark. Her eyes scan across the bar, looking for a secluded corner to sit and perhaps wallow in her misery, but instead they land on broad shoulders sitting at the bar top. 

It’s unmistakably Ethan, even with his back turned to her, she’d recognize him anywhere. She watches him turn in his stool, eyes down casted to the phone in his hands. He’s still as gorgeous as he was all that time ago and she thinks for a moment it’s fate that they’re both in the bar. Just as she was thinking of him, there he was. He looks up and their eyes meet. 

Or at least, for a brief moment she thinks so, until there’s a breeze from the door and a young woman walks in beside her. It’s evident in the way his eyes light up that he was looking at bar’s newest guest and not herself. 

She watches the blonde walk up to Ethan, throw her arms around his neck and lean in to kiss him with practiced ease. There’s something in the way his arms wrap tightly around the blonde that breaks her heart. He isn’t single, there’s most likely no hope in her endeavors, but something in her pulls her towards the couple. Curiosity, perhaps. Or a last ditch effort to keep her dream of getting him back alive. 

“Ethan?” Her voice sounds nervous and shaky, so out of character it startles her. 

He and the blonde turn to her, confusion on both of their faces. And it hits her that Ethan doesn’t recognize her at all. 

She had thought of such an outcome, after all the years that have passed, but the reality is more painful than she had anticipated. “Camila Ellington, from Hopkins.” 

“Oh, yes. I didn’t realize. Pardon me.” He loosens his grip on the younger woman but doesn’t let her go. “What are you doing in Boston?” 

“I’m consulting at Solomon Kenmore. I was hoping to run into you actually.” Her eyes drift from his face to his companion on their own fruition. “It’s been so long.” 

“It has.” His voice is apathetic, his expression unreadable. 

“Hi, I’m Genevieve McClure.” The young woman extends her hand, her smile so warm and welcoming. Like sunshine manifested into a human being, almost the exact opposite of Ethan. “I work with Ethan on the diagnostics team.” 

“It’s nice to meet you.” Camila takes her hand, eyes drawn almost magnetically to the woman’s left hand. “Oh, are you- You’re engaged?” 

She points to the ring on the blonde’s slender finger, watching as her green eyes light up and she looks over at Ethan. 

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158 notes • Posted 2021-03-16 07:12:59 GMT

#2

Nowhere Left to Run (1/3)

The Truth

Book: Open Heart: Third Year Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Genevieve McClure) Word Count: 2142 Rating: T Category: angst, mini series, wip Trope(s): and there was a bit of hurt/comfort, and they were fighting, and there was a confession

Summary: MC’s ex comes to Boston, throwing her seemingly perfect life into unbalance. 

Warnings: mentions of past emotional abuse

A/N: Ya’ll said “give us a fic where Gen tells Ethan about her ex” and then “Give us a fic where Ethan runs into Gen’s ex and gives him hell.” And then I said.... but what if I put those together and make it a whole thing. 

Tada, another 3 part mini series 

This part starts out super angsty and it hurts. A lot. And then its less angsty, but still hurts.

Enjoy. 

Thunder rolls and crackles outside the walls of the building. Even from inside the elevator, Genevieve can hear the storm rage on. 

It’s almost poetic, the way the skies opened up and turned black the second her heart, and mind, was thrust into a storm of their own. 

She was hoping to have more time, keep Ethan in a state of blissful ignorance for as long as she could. But the truth has found her. Ryan, has found her. 

Gen had gone almost three years without his presence, both physically and mentally. Her life in Boston a far cry from the horrors Ryan had put her through. It was easy for her to push him into the darkest corner of her soul and never let him free. 

But he was here now, in her safe place. The four minutes she unwillingly spent with him in the hospital wreaking havoc on her seemingly perfect existence. Tearing her apart with a practiced ease. Pushing her inward and away from the shelter she’d forged with Ethan. 

The one man who has always put her first, who she loved more than anything, the one no part of her deserved. 

And now there’s no escape, no corners left to hide in. She has to tell Ethan the entire story, start to finish, and face the consequences. 

Face the prospect of a life without him. A life Ryan had no problem reminding her that she didn’t deserve.

With a heavy breath, Gen unlocks the door, the apartment dark as she makes her way inside. The only light from the constant sparks of lightning and the lamp on the end table. Ethan is standing at the window, arms crossed as he looks down at the street below. An almost empty glass of scotch in his hand. 

Cautiously, Gen walks into the living room, hoping to whatever divine force there is that Ethan’s in his current pensive state for reasons not pertaining to her. 

“I know you’re hiding something.” He doesn’t turn around to face her, instead keeping his eyes trained on the rain soaked ground below. 

“Well, hello to you, too.” Genevieve tries her best to keep her voice steady, to hide the panic rising in her throat.

He knows. Of course, he knows. 

“I saw you in the atrium, Genevieve. Heard you, actually.” Ethan finally turns around, throwing back the last sip of scotch before placing the glass down on the coffee table. 

“What do you mean?” She tries desperately to keep a straight face, to mask the pain she feels. 

“Really?” 

Another rapid succession of lightning illuminates the apartment, casting shadows Gen desperately wishes would swallow her whole. 

“How much did you hear?” 

“Enough.” It’s clear by the hurt in his voice that he already has an idea of what’s going on, as wrong as it may be. 

“It’s not… I’m not…” 

“There’s only one explanation for you telling another man that he can’t be in the hospital because I’m there. In the tone that you spoke in.” 

See the full post

170 notes • Posted 2021-04-03 03:02:08 GMT

#1

The Diamond

Book: Open Heart: Third Year Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Genevieve McClure) Word Count: 740 Rating: T (to be safe) Category: fluff, nothing but pure fluff Trope(s):

Summary: MC and Ethan come home from a charity gala, and the night takes a surprising turn. (aka the man proposes) 

No Warnings

A/N: Here we are, the very last post of 101 Smiles. I love you guys so much, thank you for helping to create this amazing universe.

And without further ado, the story of how Ethan proposed to Gen on Day 101. 

Also, for non-smile world peeps, you don’t need any that to enjoy this. It’s literally just a proposal fic. 

He’s been kissing her since they got in the elevator, lighthearted but breathtaking nonetheless. Like he can’t get enough of her, like every second their lips aren’t touching is a fate worse than death. 

And she knows the feeling, every kiss with him still feels precious. Even after all this time, two years since their first kiss on a Miami balcony, every second with him feels more perfect than the last. 

He pushes her against the apartment door, their lips still fused together as he fishes for the keys. Somehow, he unlocks it without missing a beat, catching her waist as she loses balance when the door swings open. 

They share a laugh, muffled in the nonexistent space between them, as Ethan closes the door with his foot. His hands finding refuge in her hair as he walks them further into the moonlit apartment. 

“We should hydrate, otherwise we’ll be hungover tomorrow.” 

“Good idea.” He mumbles against her, words almost lost in the way he keeps kissing her. 

“Also I need these shoes off my feet.” 

“I can think of a few other things you can take off, too.” 

“Shoes first, water second.” 

He lifts her with ease, her laughter getting lost in his kiss as they make it to the kitchen. He places her on the kitchen island, reaching down to take off her shoes as his lips move to her neck. 

“Ethan,” She hears her shoes being thrown somewhere out of the way, feels his hands run a path up her legs. “Hang on.” 

“Is something wrong?” His carefree nature is gone in a second, face twisted in concern as he leaves the refuge he’d found in her neck. 

“No. I just…” Genevieve reaches forward, hands on his cheeks as she smiles at him. “I’m just really happy that I have you.” 

“You know,” He mirrors her actions, bringing his hands to her face with a soft smile, “There was a time when I couldn’t make sense of what we were becoming, what you meant to me, but now, you’re the only thing that makes sense.” 

He looks at her with such reverence. His eyes a shade lighter than they were a few moments ago, a brilliant blue like the ocean when the sun catches it just right. His love for her so deep and clear in the way he looks at her. 

It knocks the wind out of her, leaving her just as breathless as his kiss but somehow so different. 

Feeling more loved in that moment than he’s ever made her feel before, as if she is his sun, moon and stars- the very essence of his soul. The start and end of his universe. 

She leans forward to kiss him again when he steps away, “What?” 

“I -“ Ethan takes a deep breath, tracing every line of her face, “Stay here. Don’t move.” 

He retreats from the kitchen, with a haste she’s never seen before. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Just stay right there. Don’t move.” His voice echoes across the still dark apartment, his shadowed figure appearing a few moments later. 

“What was that about?” 

See the full post

172 notes • Posted 2021-04-13 16:01:16 GMT

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[nano--raptor]

A Very Good Read

Pairing: Professor! Charles Blackwood x Reader

Words: 1925

Warnings: Filthy smut! Professor kink, fingering, sex, dirty talk, cursing, the c-word, fucking Charles Blackwood, I mean, he should have a warning on his own.... 

A/N: Charles Blackwood Day!! Written for @the-ss-horniest-book-club​ Back to School week, sorry not sorry, but I can’t not write filth for Mr. Blackwood. Er, sorry, Professor Blackwood. Enjoy and thank you for reading!😘

-----

Swallowing your nerves you knocked on the door, taking a deep breath, and waiting. After a moment the door swung open and you were greeted by Professor Blackwood’s stern face.

“You're late.” 

Without waiting for your reply he turned and walked away, leaving you scrambling in the doorway. You shut the door behind you and hurried over to him, stopping a few feet away while he stood by his desk with his back turned to you. Your heart was pounding in your ears and you tried to calm it, taking another deep breath and slowly letting it out. After another beat, you broke the silence.

“I’m sorry Professor, but I’ve brought back the book you lent to me.” Professor Blackwood, Charles, looked over his shoulder at you and slowly turned around. His face was unreadable, his cool, blue-grey eyes boring into yours. You wanted to look away, but you knew it’d be better for you if you didn’t. After a few nerve-wracking moments, the corners of his mouth lifted into something of a smile, though the tone of his voice didn’t quite match.

“Excellent. Did you enjoy it?”

“I thought it was… exquisite.” Charles smiled then, a smug expression, taking pride in you as his student.

“I knew you would enjoy it. Not everyone has the aptitude to understand such literature.”

Charles was your Foreign Language and Literature teacher, his courses were challenging enough on their own, not to mention the fact that he himself was an absolute feast for the eyes and a major distraction. Since the first day he’d walked into the lecture hall you had been thirsting over him. Watching his movements as he walked back and forth in front of the class made your mouth water, and the low timbre of his voice often sent chills through you. It was melodic yet authoritative, and from day one you wanted nothing more than to hear how it sounded growled into your ear. 

Your suspicions that he’d noticed you too were confirmed the first time you’d visited his office; he’d fucked you over the back of the leather couch along the bookcases. He always said you were one of his best students, his assignments were trying, but you excelled at writing, and your highest grades were in his class. You were pretty sure he wasn’t giving you good grades for your extra curricular activities, if anything, he was harder on you for it. Both when grading and when you visited his office.

Charles removed his suit jacket and hung it over the back of a chair, loosening the buttons at his cuffs as he slowly walked towards you. His voice was low and husky already, and the sound of it made your panties hopelessly wet.

“So, what did you learn.”

“Well, I was actually thinking of compiling my thoughts into a paper, if you’d be interested?” Charles hummed, not meeting your gaze, stepping closer still. He stopped close enough that a weaker-willed person would have taken a step backwards, but you knew better than to shy away from him while you were here. He reached out and fingered the edge of the fabric of your sweater, caressing the fibers between his thumb and fingers. The way they moved so nimbly made your mouth feel dry, you’d felt them in your pussy before and now you ached for them again.

“On top of your other assignments?” You nodded, even though he wasn’t looking. After a moment he snapped his gaze to yours, eyes narrowed slightly and you swallowed nervously.

“Yes sir, I’d be happy to.” He took another step towards you and this time you did step backwards, again and again until he had you backed up against his desk. He smirked then, reaching his hand up and brushing a finger surprisingly gently over your jaw.

“Well, if you’re sure you can handle it, then, yes, I would be interested to see.” A smile spread across your own face now and you looked up at him through your lashes. “I assure you, Professor, I can handle it.” You nibbled your lip, hoping he’d cave and touch you, knowing you could handle him and not at all worried about adding another paper to your to-do list. Charles hummed and stepped closer still, until his body was pressed against yours. You whimpered quietly, you could feel all of him, the heat coming off of him, the hardness of his body and of course his now-prominent erection, pressing against you. Charles caged you in, bracing his hands on the desk on either side of you.

“If you’re sure about that, kitten, then I have no reason to doubt you.” The pet name sent a shiver through you, and you reached up, your fingers gently wrapping around his tie. You ran your hand up the length of it, then slowly loosened it at the base of his throat, tugging on it ever so gently. Charles’ mouth was inches from yours, you could feel his breath on your face, the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air between you until he was kissing you, and you let yourself melt into him.

One strong, warm hand reached under your sweater and rested at the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, and you clutched at the collar of his shirt, gently undoing the top buttons, wanting to get your hands on his skin. Once you got past the top few Charles suddenly pulled away, leaving you gasping. He gave you that damned smirk again, undoing his tie completely and gesturing to your clothes.

“Take ‘em off, doll.” You nibbled your lip, the sight of his swollen lips and slightly open, disheveled shirt making you feel hot and needy. You put on a bit of a show for him as you lifted your sweater above your head, stripping it off and dropping it to the floor. Slowly, you undid the button of your jeans, turning slightly, to give Charles a nice view of your ass as you slid your jeans down over your hips and down your legs. Stepping out of them, you stood before him in just your lace bra and panites, and his eyes flashed hungrily as he looked you up and down. “How’d you describe that book again?” You smiled, softly answering him with a breathy voice as he stepped towards you again.

“Exquisite.”

He hummed softly in agreeance, and soon he was grasping your hips, leaning in to nip at the tender skin of your neck. Your gasps filled the air, and once again you lifted your hands to his shirt, undoing the rest of the buttons and pushing it off his shoulders.

Charles growled then, taking your lips in a possessive kiss, tugging on the bottom one, before stepping back and slowly unbuckling his belt. He opened his pants and pulled out his cock, pumping it a few times and smirking at the lust in your eyes, captivated by the precum beading of the tip.

“Turn around sweet thing,” he smirked, and you did as you were told, looking back over your shoulder at him as he gripped your hips again, fingering the waistband of your panties. A hand at the small of your back encouraged you to bend over, and kept pressing you down until you laid your cheek against the cool wood of his desk. Then, you felt the hard heat of him against your pussy, feeling how wet you were through your underwear. You whimpered, wanting more, needing his cock against your bare heat, and you wiggled your ass back and forth.

A sharp smack to your ass made you yelp, then Charles was rubbing the sting, his voice a low rumble that you swore made you wetter.

"Quiet."

Breathing out the quietest whimper, you stilled, squeezing your eyes shut as Charles pressed his hard length against your ass. You felt it throb and thought you might lose your mind.

"Professor, please." A quiet plea, and you felt his fingertips around your panties again. Slipping his fingers beneath the band, he dragged them down, agonizingly slow, over your ass and down your legs. He hummed again, placing a kiss on your lower back, trailing his fingers back up your thighs, swiping them right through your soaking folds.

"Oh kitten, so fucking wet for me, just dripping, you're a mess already, aren't you?" You nodded, biting your lip as he easily slid two slender fingers inside you. "Mmm, does that feel good? I bet you'd rather drench my cock wouldn't you?" You felt like you could sob with how badly you wanted him.

"Yes sir, Professor, please, I want your cock so badly." Charles hummed again, slowly dragging his fingers in and out, then pulling them out completely, leaving you clenching around nothing. He then dragged his cock through your juices and you wanted to gush all over him the second he pushed into you. Slowly, Charles slid his entire length into your heat, bottoming out and holding for a moment, savoring the feeling. Then he pulled out and slammed back in, nearly punching you into a white hot state of bliss. You cried out and tried to spread your legs wider, wanting him as deep within you as he could go. He folded over you, growling in your ear just like you dreamed about.

"You like that? You like my cock pounding into your pussy like that?" The words sounded absolutely filthy coming out of his usually-very-proper mouth, and you mewled beneath him, angling your hips up to meet his as best you could.

"Yes! I love your cock, I love when you fuck me on your desk," your voice trailed off into a whine, your cries becoming more desperate as he fucked you harder, panting above you. Soon his rhythm started to falter, but his words didn't.

"Are you gonna come all over me, you naughty thing, soak this cock and drip on my floor?" He reached between your legs to brush a finger against your clit and you screamed his name as it quickly pushed you over the edge, flooding his cock and his fingers just like he wanted. With a few more thrusts he followed you, your cries and fluttering around him making him spill his white hot release deep inside your cunt. He collapsed over your back, smacking your ass again, groaning when it made your walls clench again.

The office was silent for a while, save for the sounds of your heavy breathing, both trying to catch your breath. A whimper left your throat as Charles pulled out, immediately feeling your combined juices run down your legs. He chuckled at the sight, stepping away to redress himself. You bent to grab your discarded clothes, sticking your soaked and ruined panties in your purse with a smirk. As you pulled your clothes back on, you turned to face your professor, who was buttoning his shirt and tucking it back into his slacks.

“Well done, as always sweetheart.” He looked satisfied, and as calm and relaxed as ever. Apparently your study breaks were good for both of you. “My pleasure sir.” You licked your lips, still feeling heated and flushed, but the feeling of him still lingering all over you made you shiver.

“Do keep me updated about that paper, I’m very interested to know what you think.” His eyes said more than his words, though lust in them was fading, but you returned his smile, eager for your next visit to his office.

-----

Tags! ❤️ @sfreeborn​ @jobean12-blog​ @crushedbyhyperbole​ @mannatgalhotra​ @bubbabarnes @buckysthing​ @marvelgirl7​ @ikaris-whore​ @aesthetical-bucky​​ @littleredstarfish​ @godofplumsandthunder​ @winterboobear11​ @stuckyinamoose​ @our-whitetulips-us​ @throwmyheartawayagain​ @cristie24​ @jesslovesyouall @my-own-private-library​ @hawksmagnolia​ @peaceinourtime82​ @infinity-saga​ @kenzieam​ @sallycanwait68​ @hailmary-yramliah​ @ballyhoobarnes​ @earthworthies​ @tinymalscoffee​ @this-kitten-is-smitten​ @buckosawrus​ @thefandomimagines​ @Kianifan @skkye​ @dark-academics-and-florals​ @buckysbunny​ @buckys-henley​ @rebekahdawkins​  @wearemisunderstoodlove​ @mrsbarneswillseeyounow​ @palaiasaurus64​

[trillian-anders]

therapy

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings:  angst, fluff, mental illness, eventual smut && SPOILERS 

word count: 16k 

description: part 4 of 5. SPOILERS; DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE FILM -- ransom’s therapy sessions during the assitant && four christmases and a little bit beyond.

note: so this took me forever and i was originally going to write couples therapy at the end, but it just didn’t flow as nicely. i’m probably only going to write one more part for this, but i hope you guys enjoy it. honestly. i’m writing this for you. 

session #1

“Court mandated therapy,” He scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest. “What a fucking joke.” He looked across the dining table at you, noticing how you were growing impatient. This whole situation, you moving in and encroaching on his bachelor pad, the house arrest, was fucking annoying. And now therapy. Your jaw twitched in annoyance, a tell tale sign he knew well.

“You’re getting off easy,” you would remind him, “I’m taking your punishment after all.” Taking his punishment, sure, and getting paid almost 210k a year to do it. There’s no sympathy there. You’re getting your money and his life goes on, almost, as normal. 

To be fair he was pretty fond of you. You were the only consistent thing in his life for the past two years as much as he’d hate to admit it, nothing would get done if you weren’t around. Not a damn thing. He’d never tell you that though. Especially not now when you’re rearranging his unused study for use of him and the therapist who would be arriving soon, setting out water, a couple snacks, and optimistically tissues.

“Just in case.” You told him. Ransom doesn’t cry. He remembers the last time he really cried, like really cried and it was when he was a kid. His father had laid into him for playing with his novelty golf clubs. Screaming, red faced, spittle landed on his own hot cheeks. 

He shook his head to rid himself of the memory. 

“I don’t want to do this.” He sounded like a child, whining. He knew. But to be fair, he really didn’t want to fucking do this. He watched you walk away towards the kitchen to clean up what you’d made for lunch. You’d only lived with him for a week, but it was longer than any other woman had ever stayed with him. 

It was strange. 

He felt his cock twitch in his pants as he stared at your ass while you wiped down the counter, catching crumbs. You hated him, he knew. Not completely, which he also knew, but enough that you’d never fuck him. Why would you want to?

He couldn’t resist, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you rinse the rag off in the sink. “You can tell them I’m sick, can’t come down.” Muffled into her shoulder. He really sounded like a child now, Mommy please make the bad guy go away, I don’t want to see him.

“This could be really good for you Ransom.” Her damp hands covering yours. “Go get changed, he’ll be here soon.” He was still in his gym clothes, sweat ring dried around his neck. He was sure he smelled pretty foul too, about thirty minutes later and a quick jerk in the shower left him a little more relaxed than before. 

The man was older, bald, glasses. He looked like he just stepped off the screen typecast as a therapist in a psych ward. Tweed. So much tweed. He started a tape recorder, “My name is Henry Dowd.” You had greeted Dr. Dowd with a pleasant smile and shook his hand. Ransom had immediately felt a vein of envy, you’d never smiled at him like that. “I’m fifty-seven years old, I’ve been practicing for just about 25 years now—“

“Fantastic doc,” Ransom sunk back into his chair, “Listen, what do I have to pay you to make you go away?” The Doctor froze, adjusting his glasses before leaning back in his own chair. 

“Do you often use money to eliminate things that make your life uncomfortable?” Of course he did. He immediately thought of you, sitting not more than twenty feet away probably unironically watching Forensic Files on the couch while folding his laundry. 

“I don’t need therapy.” Ransom scoffed, “C’mon.” He smirked at the Doctor, “You don’t wanna make this drive every week just like I don’t wanna sit in this room and whine to you about my problems.” 

“So are you admitting you have problems?” The Doctor asked, fingers meeting his chin. 

Ransom didn’t like this guy. Fuck this guy. Ransom stared at him in silence for a minute.

“What’s your plan here Doc?” Legs spread wide, sunk in the armchair, Ransom mimicked studying the man just as he was studying Ransom. 

“Hopefully we will discuss what in your life led you to murdering someone simply because you weren’t going to get you allowance anymore.” The Doctor was slick. He said it with an air of superiority. 

Fuck this guy. 

“You wanna know?” Ransom asked, sitting up and leaning forward in his seat. “You really wanna know why I murdered her [Fran]?” 

The Doctor’s eyebrow raised.

“She didn’t tuck in the corners of my sheets how I like em.” Ransom smirked. 

The Doctor hummed in response, taking a notepad and scribbling something down. 

“What’re you writing?” Ransom tried to peer at the legal pad in the man’s lap. Dowd lifted it away from his gaze. “This is fucking pointless.”

“Whether you like it or not I’ll be with you for an hour every Thursday for the next 104 weeks.” Dowd smiled, “Whether you take this seriously or not is up to you, but I’m sure someone as intelligent as you knows that you will get as good as you give. The whole reason for me being here is because you have no money, isn’t that correct?” Ransom’s jaw clenched. “So I’m not going to take your bribe, but you can go ahead and try next week if you’d like. Maybe between now and then you can think of something to talk about.” Dowd packed his belongings, shoving the tape recorder in a side pocket of his bag and scribbling once more on his legal pad before storing that too.

“That’s it?” Ransom looked at the clock. It had only been twenty minutes. Dowd smiled at him.

“I’m going to give your babysitter out there some homework for you in preparation for a week from today.” Dowd went to leave the room, “Let her know I’ll take a tea next time.” 

Ransom’s knuckles were white, fisted at his sides, he stood up from the chair a minute later, peeking out into the living room to watch you talk to the Doctor, a soft smile on your face. He wanted to hit him.

He wanted to hit him real fucking bad. 

He watched you gently place a hand on the Doctor’s arm and guide him from the house. “We’ll see you next week!” The door shut and the smile fell from your face, turning to meet his eyes in the doorway of the study. You let out a heavy sigh and rubbed your temples.

“You can’t try and bribe a court mandated therapist Ransom!” There was a fire in your eyes, it made his cock twitch. He had a brief thought about biting your bottom lip, “He can actually help you!” You continued as you approached, walking by him to clean up the snacks and water that went untouched.

“I don’t need help.” He claimed. You gave him a disbelieving look.

“You need help.” He felt his neck flush with anger. 

“Fuck you.” He watched as you walked away from him, not responding. “You need help. What kind of fucking person agrees to take someone’s house arrest huh?” He asked, following you into the kitchen. “You’ve got to have some kind of fucking issues doing something like that.” You’d slammed the tray on the counter, turning to look at him angrily. He was at half mast. 

“Why don’t you go out Ransom?” You seethed, “Go have a drink.” He could feel his face heat up, he’s not going to let you win this. 

“You know what?” He spat, “I think I will. I’m going to take my untethered ass out. Have fun sitting inside these four walls for the next two years you ungrateful bitch.” He could tell you were holding back, but he didn’t wait for the response, grabbing his coat and slamming the door on the way out. 

Later that night, drunk and speech slurring he slammed the body of a girl against your door. Rutting his sloppy hips against her panty clad core. 

He’s not going to let you sleep tonight. 

You didn’t deserve to.

session #8

“We can sit here for the entire hour in silence, just like all the others,” Dowd started, “Or you can choose to talk today.” Ransom wouldn’t meet his eyes. He was still pissed that you’d taken his phone so he couldn’t sit here and stare at it like he had been for the last few weeks. 

“He told me that you’re on your phone the entire time!” You had shouted, “It’s disrespectful.” He’d rolled his eyes heavily, “He’s gonna come back every week whether you do something or not.” You seemed brave. Your started putting your foot down more lately. Ransom wasn’t going to lie to himself and say he didn’t like it. 

He was itching to do something else, anything else. The beginning of the manuscript that sat open on the desk behind him and he was pretty pissed he’d been disturbed right when he started chapter six. He found that if he was stopped in the middle of a chapter it was hard to get back into the flow of it, the words pouring from his mind out onto the computer screen faster than he could keep up with. 

It was like being edged.

Ransom was into instant gratification. 

He could hear an old clock he’d taken from his Grandfather’s study ticking on the bookshelf to his left. 

“I see you’ve begun writing.” The Doctor offered, “Have you always thought about writing a novel?” Ransom’s jaw twitched. 

“No.” 

The Doctor gave him a forced smile. “Have you found it enjoyable so far?” This was a waste of time.

“Yes.” 

Scribbling.

“What is your book about?” Ransom smirked.

“Murder.” The Doctor hummed, 

“Following in your Grandfather's footsteps then?” Ransom studied the Doctor for a minute. 

“What did your Grandfather do?” He asked the man. The Doctor tapped his pen against the armrest. 

“He was a traveling salesman.” Dowd humored him. “Much more lucrative business before the internet and the home shopping network.” 

“Didn’t know I’d be good at it.” Ransom admitted gruffly, “You wouldn’t be a good salesman.” Dowd gave him a real smile.

“I would be a terrible salesman.” 

Silence for a few minutes more. The ticking of the clock driving an ice pick into Ransom’s brain. 

“Do you think he would be proud of you?” Dowd asked. “Your Grandfather?” 

Harlan wasn’t proud of anyone but himself.

Linda had built a real estate empire and he still wouldn’t give her the validation of knowing she’d done a good job. His last dying action was letting her know her husband was fucking someone else. What kind of father was that? 

Harlan wouldn’t have cared if Ransom had begun writing before his death. He would have dismissed him. Not even competition. 

Ransom scoffed at the man’s question, not answering. 

“So he wouldn’t?” Ransom felt uncomfortable now. He watched the guy out the corner of his eye lift the tea cup you’d gently placed beside him before they began and raise it to his lips. Ransom had let his guard down. The guy was playing with him. 

“His opinion doesn’t matter to me.” Ransom spat, eyes flickering over to the clock. They still had thirty minutes left. 

“Seems like it does.” The Doc rubbed his fingers together, thinking. “What was Harlan Thrombey like?” Ransom sucked his teeth, 

“Why? You a fan?” He laughed, his hand gestures to the bookshelf beside him. “I got a couple signed copies up there if you want one.” 

The Doc shook his head, “He must have been pretty distant. I’ve heard writers tend to be.” 

“You’re basing your analysis off of rumor?”

“Well, you’re a writer,” he smirked, “You’re plenty distant.” Ransom’s knuckles grew white at his sides, 

“I’m not my Grandfather.” He said.

“No,” Dowd assured him, “You’re not. But we all bear the scars of our own upbringing in one way or another.” The timer went off. 

“Time to go, doc.” Ransom stared at him as though daring him to continue, but he didn’t. He turned the tape recorder off and packed his bag as usual. Ransom didn’t raise to watch him leave, but he heard him through the open door thank you for the tea.

“We have a couple different kinds if you’d like something different next time.” He hated the sound of you being pleasant right now, especially to that man. The fucking prick. 

“No, no. It was perfectly fine thank you.” The door shutting and the quiet ramble of the tv. Ransom shot from his seat, walking to the bar cart he’d had you set up in his room, he poured himself two fingers of whiskey and shot it back before pouring four. 

He’d heard you clear your throat from the doorway, coming in to clean up the doctor’s empty teacup and his own untouched coffee. “How was your session?” You asked him. 

He felt heat creep up his neck. “Get out.” 

He could feel your eyes on his back, the rattling of the cups as you gathered them with one hand, your other coming to rest on the middle of his back. 

“Ransom, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” He slowly turned, taking a sip of his whiskey and grabbed your arm, the promise of never hurting you again that he’d made after his birthday dinner alerting him somewhere in the back of his mind. 

He attentively grabbed your arm in a soft grip, “Get out.” Whether it was a plea or demand he didn’t know. He held direct eye contact, your face held a flash of fear. Somewhere he would feel guilty about this. He’d released your arm and watched you walk from the room, casting him one more glance before he none to gently slammed the door behind you. 

Later that night he could swear he had alcohol poisoning. An angel had rolled him into his side as he’d vomited. She’d gotten him into bed, she’d even undressed him and was kind enough to leave a glass of water and two aspirin on his night stand. 

It must have been a dream, because his study was spotless the next day and the bottle of whiskey he’d sworn he’d reached the bottom of sat full on his bar cart. He looked over to you for a moment, hand holding the cup of coffee you’d wordlessly prepared for him, before entering his study and shutting the door.

It was your job, why would he be surprised that you’d done it? And why should he thank you?

session #12

“Let's talk about something else today.” Dowd started, “You’re not giving me much headway for your family so let’s talk about something you love talking about.” He gave a playful smirk, “Yourself.” 

Ransom rolled his eyes, cocking his head to the side looking at the Doctor across from him. The door had just shut and the prick was starting straight out the gate. It’s been four months and he hadn’t gotten anything out of this yet, other than being irritated and his monthly liquor consumption increasing exponentially. He’ll humor him. 

“Why not?” Ransom shrugged, sinking into his seat, resting his ankle on his knee. “Whatcha got Doc?”

“What did you like to do before the trial?” He asked, “Give me a day in the life.” Ransom traced his bottom lip with his tongue before starting. 

“I would wake up, go to the gym, come home, eat breakfast, watch some tv, go out with friends.” He shrugged. “The usual.” 

“Do you still have contact with these friends?” No. He didn’t. He jaw locked. 

“No.” The Doctor nodded. 

“So where does Y/N come into this day?” Ransom shifted in his seat. 

“She would work 9 am to 9 pm, Tuesday through Saturday.” He picked a piece of lint off of his pants. 

“And what does she do for you?” What do you not do for him? 

“Cook.” He stated. “Clean.” A smirk pulled across his lips, “Take out the trash.” By trash he meant whatever girl he brought home the night before a joke he loved but you hated,

“They’re real people with real feelings Ransom.” You would tell him.

“Does she do anything else?” Dowd asked. 

Ransom thought about the house arrest bracelet on your ankle, “She’s my assistant, so she does whatever I need her to.” He shrugged. 

“And how does she fit into your day?” Ransom shook his head, 

“She’s just there.” He gently bit the inside of his cheek. “She’s always just there.” The Doctor scribbled something into his notepad. 

“How long has she worked for you now?” 

“A little over two years.” Ransom fingered the handle of his coffee mug before decidedly bringing it up to his lips, he woefully realized that he could go for some whiskey in it. 

Next time, he assured himself. Next time. 

“Does she provide some stability for you?” The coffee mug clanged heavily on the end table next to him. 

“I’ve always had stability.” Lies. 

The Doctor took a sip of his tea, “But surely having companionship on a daily, consistent, basis must give you some comfort seeing as you no longer have contact with your friends.” It was jab wasn’t it. The friends not being there anymore. 

To be fair as soon as Ransom was arrested and the news of the will broke he's not surprisingly had no longer been invited out. His so called friends seemed to be surprisingly absent in his time of need, but he reasoned if it had been any of them in his situation he would have done the same. They all knew they were parasites sucking off of each other, he didn’t need them anyway. He’d found a new source. 

“Why are you making a big deal out of it?” Ransom snapped. “She works for me, that’s that.” The Doctor shrugged, 

“If that’s how you feel.” Ransom scoffed, shaking his head.

“It is.” It wasn’t. 

The two of you had been living together for four months now. He’d seen you wet from the shower. He knew what your perfume smelled like, distinctively. He figured he could pick you out of a crowd by scent alone. Everything you cooked tasted better than any food he’d ever had in his entire life. Sometimes when you were in an especially good mood you made these cookies with caramel in the middle and he’d eat three straight from the oven. Tongue being burned by molten caramel be damned. 

He found himself looking at you sometimes, like really looking at you. Your brows would pull in concentration as you read the pages he gave you. Watching how you always slowly clicked the pen cap, sometimes sticking the pen in your ponytail when you’d get up to go make yourself your second cup of coffee. You always had two. Every morning. 

He found himself not knowing why it mattered so much. Why your opinion mattered so much. His novel was almost finished but he had the feeling if you didn’t like it he would throw it straight into the garbage. Himself with it. 

There was something about it, the contact. You didn’t seem to mind so he began taking different liberties. It’d started with hugs. He cringed at the thought of him sitting in your living room when you still lived in that god awful apartment. The scent of the building a mix of different foods seeping through the walls that almost made him sick. He hadn’t known what possessed him to do it, but pulling you into his lap had been one of the most comforting moments of his life. 

He was touch starved he’d supposed, but it didn’t make much sense. He got plenty of touch from whoever was spreading their thighs for him. He had scratches down his back to prove it. Something was just different. 

He would feel almost high with his arms wrapped around you. God forbid there was skin to skin contact somewhere. He would get lost in it. Hugs turned into thighs pressed against one another on the couch. An arm slung over the back, twirling a strand of your hair around his fingers. 

“Do you feel like you’ve always had stability?” The Doctor brought his attention back, Ransom blinked twice as if in a daze. 

“Of course.” He shrugged, “I had routine before all of this. I did the same thing every day and while those things changed, I have a consistent routine now.” The Doctor scribbled.

“Have you always had a routine or is it something that’s developed over time?” Truth he told his routine formed the day you walked through his front door the first time. The constant schedule that you’d laid out for him, right up to you finishing the dishes and leaving at 9 pm on the dot. He would follow you out into his own car and leave for the evening. A bar, a club, a dinner party. 

“Over time.” He’d answered. He looked at the door, as though he could look through it and see you sitting on the sofa playing a game on your tablet, whatever show you were bingeing playing in the background. 

The Doctor hummed. The timer went off. The session was over. 

Tikka Masala. That’s what you’d made for dinner. He’d been smelling it for the last hour sitting in the study still typing, two glasses of whiskey in. Not enough to be drunk but enough to feel it. 

“Are you going to eat here, or the dining room?” His eyes met yours in the doorway, you looked so soft. 

“Here.” He said, not having room for much else as you disappeared from the doorway, reappearing a minute later with a steaming bowl and placing it in front of him. You lay a hand on his shoulder, he found his head tilting to the side to rest against it almost instinctively. 

“How’s it coming along?” You’d stopped asking him about the therapy sessions. He thinks he probably scared you the last time you asked but that was just fine with him. He didn’t want to talk about it.

 Any of it.

“I’m gonna have another chapter for you to read in an hour or so.” He brought a steaming forkful to his lips.

“It’s hot.” But too late, in his mouth, trying to rapidly cool it like an idiot, but fuck if it wasn’t delicious. He saw you roll your eyes at him and he turned to watch you leave. He’d found a small joy in seeing your ass in yoga pants. A skirt. Jeans. Sweats. Whatever you’d decided to wear around the house. His dick stiffened at the thought of grabbing it.

But he was a little tipsy. And he was getting tired. 

He just wanted to finish the fucking book already.

 session #26

Ransom was not having a good day today. He’d stubbed his toe getting out of bed, his cursing woke up the redhead who was still tangled in his sheets. She tried to pull him back into bed which caused him to yell at her. So she cried and angrily threw her clothes on cursing him all the way out the door. He got to the gym and realized he’d forgotten his AirPods and had to do his workout without music. Then to top it all off someone had the audacity to have all of this happen on a Thursday. Fucking court-mandated therapy day.

He irritatingly wondered what color tweed Dr. Dowd would be wearing today. The fucking loser. His wife probably cucks him. He’s probably got a fucking micro. The lunatic. 

Ransom was seething. He’d already snapped on you twice, but to be fair you’d made him eggs when he wasn’t in the mood for eggs and then you were really calm about making him oatmeal. Too fucking calm. What was your problem? Jaw locked as he paced his bedroom. He wasn’t coming down. He wasn’t doing a session. He didn’t fucking want to. And no one could make him. 

He was wearing a hole in the carpet when you’d knocked. His anger flaring. Why couldn’t you just leave him alone? Why did you always have to be right there no matter where he went? He wretched the door open, “What?” He felt crazy. Maybe he was. 

You were staring at him with what looked like vague fear in your eyes, arms wrapped around yourself defensively. “Dr. Dowd is downstairs.” 

“I’m not coming down.” You sighed heavily, looking down the hall at the stairwell. 

“Ransom you have-” Door slammed he stared at the other side of it. 

“I don’t have to do shit.” He screamed, locking the door and sitting on the floor in front of it. He felt like a child. His anger while still bubbling in his chest, was slowly ebbing away to a simmer. He felt like an idiot. He heard your footsteps disappear down the hall. Now he was fighting with his pride. He lay back against the floor, two vertebrae cracking as he stretched it out, staring at the ceiling. 

It was silent for a minute. Then two. Then three. His breaths evening out as he lay on the rug, he could almost imagine himself sinking into the rug, becoming part of the stitching. His body dissolving into nothing. Was this depression?

Ransom would swear he’s never been depressed a day in his life. He has everything he could ever want. Including his freedom. He’s always had nice clothes, nice cars, there was never a lack of sex or money. If he wanted something it was his. So why did he feel so shitty? Right now in this moment. He’s never stopped to think about it before he figures. 

Never stopped or tried to feel anything. 

And right now as he was imagining himself decomposing into the floor he reasoned it must be because of depression. 

“A lot of people get depressed, Ransom.” You’d explained to him once, “There’s no shame in it.” He’d been having a bad day, but those days just happen. He had scoffed at you for even assuming he was depressed, but right now he thinks you’re probably right. 

There’s something wrong with him. 

His book had just been published and it was doing well. Selling really well. He made the bestseller list this week. So there was really no reason for him to be feeling like such garbage right now. It was the only logical explanation, being depressed.

At least then he had something to blame it on.

Another gentle knock, “Ransom.” You voice called to him, breaking him from his reverie. “Dr. Dowd would like to come up and talk to you, is that okay?” Your voice was various, a little guilt formed in his chest. His voice cracked when he replied, 

“Yes.” His face felt hot and the room felt stuffy. You had kept the windows open with the nice weather you’d been having lately. Airing out the house, a candle always burning with a calming scent. Ransom regrets telling you not to open his windows. He wanted to open them, but found himself unable to move from the carpet. 

“How are you feeling today Hugh?” The Doctor’s voice came from the other side of the door. Ransom heard your soft footsteps retreating, the third step down the stairs creaking as you made your descent. Ransom’s heart began to steadily raise in pace. 

“Just great Doc,” He bit, “Can’t you tell?” 

“Are you feeling the need to harm yourself or others?” He asked, suddenly very serious. Ransom thought for a moment. Who would he hurt? You? No. Definitely not. Himself? He’s too vain for that.

“No.” His voice cracked again, why does it keep doing that? “No harm to myself or others.” The other side of the door was quiet for a moment more before the Doctor spoke again,

“Are you comfortable right now?” 

“Yes.” Laying on the floor felt great on his back truthfully.

“Emotionally.” What is that supposed to mean? The turmoil churning in his gut screamed at him. Playing dumb won’t help him here. “What happened today that you won’t meet me downstairs? You haven’t missed a session yet.” 

Ransom shook his head wordlessly. He’d been fighting the Doctor. Every week, skating around questions, not answering them all together. He felt an urge to let it go. To just spill everything that was churning around in his gut. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. 

Maybe a little.

“It’s just a bad day.” That was enough. It should be.

“What happened?” There was a creak on the other side of the door. A settling sound. 

Ransom explained. His morning was just frustrating. One thing compounded on another causing his whole routine to be thrown off. 

His routine.

“Is it possible that all of this frustration and anger have come out due to your routine being interrupted.” Yes.

“Probably.” Yes.

Silence, then the doctor spoke, “You can’t change the world around you, Hugh. You have no control. You will never have control.” Something was tight in Ransom’s chest. Fists clenched. “The only thing you can control is how you react to the world.” Hands relaxed, he felt his eyes prickle. 

What the fuck is wrong with him? He shook his head. He felt out of control. He was completely out of control. He hated this. But maybe the Doc knew what he was talking about. Maybe this explains the disruption he’s felt. The anger that had ebbed away to a dull ache in his heart. 

“Listen, Hugh.” The Doctor spoke kindly from the other side of the door, “Routine is good for you, it’s good for everyone. It’s beneficial for us to stick to our routines, however, if something happens that we can’t control it doesn’t mean the whole day is ruined.” The fan spun idly on the ceiling, Ransom dazed looking at the steady rotations as Dowd continued, “Get off the floor and move on.” His eyes dragged from the fan to stare at the door. “Get on with your day and try to do better next time because that’s all we can really do, try to do better.” 

His hand met the knob and turned, shifting up to his feet as he met the sight of the older man on the other side who was leaning against the wall opposite the door. Ransom stared at him silently for a minute before opening his mouth to ask, “How?”

session #31

It was just there. Your wrist, open to him. And he wanted to kiss it, so he did. You’d stalled above him, hand still hovering where you’d just placed his cup of coffee next to him on his desk. He did it almost without thinking, gently wrapping his hand around your forearm and bringing your wrist to his lips, “Thank you.” He’d murmured, eyes not leaving the screen.

His second book has become much harder to write. He’d started three books. A couple chapters written for each, a path split. Where would he go? He was unsure. But the coffee you’d placed next to him that was made exactly how he likes it, it helped. A lot. 

After the soft kiss placed on your wrist, the one that he’d not realized he’d even done until it was over, you’d gently rubbed his back for a moment before leaving, “Dowd will be here in about an hour if you need anything.” Your soft voice as you left. He’d wished you would have sat down for a bit, but he knows you have your own routine to follow. 

“Describe your Mother to me.” Ransom scoffed, chest tight. 

“Getting right to it.” He joked, Dowd smiled and nodded,

“We’ve been meeting for about eight months now and you’ve yet to talk about her.” Had it really been 8 months? Ransom’s palms suddenly felt very sweaty.

“She’s…” Ransom shrugged, eyes drifting to stare at something, anything else but meeting Dowd’s eyes. “She’s a Real estate Broker. She owns a company that is fairly successful. She’s recently divorced my Father for his infidelity—“

“Hugh, what about you?” Dowd asked, “How was she when you were a child?” Ransom hated this. He didn’t want to do it. Why did it matter?

“She was busy.” He said simply. “Always working, on the phone, both her and my Father.” Why did it matter? Dowd nodded, scribbling.

“Do you have some good memories of her?” Ransom didn’t. He knew his Mom loved him. He was her only child. There were pictures, her holding him when he was a baby, red faced and mucus covered in birth. His first birthday, she was sitting on the floor in the background, Ransom in the foreground standing, smiling with a ball in his pudgy baby hands. A picture of them in front of Niagara Falls when he was three. But none of that he can remember. Not really.

What he can remember is his first Nanny. A blonde named Samantha. She was young and sweet. She used to make him pancakes with blueberries in them. He wonders now if she left because of his prowling Father. 

A different nanny, older had taken her place. He couldn’t remember her name but he could remember, vaguely, the crack of a ruler on his knuckles. His Mother had flipped her kid when she came home and seen them. Knuckles ripped open and clotted. 

She’d given him a Nintendo 64 for that. It still sits upstairs in the bedroom you now occupied. He thought and he thought hard before replying, “No.”

He’d felt cheap. “Every good memory of her involves money in some way.” He stated plainly. The Doctor had told him instances of money bought happiness didn’t count. Ransom had always been rich of course, money as a substitute for the love of his Mother, Dowd explained. He wondered if his Mother paying you to take his house arrest was an apology for his parent’s quick divorce. As if he even cared. 

“It’s okay to be hurt by her,” Dowd started, “She didn’t provide the love and affection a Mother should. Children need nurturing to form themselves as they mature into adults. The lack of nurturing in no doubt has affected you in some way.” Ransom felt uneasy. He didn’t like talking about this. But Dowd has told him time and time again, he’s not going to like talking about anything. Just try.

Ransom tugged his bottom lip into his mouth, looking at the empty coffee cup beside him. 

“Do you think that maybe,” Dowd started, “You saw money as love and when that money was being taken from you then you realized that you’d have nothing left?” The Doctor rubbed his own chin. “Murder seemed like the only viable option?” 

A chill ran down Ransom’s spine. A shake of the head. “I can’t do this today.” Dowd nodded.

“Okay,” he shifted in his seat, “What is Y/N making for dinner tonight?” This was how they had been cooling down. Every session since the one where Ransom has broken on the floor of his bedroom. A weekly distraction, bringing him back down from reaching his threshold. His hard limit. A little farther every week. 

“I think she’s making—“ Ransom shrugged, “I mentioned wanting chicken parm, so that’s probably what she’s making.” That’s all he did. He would mention craving something and you would make it. The ingredients ordered through the local grocery store’s delivery app. You kept him happy and fed. His pants felt a little tighter around the waist recently. He’d have to work harder at the gym it seems. 

Dowd nodded, “Sounds good.” He looked at the door that separated them from you. “She’s a sweet girl.” Ransom looked at the door as well,

“Yeah, she is.” The two sat in silence for a moment. The clock ticking. Ransom felt uncomfortable. Which wasn’t a new sensation in these conversations. He felt this sense of foreboding on Thursdays. Not that he didn’t when the sessions first started, but now that he’s actually talking in them acid was rolling in his gut on Wednesday night. The turmoil drowned in vodka sodas and a girl he thinks was named Bethany sucking his dick in the kitchen last night. His mind blissfully blank as she swallowed his cum. Her giggling mouth as her tangy lips met his. 

His cock twitched at the thought, thinking about where he’s going to go tonight. Thinking about the girl he’d be bringing back here. The anger in your eyes tomorrow morning as you hand him his coffee after the gym, bitching about throwing the girl out and not so subtlety telling him that he’s an asshole. He really liked that. Your cheeks flushed. Eyes in a steady glare. 

It’s what he deserved, he reasoned. 

He wanted you to hate him. Because you should.

session #52

“Ransom.” Your gentle voice called to him, your back was facing him, chopping something by the stove. 

“Yeah?” He called back, watching your arm move up and down, knife chopping steady against the butcher block cutting board. 

“Something strange happened today, and,” You paused, huffing quietly. He watched your back tense, “There’s a letter on the table.” It wasn’t uncommon for you to open his mail. You sorted through it daily and it was something, frankly, he couldn’t be bothered with. He only wanted mail deemed important, didn’t care much for any Christmas cards or invitations to parties. Not that much came anymore. 

The envelope sat ominous in the dining table. The top slit open in a straight line, white paper peeking from within. He picked it up, no return address. It reminded him of one thing and one thing only. 

I know what you did.

He felt his neck grow hot, the chopping had stopped from behind him. What kind of joke was this? It had been a little over a year since his verdict. A little over a year since he…

He swallowed heavily, opening the letter, the bold black marker bleeding through the page.

You took her from us and you got away with it. You sick bastard. I hope you burn in hell. 

And that was all of it. He carefully folded the paper back up, slipping it inside the envelope. The house was silent. No chopping. His hands braced on the back of the dining chair, he turns his head to look at you. You’re standing there in anticipation. For what?

Maybe he’ll scream. Shout. Bellow with anger so loud that the neighbor, closest one half a mile away, could hear him. Maybe he’ll break something. The four glass jugs that used to be five until he used one to commit arson. Maybe he’ll pull glasses out of the cabinets and shatter them on the ground by your feet. Maybe he’ll just collapse on the floor right here and cry. 

For once in his entire pitiful life, a strange feeling brewed in his gut. A sick feeling he couldn’t place. Later on in the session, Dowd would tell him it’s guilt. But right now as he places the letter back down on the table, he walks to the downstairs bathroom and shuts the door before turning the sink on full blast and emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

He grips the porcelain sides, coughing and sputtering. Eyes only watering from vomiting he’s sure as a choked sob echoes in the bowl. He spits, and spits again. Bare knees cold against the tile he stares at his vomit for a moment, before flushing the toilet and watching it disappear. The sick feeling is still there but he’s left with nothing but bile. 

He stands, taking two stumbling steps to the sink and washing his face. Swishing around some mouthwash as he stares blankly at himself in the mirror. He knows another feeling. He knows this one. Disgust.

Self-loathing.

His knuckles gripping the sink and white. If he were any stronger it would have shattered under his grip. 

He was in a state down with himself. Daring himself to move. Do anything. Move. 

You pathetic piece of shit. You fucking baby. You really couldn’t do anything for yourself could you? So fucking scared and worthless that you had to try to fucking kill someone to keep some fucking money? And you were fucking stupid because you got caught. You were so fucking selfish because you killed her so you wouldn’t get caught. 

You selfish bastard. 

You worthless piece of shit. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve any of this. You should be where she is now. Rotting in a fucking grave. Maggots feasting on your flesh.

You did this. 

His reflection looked pale. He felt sick again but all he did was dry heave. This was the worst feeling he’d ever felt in his life and he didn’t know what to do. 

A gentle knock on the door. 

“Ransom,” Your soft voice, “I have some ginger ale, it’ll help your stomach.” He hadn’t been as quiet as he thought. He unlocked the door, stepping from the bathroom. Suddenly tired. The glass was gently handed to him and he took a small sip. Eyes not meeting yours. 

“I need to lay down for a bit.” A mumbled sentence. You nodded. Gentle hands grasped his biceps, rubbing soothingly as his head found your shoulder. Arms wrapping around each other you both stood there for a moment. Not saying anything. 

He didn’t deserve you. 

He knows that now. 

“Has the family tried to contact you before?” Dowd asked later on that day. 

Ransom felt unwell. He hated this. “No.” He shrugged. He must have been a sight. Still in his gym shorts and sweat stained t shirt. He was sunk down into his chair, hand covering his mouth, eyes blankly staring at a spot somewhere in the room past Dowd. 

“So why suddenly do you feel this way?” Dowd asked, “You’ve not brought it up the entire year we’ve been talking.” A year since he murdered Fran. A whole year. 

“I just haven’t thought about it.” He said. Why would he want to think about it? Dowd hummed, scribbling on his legal pad.

“They’re never going to be okay,” Dowd started, “They lost a daughter, a sister. Someone they can never get back.” Ransom was sure that made sense, the loss of someone you love. But he didn’t love anyone. Only himself.

His heart panged.

He couldn’t reason at the time because if any of his family members died it wouldn’t make a difference. 

“What if someone had done the same to Y/N.” Ransom’s heart stopped, eyes finally looking at the doctor’s. “If she was working for someone else and they murdered her to cover up a scheme that wasn’t even successful in the first place.” Ransom’s neck grew hot. His hand at his side clenched in a fist. 

“I would be angry.” He reasoned. Dowd nodded.

“That’s what they’re feeling right now.” He explained. “They’re angry because you took her away from them.” 

Ransom’s throat felt like it was closing up. What was he supposed to do. He couldn’t change anything. He couldn’t go back.

“It’s a good thing,” Dowd assured him, “That you’re feeling this way.” Ransom felt sick. “This guilt, the remorse you’re feeling. You’ve come a long way in the last year Hugh.” Tears pricked at the corners of Ransom’s eyes. He willed them to stay put. “You can’t change what you’ve done. You’ve murdered someone, you took a life, for what was no reason. And you’ll have to live with that for the rest of your days, but you can try to do something for them. Anything. Nothing will ever make up for it, but you can try.” 

He didn’t want to. He wanted to go to bed. He wanted to sink into his sheets and disappear. Maybe he could convince you to leave him there until he just wasted away. That sounds nice right now. 

It was for no reason. Fran’s death. He could have just paid her off and gotten rid of her. There was no real proof that he’d done anything. The toxicology reports came back clean. His little switching of the bottle trick did nothing. Harlan skit his own throat. 

Marta deserved the money. 

He saw that now. And it didn’t matter if he’d been cut off or not because now he had his own money and his bank account was acquiring more every day. 

So what was it all for?

It seemed so important at the time. He needed to do this. He had to. He needed the money. More than anything in the world. He was so focused on the one object before him. Tunnel vision. He didn’t see the details around the edges. 

He couldn’t see the big picture.

What a selfish baby. A fucking coward.

This self loathing was all consuming.

He hadn’t left his bed in two days since the session. Since the letter. He knows you’re concerned. You check on him every once in a while. You trade out his picked at food and bring him fresh glasses of water. You’ve rubbed his back a couple times until he’s shrugged you off.

“Leave me alone.” Biting. He doesn’t mean it but he couldn’t stop it from coming out. 

He was angry. Depressed. He didn’t know what to do. What can you possibly do? 

It was snowing. The chill permeating from the glass. Contemporary floor to ceiling windows meant cold. It was falling in thick sheets, almost a foot overnight. And he was just staring at it fall. He’d been staring at it fall all night. 

A clinking of a tray. The gentle click of the door closing, you rounded the bed, placing down a cup of coffee and some toast, removing the dishes from the end table. 

“Ransom.” You whispered, brushing his greasy hair off his forehead. “You’re gonna finish this coffee, eat this toast, and take a shower before you come downstairs.” Your tone was authoritative. “You smell like shit.”

You sat there for a moment longer. He could feel you staring at him. He parted his chapped lips, “I killed her.” A whisper in a quiet room. His eyes red and blankly watching the snow fall. Voice raspy. “For nothing.” 

“Yeah,” Your voice soft and sad, “You did.”

He wrote a letter. Put in a clause on the contract of his next book. Nothing would make it right, but he apologized. And Fran’s family was going to get a percentage of royalties from here on out. 

He still felt sick. 

session #67

He doesn’t remember what it feels like not to be hungover. The self loathing was drowned out with alcohol. It was the only thing he knew to do. The bottom of a bottle felt very comforting until the next morning when his sticky eyes couldn’t pry themselves open. The sick rolling in his stomach as he untangled himself from the mess of limbs. A sweat slick body in his sheets. A girl he couldn’t recognize. Sleepy, stumbling, hand coming down to unstick his balls from his thigh as he found the light switch. 

Wincing and collapsing in front of the toilet to empty his stomach. Dizzy with it. Head spinning. He blindly reached for the clean blue towels you had placed next to the sink. Wiping his mouth and pulling himself up to brush his teeth, drinking water bent over, slurping loudly from the tap. There was a gentle relief to his body, like finally some water. 

He shuffled back into the room, not casting a passing glance at the woman still asleep in his bed and he dressed to leave. He’ll go sweat this out in the sauna and she’ll be removed by the time he gets back. 

He didn’t deserve you. 

You should just leave. 

He wants you to leave. He wants to be alone. Forever. It’s why he tries to make your job as hard as he possibly can. Never ending guilt churning in his stomach. The sickness sweats out in the sauna and when he pulls back up to the house the only car that sits in the driveway is yours, unused. 

You’re humming when he enters the house and his cock twitches at the sight. It had just begun getting warmer outside. You’d ditched your cozy cardigans and wool socks for sundresses and tank tops. The appreciation shows. He adjusts himself in his shorts as he passes you, the knowing hand wordlessly giving him a cup of coffee made exactly how he likes it. He appreciates you. The comfort he’d not felt with anyone else. 

He had a roommate in college. 

A guy he had been friends with up until the trial. Another rich boy. Just like him. His name was Jeremy. 

Ransom hated living with him. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the guy, he just liked his own space. Heading off to college he thought his parents would splurge for a private apartment. He remembered being so angry when the three of them arrived and he found out that they booked him on campus housing with another fucking kid. Furious. He didn’t talk to his parents for the first half of the semester. Not until they withheld his money and forced him to contact them. 

This was intimacy. 

He’d read that in a book. Dowd had recommended some to him. At first he’d scoffed about ‘self-help’ books, but Dowd convinced him that he’s the only person that could really help himself in the end. It didn’t help that Dowd had handed you the list and you’d bought all of them. You’d been reading them too. A quiet understanding that Ransom’s pride was still fragile and neither of you would talk about what you’d read, but just knowing that you’ve both read the same words. You’ve learned the same things. 

Whether you put them into practice or not was another story. 

But he knew this was intimacy. 

It didn’t have to be romantic intimacy. There was a familiar soft intimacy. Just from knowing each other. Truth be told you were the longest relationship he’d ever had. Even if it was just a boss/employee… but sort of friend relationship. You knew him. You really knew him. More than even his own parents. You knew when he wanted to be touched and when he wanted to be left alone. You knew his routine and every variation of it. You knew what he liked to eat. You anticipated each and every one of his needs. 

And he didn’t deserve it. 

You were too good for him. 

That was in all of his thoughts. 

Every time you handed him a cup of coffee. Even a second cup when mentally he had been debating having a second. You’d bake cookies or brownies or these cinnamon buns just when his sweet tooth was really kicking in. You knew every craving. He swears you could even sense when he was getting sick. An extra order of tissues, ginger ale, and cough drops delivered to the house a day before he’d even started coughing. 

He should treat you better. 

That’s what he thinks while he fucks his fist in the shower. Hand slapped against the tile, soft groans as he thrusts his hips into his soaped up hand, thinking about how all he really wants to do is bend you over the sink. 

He imagines it, your perfect ass, panties pulled to the side. 

As he cums he can’t help but feel the emptiness he feels every night. The vacancy of emotion that leaves his mind void and desolate. 

He writes three chapters that day. 

“How do you feel about medication?” Dowd asks. The room is quiet. It’s been very quiet this session, Ransom wasn’t feeling very talkative lately. 

“I’m not fucking crazy.” He scoffed. Dowd shook his head, 

“No, but you’re depressed.” Dowd explained. “Medication will help with your moods, make you more level.” Ransom nodded, sighing heavily. “The guilt may never go away Hugh, you have to learn to live with it. You’ve taken responsibility for your actions.” Ransom rolled his eyes, partially. 

“There’s more work to do.” The Doctor explained. “It’s not going to miraculously fix itself overnight, but medication will at least make it a little easier to go throughout your day. Might help you rely less heavily on drinking too.” He knew. Of course he knew. Ransom wondered if Dowd could smell the alcohol still in his sweat. Did he know Ransom popped four ibuprofen right before the session? Did he know that he washed it down by taking a pull of whiskey straight from the bottle? 

You knew.

But did Dowd?

“I’m proud of you.” That caused Ransom to look up from his own lap to look at the old man sitting across from him. “You’ve come a long way since we first started.” Ransom shook his head. 

“I feel worse.” 

“Yeah, but you’ve made a breakthrough.” He explained, “The guilt, remorse, you’re feeling is a good thing. Even if you hate it.” 

“It doesn’t feel like a good thing.” Ransom whispered. He picked at the sweats he was wearing. 

“It’s not going to,” Dowd assured him, “Not for a while, but the fact that you even feel guilty means you’ve come a long way from being the self-centered narcissist you were when we met.” Ransom chuckled,

“I’m still a narcissist.” 

The Doc started him on an antidepressant and a mood stabilizer. The two pills waited for him with his morning coffee from that day forward. 

session #74

“You look like you’re having a good day.” Dowd smiled. Ransom was having a good day. He hadn’t drank a lot last night, had pretty descent sex with a pretty red head twice, you’d made him his favorite breakfast and had baked those really good caramel cookies he loved. You were in a good mood, so he was in a good mood. 

His mind drifts back to you singing softly as you pulled the cookies from the oven, he was trying to be nonchalant standing off to the side, stealing a cookie as you set the baking sheet on top of the stove, ripping it open, molten caramel burning the tips of his fingers as he shoved the sweet morsel into his mouth. Tongue scorched but worth it. 

The quiet hum as you rinse the bowl of cookie dough, his fingers finding your waist, pulling you against his chest as the soft rambling of music played in the background. The two of you rocked from side to side. The endorphins of skin to skin. The chemicals that flood his system giving him comfort. 

He didn’t deserve it, but he wanted it. 

He wanted it so badly. 

So he just took it. Your soft hands covering his as some acoustic version of a pop song played over the wireless speaker in the kitchen. Cheek pressed to yours, ever aware of your ass nestled softly against his hips. Innocently. So innocently. 

The light was soft through the windows and Ransom tried desperately to commit this to memory. The way it shines through your hair, the way it makes your skin glow. Your hands are so soft. So soft. He could almost taste it on his lips. Your skin. 

“Thank you for the cookies baby.” A whisper. You allowed it, him calling you baby. A soft sweet pet name for someone he didn’t deserve. 

“You’re welcome.” He had brought the plate of them in here, in the session. 

“I’m doing alright,” He breathes, breaking another cookie open, letting the strings of caramel wrap around each other as he shoved half a cookie in his mouth. “The meds are finally working, so…” He shrugs, “I’m not feeling quite as down.” There were still bad days, but this wasn’t one of them. 

“Can we talk about something hard today then?” The Doctor asked, “Is that okay?” Ransom was apprehensive. But… what could it hurt? Only himself. And he still deserved to be hurt so,

“Sure.” A sip of coffee and he settled back into his chair, resting his right ankle resting on his knee. 

“I want to talk to you about your family.” He thought of Harlan with his throat slit and a Mother who contacts him once a month. The last time she called him it lasted, according to his phone records, two minutes and forty-four seconds. A ‘how are you?--good, good--is y/n taking care of you--good,good--gotta go. Bye-bye.’ She resented him and Ransom knew that. She’d told him once, drunk of chardonnay that she never wanted to be a Mother.

It shows.

His Father was just as dismissive.

He thinks about the money clip. One that he was gifted when he turned 18 was a match to his father’s. He waved it around plenty of times. Ransom thinks back to the first Christmas you’d spent with his family. The fear, tears in your eyes as you stood there dumbly holding his registration information for the police who didn’t care after he’d slipped them a couple of Benjamin's each and they were on their way. The wad he had handed you from his own money clip silently begging you not to leave him, hoping you’ll return after your long weekend.  

Please don’t leave me. 

He didn’t say that, but that’s what he meant. 

“I don’t know how real people act.” He says, eyes not meeting the Doctor’s. “The whole family…” Harlan, Will, his parents. “None of them are real people,” Shaking his head. 

“Is Y/N real?” Dowd asks. Ransom nods, looking down at the cookies. A whisper against his ear. Comfort. 

“Yes.” He says. “She is.” 

“Have you learned anything from her in the past… how long have you known each other now?”

“Close to three years now.” Ransom smiled softly, really smiled, “The first year she worked for my Grandfather as a tutor for my cousin, Meg. The past two she’s worked for me.” He thinks about your apartment. The one you lived in with your sister. 

He’d only been there once. 

It felt more like a home and he thinks about how you and your sister acted together. You truly loved one another. The little bickering laced with affection. No fight was ever a real one. Not even when you were yelling at her over the phone, defending him for no real reason. He never understood why someone would say a house is not always a home until he stepped into that apartment. 

Yes, it smelled like the curry your neighbor was cooking and yes, it was for lack of a better word crowded. You would say it’s cozy. The furniture worn and much more comfortable than any he’d ever sat in. The way the two of you just steadily accepted him moodily sitting in the corner, in a chair, as their night went on. Even if your sister kind of hated him. 

You were kind. You were forgiving. You were welcoming. And you’d taught your sister to be that way too. Even if she was a teenager and hated everyone and everything. To be fair he deserved to be hated and he was confused, but grateful that you didn’t hate him yourself. You said you did, but he knows you didn’t mean it. Not really. 

You treated him like he mattered. You believed in him and supported him when he had the idea to write his novel. You picked him up off the ground when he was too drunk to walk. You gave him a shoulder to lean on when he needed a place to lay his head. 

You were compassionate. 

“I don’t deserve anything she does for me.” Ransom whispered into the quiet study. He shook his head, “She’s going to leave me as soon as the house arrest is over.” Dowd shook his head, 

“You’ve done something that is irreversibly wrong.” He stated, “You can never take it back,” Ransom felt the guilt pooling into his stomach. A rain cloud over a sunny day, “The only thing you can do is try every day to do a little better. Put something good into the world. Create something good.”

“Be better.” The Doctor nodded. 

“Be better.” 

session #86

He was trying. Really trying. A stipend from his books goes to Fran’s family. A monthly donation to Planned Parenthood and another towards a local domestic violence nonprofit. It soothed his soul somewhat, but still didn’t feel like enough. He started looking at houses. For you. 

You deserved it. When you left him. When you went back to your normal life. The normal routine. When he was left in his empty house, alone again. Like he wanted. Like he deserved. He was meeting a realtor for lunch tomorrow, but his hobby lately has been browsing house sites looking for a house for you. 

Some were too big, some too small. Some too modern, some too old. 

Nothing really fit you. Not really. 

“Ransom,” You called from the living room, “Are you hungry?” 

A few clicks and his computer screen was back on a word document. You poked your head into the study a minute later, a sandwich, cheese toasted on the bread, melted ham and swiss. A sliced apple and the sweet grapes you’d been craving that he had brought home yesterday and two little cinnamon sugar dusted cookies. A glass of water. 

“Yeah,” He smiled. You placed the dish next to him, peering over his shoulder at the words typed on the page. “Thank you.” Always thank you, always please. Please love me, please care about me, please, please, I’m trying to be a good person. Please see that. A kiss to your wrist, arms wrapped around his shoulders, chin resting there. 

“How’s it going?” You ask. He rubs the bare skin of your arm with his thumb, sighing,

“It’s getting there.” He typed a few more words, flipping through two different word documents. “I’m not sure which story I want to work on, I’m kind of stuck here.” He felt you nod, silently scanning the open page before you before laying a hand over his on the mouse and clicking over to the other one. 

“You’re a little farther on this one I think.” It was a story about a situation similar to his own, yet very different. A woman in it that may or may not be referenced heavily by the woman beside him. By you. Who's to say?  All likeness to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. 

“Do you like this one?” He asked. You had to. Your opinion matters the most. Say the word and he’ll delete the whole thing right now. He felt pathetic. What kind of man was he? Definitely not his father, never his father. 

“I do,” He could feel your grin, “You should finish this one next.” He didn’t know what to do with you. Half of him knew you would never love him, not the way he wanted you to. Those girls he buried himself in every night were proof of that. He started imagining they were you, lusty and breathless. 

He could never do that to you. Ruin yourself with him. He just couldn’t. 

“Thank you for lunch.” Another kiss to your wrist. 

“You already said that,” You laughed, melodic. His heart skipped. “Don’t forget you have therapy later.” How could he?

“I won’t.” A bite into his sandwich and he was back looking at houses. Maybe he could find a fixer upper. Dowd said he needed a hobby, right? 

“What’s on your mind today Hugh?” Dowd was in a good mood. Not that he wasn’t always in a good mood, but today he was in a very good mood. He showed up to the session and very unprofessionally showed you pictures of his newborn grandchild. A little rosy cheeked, baby girl named Ellie. Ransom admired how your eyes softened and lips pulled into a bright smile. He wished you would smile at him like that. 

“I’m gonna buy a house.” Giddy almost. “Fix it up.” He nods, “My hobby right? Work with my hands.” Dowd looked at him skeptically. 

“That’s a lot of work,” He laughed, “Have you ever lifted a hammer?” Ransom shrugged. 

“Can’t be that hard.” It would be… very hard. But he’ll find that out later. “Lots of people do it, right?” Dowd gave a weird grin. 

“Yeah but most of them have had some prior teaching or are professionals.” Ransom’s mouth opened and then closed again, eyes squinting as he thought. Surely he could do it, right? He had to. 

It was penance. 

“I’ll figure something out.” Ransom took a sip of coffee, “I’ve been journalling a bit.” He said, pulling a leather moleskine from the seat cushion. He’s learning to deal with the guilt. The regret. He gets emails about how his contributions have been saving lives, women who need free healthcare, domestic violence victims that have been rehoused thanks to his donations. It doesn’t make it better, he reasons, the murder. 

But it’s penance. 

“Are you almost done?” Dowd asked, “With the second book?” The first book he’d published he had given Dowd a signed copy, he would willingly give him a signed copy of the second one too. 

“Yeah, just about.” He sighed, “A few more chapters.” Dowd nodded. 

“Do you want to talk about the self-loathing you’ve been feeling?” Dowd was perceptive. Ransom knew this, but the question still blindsided him. He wonders if you’ve mentioned anything to the Doctor while scrolling through the 200 pictures and cooing over the newborn in a hundred different outfits. Ransom knows you’ve seen it too. You’re perceptive too. 

“Not really.” Ransom answered honestly. It made Dowd laugh, “I know you say I have to learn to live with it, I have to live with the guilt for murdering Fran, but I don’t know…” He stared at the Doctor, eyes betraying the sadness he felt in his soul. The despair. “How does anyone live like this? How does anyone live after they’ve murdered someone?” The last question was a whisper, eyes glazing over and staring at the floor. 

He should have just gone to jail. He should have been in jail for the rest of his life, but he couldn’t. He didn’t. He’s not. He’s here. Double jeopardy. He could write a book right now on how he killed Fran, how he set up Marta, how he pushed his Grandfather to suicide and you know what would happen? Nothing.

You can’t be tried for a crime you were acquitted from. The jury found him not guilty. Only six people really knew the whole truth. The three detectives, Marta, himself, and you. The three detectives didn’t matter anymore. 

Marta didn’t matter anymore. 

He didn’t matter anymore. 

You never brought it up. The murder. Not unless he brought it up first. It was a hard limit. A line not crossed. You had to forgive him. You just had to. Didn’t you already? Did you hate him? Were you secretly seething with the fact that you had that house arrest bracelet on? Were you really only here for the money? 

He wouldn’t be able to take it, he doesn’t think. 

Maybe he’ll become a recluse. 

Everything is digital now, ordering groceries, maybe he’ll just get a maid to clean up once a week. You can go, take your money and leave him. It’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He will survive. 

It’s his penance. 

He watched you make dinner, Dowd’s words ringing in his ears, bouncing from one to the other, “You can’t hate yourself forever for this, nothing you can do will make it right, you’ve become a better person. An empathetic person, just be better. Every day, try and do better.” He thinks you’re beautiful. 

You’d asked him what he wanted to eat and always was his reply of whatever he’d been craving that day, but tonight he said, “Whatever you feel like eating.” So he didn’t know, but it smelled amazing. He’d eat garbage if you put it in front of him. Whatever it was, it was delicious. Some kind of soup. A couple of heated rolls straight from the oven and a green salad, drizzled with a vinaigrette you’d seemed nervous about. 

“I found it on Pinterest.” You had explained, “If you don’t like it--” It was delicious. Everything you made him was delicious. He didn’t care. 

“It’s good.” He said. He meant it. He wondered now, with less than five months left of his sentence, how soon after it was over would you leave him? And would you never want to see him again? Because he doesn’t know if he could handle it. He needs you. 

He really fucking needs you. 

session #95 

The girl came back. The one you had kicked out of his bed while he was gone. He told you he was at the gym, but what he was really doing was checking on the work done on the beautiful dark cherry wood Victorian with wrap around porch he’d recently purchased. He couldn’t fix it up on his own, that was the truth. Dowd was right, but he was working with a contractor and small crew. 

One day a week he would go over there and help them rip out cabinets or tear down walls. Not too many because the house, he reasoned seemed more like something you would like if it wasn’t completely open concept. 

He’d sat there, in the early morning light, watching the sun come through the windows. Dust filtered through the air from where they had sanded the floors, refinishing them. They’ll lay down the stain and seal them today. The windows caught the light perfectly. The sun rose and set over this house beautifully, glowing with natural light. You were going to love it. 

He was sure of it. 

A shout, stumbling in the gravel of the driveway, “FUCK YOU RANSOM.” A laugh drowned in his coffee. 

“What’s on the agenda today Ransom,” He watched you shut the door, irritated with him, “Because if I have to do that again tomorrow I’ll quit.” Lies.

You couldn’t quit. 

Not for another nine weeks. 

“Don’t worry,” He said, “I’ve got a deadline to meet.” It’s true. He did. Four more chapters and the book was done. He coffee mug in your hand. An emptiness in his heart with the realization of you leaving. Nine weeks. And you’re gone. 

He threw himself into it. He was going to finish it this week. The frustration he felt, he just wanted to be done with this book. He was over it, but he was so close to finishing. Doesn’t mean he’s not still a liar. 

He needed a fucking break. His head was pounding and you’d come in the office in thin worn out black leggings. When you bent over to pick up the pillow that fell on the floor, he could see the thong you were wearing. His dick was hard. 

A promise, “I’ll kick her out myself.” And he was gone. 

The girl he brought home, she looked a bit like you. Enough like you when she rubbed her ass against his lap that he’d drug her home. Her lips were attached to his neck. He could imagine her as you. Faintly. Almost. 

He felt passive aggressive. He was sort of taking out the anger of not being able to have you on you, not realizing, or not caring? His back met your bedroom door, the girl moaning enthusiastically as her lips trailed down his chest, button down splayed open. Belt clinking and his dick was in her mouth. 

Fuck. Head hitting the door. He whispered your name in his head. 

He wanted you so bad. 

He wanted you so bad. 

He wanted you so fucking bad. 

He pulled the girl off him by her hair. He was going to cum too soon if he thought about it. He could do this.

As he lost himself in her body, bed rocking, hips swinging in a punishing rhythm, the girl’s loud moans drowned out the whisper of your name on his lips. 

You were a sight. Sleepy, red marked paper in front of you. You’d found the chapter’s he’d finished just hours before. The ones he had forgotten to give to you. Your hair was messy and your cozy sweater had fallen from your shoulder. He wanted to press a kiss to the exposed skin, but obviously he couldn’t. 

“What do you think?” He asked. He watched you jump in your seat, hand pressed quickly to your chest. 

“You scared the shit out of me.” You laughed nervously, “It’s good,” You cleared your throat, “I’m not sure how much longer I can wait for you to finish to be honest.” 

“Let me see.” The packet was scribbled over. 

I think he did it, he’s an asshole. 

I don’t like her either. 

Ew, why would anyone ever say that to anyone else?

Add more detail here, I can’t picture it well enough. 

“What are you doing out of bed?” You asked, you rolled the chair side to side. It was cute. Endearing. 

“I told you I was going to kick her out.” She wasn’t happy about it. She tried to get him to go another round, but he felt empty. He didn’t want to. You were waiting downstairs after all. 

“And you couldn’t start doing this sooner?” He smiled, he liked that you hated it. It maybe made him think you could be jealous. In some universe. Maybe not this one. 

“I like how much it bothers you,” He answers honestly. 

“It’s annoying,” you snarked back quickly, “Worst way to start my day.” You were being funny. 

“That’s the only reason?” Ransom responds, he leant back in his chair, throwing the packet onto the desk. Please say you want to be with me. Give me permission here. 

“You’re such an asshole, you know that?” You scoffed, angry with him. Clearly. You made to walk by him, to leave the room. He reached out and grabbed your arm to stop you, softly. 

“If you want to take their place, just let me know.” A wink, a playful slap on his shoulder and you were gone. 

“Dick.” Reverberated in the office. A playful laugh. 

Therapy today.

He hadn’t slept a whole lot, four hours total. He was tired. And grumpy. 

“She loves you, you know that right?” Dowd said halfway through the session. Ransom was deep in his self-loathing today. Probably from the lack of sleep. 

Definitely not because each day got closer and closer to you leaving him. Definitely not that. 

He shook his head, “She works for me, she gets paid to be nice to me.” Dowd frowned. 

“You can’t really believe that Hugh.” Ransom shook his head, 

“I don’t deserve her.” 

“Men don’t deserve women,” Dowd said, “Period.” He laughs, straightening his tie. “My wife, we’ve been married for thirty years now and I can’t honestly remember life without her in it. She worked to help me get through school and now with my practice I’ve been able to let her do whatever heart desires.” He was smiling fondly, thinking about it. “She’s given me three beautiful daughters, we have a beautiful granddaughter now. A beautiful home, she can’t cook to save her life, but that’s what I’m for… she’s the love of my life, truly.” Ransom looked at the grey old man across from him, the Doctor’s eyes were misty. “She helps me run my practice.” He says, “I would be lost without her and I will work hard to even be close to the man she deserves.” 

“It’s just not meant for me Doc.” Ransom swallowed heavily. “It’s not.” 

He needed to get out of this fucking house. He couldn’t look at you. He got rid of Dowd. A little harshly. He felt bad about it. You looked up at him from the couch.

“I’m going out.” 

Was this love? Yes. He knew he loved you. He’s no a fucking idiot. But you were too good for him. Who forgives a murderer? Who? Why did you have to be like that? So fucking perfect. 

You were. So fucking perfect. This house he was fixing for you, the car he was going to buy you after the next book. You deserved all of it. 

You and your sister will be taken care of. You’ll never want for anything. You were talking about going back to school maybe, once it’s over. You could do that. He’d do anything for you if you’d ask. He’d pay for all of it. Anything. It’s yours. 

How does he resolve this? He doesn’t know. 

The donuts, the latte, and his mouth between your thighs a day later. He doesn’t know how to be a good man, but he’s going to fucking try, and try until he gets it right. Until he makes everything right. For the both of you. 

“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever loved.” You’re so receptive beneath him. He loves you so much. The only person he’s ever felt this intense affection for. Not even his own parents he’s loved. 

He buries himself between your thighs twice that morning. Panting into your mouth the first time, into your neck the second as he rocks his hips into your tight wet heat from behind. Ass nestled against his hips how he’s always dreamed, teeth biting into his thumb as the two of you lay on your sides. 

“I don’t deserve you.” He whispered against your neck. His heart racing from his recent orgasm. “I’m sorry.” 

session #104

This was it. The last day. Ransom noticed your ankle looked pale, empty now that the bracelet was gone. He would have to fix that. “What am I gonna do now that the dumb bracelet isn’t taking out my ankle anymore?” He whispered into your ear. The damn think had knocked against his ankle bone multiple times in sleep or during sex, enough to make him wince and comment on it multiple times. 

Your laugh was melodic to his ears. It was just the two of you now. His Mother stopped by with the same man who had placed the damn ankle monitor on you two years prior to remove it. She made a big show about staying for breakfast. 

“So I’m assuming she’ll be moved out by dinner,” She had laughed, “She’s probably sick of you.” Ransom felt a little hurt by that, but his Mother also didn’t know the two of you were now together and ‘moved out by dinner’ was actually going to be him taking you and your sister to dinner and then to your new house that was just finished this morning. 

The two of you shared a look and agreed not to say anything. 

He dried the dishes as you washed. This oddly domestic moment giving him true belief that maybe this could work. He could have it. He could have what other people have and be okay. 

“I love you too.” You’d whispered into his mouth last night. You hadn’t said it back yet, it was the first time. Hands tangled in his hair as you angled his face down. “Please don’t hurt me.” He could never, would never. Not if he could help it. 

He brushed his hip against yours as the soft crooning melody played in the background. After the therapy session today the two of you were going to go pick your sister up early from school and drive down to the harbor. He wanted to take you both to dinner. Somewhere you’d wanted to eat for the past two years. A little hole in the wall Spanish place that had ‘the best ceviche and sopas you’ll ever have’ you’ve been talking about it for two weeks now. 

Things had changed a lot in the past nine weeks. And not just because the two of you began to have sex on a regular basis. The house seemed more calm. There was an ease now, a tension that had left Ransom’s shoulders. You seemed more at ease too from what he could tell. You’d begun showering him with more affection, sweet lingering kisses down his spine before you left the bed, a press of your lips to his as you enter or exit a room. Thumb releasing the tension in his brow when he was too focused on writing, a kiss wishing it away. 

The two of you fell into step as though this was a two year anniversary instead of a two month. 

It was nice.

It was very nice. 

“It’s good to see you happy.” Dowd said. “I’m very proud of you. You’ve come a long way in the last two years.”  Ransom nodded. He felt proud. He did. The guilt still gnawed at him sometimes. But he’d received a letter about a week ago. 

Fran’s Mother. 

Forgiveness is a tricky thing. And while the two of them would never meet, and probably never speak again. Fran’s Mother believed that God was telling her to forgive him. She thanked him for the royalty checks she’d been receiving in the mail. It helped with her husband’s increasing medical bills. But she will never have her little girl back. 

And it was his fault. But she forgave him. Just how he was learning to forgive his parents. 

Forgive himself. That was the hard one. He’ll be working on that maybe until the day he dies he thinks. Maybe. 

“She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Ransom explains. Dowd smiled softly, 

“And she’s not going to leave.”

“Yeah,” Ransom agreed, “She’s not going to leave.” Well she is, but not completely. He was an adult. He could start taking care of himself, but she was still going to technically be his assistant. 

“This is our last session together and before it ends is there anything you’d like to say?” Dowd asked him. The old man had taken on a new light for him over the last two years, Ransom really liked the guy. There was no doubt he helped him a lot, but it was more than that. Dowd was a good man. It was admirable. Ransom had never met a good man in his entire life. 

Dowd loved his family, his wife, he loved his job. He was a good guy and if it wasn’t wildly inappropriate Ransom would have loved to take him golfing. Maybe invite his family over for dinner. Maybe one day. Maybe once the Doctor retires. 

“I don’t think it should be our last session.” Dowd smiled at that.

“That’s exactly how you know you’ve improved.” The man assured, “Cause you’re nowhere near done.” Ransom should have taken offense to that, but he knew. He was still a work in progress. He still needed help, just maybe not as much as before. 

Dowd parted with a cookie tin full of those caramel cookies Ransom loved so much, but he was too excited to care. You were ready to go. You wanted to see your sister more than anything else and he was happy to take you there. 

He smirked as you ran into your sister’s arms. The fourteen year old was taller than you now, her face dotted with acne. She glared at Ransom over your shoulder. 

He deserves it. Honestly. 

Dinner was no better. The teen ignoring him completely as he sat awkwardly in the smallest restaurant he’d even been in. You’d spoke practiced spanish to the server and older woman he’d also seen flipping tortillas on the flat top in the back. You’d placed a paper plate with radishes, limes, and a mix of spicy peppers, onions, and cactus in front of the three of you. 

A mess of plates were served. This little hole in the wall served the best tacos he’d ever had. Acidic ceviche that he’d eaten scooped into chips, the second order he ate with a spoon straight from the bowl. He didn’t interrupt the two of you and your jovial conversation. 

Julia gossiped about a girl at school who was apparently a total bitch and everyone hates her, but she had secretly been dating another girl they went to school with and was now being super nice because she wasn’t closeted anymore. 

There was another story about a teacher who had recently lost a child that your sister and her club had been trying to get money together to help pay for the funeral, “How much do you need?” Ransom interrupted. 

Julia looked at him with wide eyes, almost forgetting he was there for a moment. “Uh… like we’ve raised almost $2,000 but we were trying to get a full ten.” Ransom nodded, squeezing a lime over his taco. 

“Remind me to write you a check before I drop you back off.” He felt your eyes on him, a soft smile. You weren’t going to spring the relationship on your sister quite yet. Not when she still wanted to strangle him. 

“That- You’re going to give me $8,000?” Julia asked incredulously. Ransom nodded, chewing and swallowing. 

“It’s hard to lose a child.” He offered, “It’s hard for everyone.”

“Especially the parents.” Julia bit. He deserved that. He nods. 

“Especially the parents.” 

He was nervous. What if you didn’t like it? He’d sell it he’d suppose. But you had to like it. He broke into your tablet one night and sent screenshots of your Pinterest saves to an interior designer. It should be what you want, how you wanted it. 

“Where are we going?” You asked. You had sat in the back with your sister. The two of you holding hands and talking about how homecoming went and how there was a junior guy in band who had asked her to the prom. 

“We’re almost there.” He pulled into a paved driveway, turning the corner he tapped a few times on his phone the dark house lighting up before him. He heard two collective gasps from the backseat. 

“Ransom, what is this?” You were confused, obviously. He exited the car, the two of you following. 

He stepped up on the porch, not answering. His heart racing in his chest. He dug out the small key chain that had been weighing heavily in his pocket, turning to the two of you and hanging it from a finger. “I know you hate expensive gifts, but I can’t let you go back to that apartment.” His mouth was dry. 

“Ransom.” You breathed. The keys were snatched from his finger, Julia moved past him to unlock the door, rushing inside. 

“Oh my God!” She squealed from inside. Ransom shrugged softly, hand still outstretched towards yours. 

“Please take it.” He whispered. A few seconds ticked by as he watched you decide. Please take it. 

“Y/N,” Julia called, “This house is incredible.” She was panting in the doorway, shoes already discarded. He watched you look past him to her, the smile on her face. And you took his hand. 

You’d been dating for a while when Ransom suggested couples therapy. Pretty much as soon as you’d moved in together. It was a nice break. Six months not seeing each other every minute of every day. He picked you up on real dates. You’d gone to real movies. You’d taken real walks in a real park. You had after dinner drinks at a real bar. One which you’d remembered he had ignored you in what seemed like a lifetime ago. 

Julia had just gone to bed. She had a soccer game in the morning. He’d suggested it while you were getting ready for bed. A box of his clothes sat still packed in the corner. The last box. One you hadn’t quite gotten to yet. 

“There’s nothing wrong,” He defended. “I just think that it would keep us in a healthy relationship.” And you agreed. He was happy you agreed. He didn’t want you to think that he felt as though there were problems. Other than him leaving his dirty socks and coffee mugs around the two of you hadn’t had much of a disagreement.

Yet. 

Dowd was kind enough to still make house calls, something Ransom was fortunate for. He was working hard getting his next novel out. Deadline coming on quick as the two of you sat in a session where the Doctor looked at you and said, 

“He’s treated you fairly poorly over the last two years.” Ransom felt offended. Dowd was supposed to be on his side, but he came out the gate swinging. It didn’t stop it being true. 

You opened and closed your mouth. “I wouldn’t say…” You rubbed your hands down your thighs, drying the sweat on your palms. 

“It’s not okay.” Dowd responded. “We both know him, we know how far he’s come.” He gestured to Ransom and Ransom nodded. 

“He’s right baby.” A hand on your thigh in a way Ransom hoped was comforting. “The way I treated you is not okay. I’ve made a lot of bad decisions.” You sat awkwardly. Ransom wondered if you were beginning to regret this. 

“But Ransom, honey, I just--” You looked so nervous, sinking down into the couch, your eyes fixed on Dowd. “You’ve changed so much, and you’ve never really been…” You gestured with your hands. “You’re a victim of circumstance.” You began, “I don’t believe that if you’d had loving parents you would have ever been in the situation you were in… not that you know, nature versus nurture and I just think, I don’t know, maybe... “

“It’s okay.” Dowd put a hand out. “Listen, this is a lot to start with and it’s okay. We don’t have to get too far into it. The next session I would like to have both of you write a letter to each other, something about how the last two years have affected your life. I think that’s where we should start.” 

Intermingling breaths and hips pushed into the kitchen table, loud moans echoing in the kitchen as Ransom sinks himself into you over and over. “So fucking hot baby.” He breathes. “So fucking hot,” He hitched your leg up onto the table, enabling him to go deeper. “You’ll do anything for me, wont you?” He asked. His snapping hard against your perfect ass, hands roughly gripping the globes, tinted red by the palm of his hand. 

“Yes,” You moaned roughly, “Anything.” Ransom moaned, reaching a hand down to steadily rub your clit, so wet for him. Only him. 

“I love you so fucking much.” He moaned, hips beginning to falter as you came around him. Pussy contracting, milking his cock as he released inside the condom, panting. 

“I love you too.” You whispered heavily into the room. Both of you trying to catch your breath. 

“Thank you for doing this for me.” His fingers tracing softly down your bare spine. “I know it makes you uncomfortable.” He watched as you pulled your discarded shirt back on, shifting your leggings back up your hips as he discarded his condom, pulling his sweats back up over his own. 

“I think it’ll be good for us,” You said, “In the long run.” He nods in agreement. 

“I would hate for us to turn out like my parents.” He whispered. 

“We’re not ever going to be like your parents.” You assured him, gripping his hand softly. 

“I don’t want you to resent me in twenty years.” He looked into your eyes, searching as you replied,

“You think we’ll be together in twenty years?” You asked. He rolled his eyes as you let a watery laugh part your lips. He pressed his lips tightly against yours, fingers tangled in your hair. 

“I sure as hell hope so.” 

The sessions continued. One a month. Each month. 

The two of you worked together to make this relationship work. You tried hard. You grew and you grew together. 

“I think we’d be pretty good parents.” He said once. A few weeks before the marriage proposal. It got the both of you hot for it. The idea. Not something you’d been planning on acting on anytime soon but when he was balls deep inside your tight wet pussy he couldn’t help but imagine you swelling with his child, breasts heavy, firm belly pressing against him as he thrust inside you. 

He was hot for it, always. 

And you were thinking of it too. You’d spin your engagement ring around your finger and stare at him wistfully, tongue coming out to wet your lower lip. 

You were riding him. Hips circling on top of his, panting and moaning. Your body glistening with sweat. Hands curled in your hair, back arched. “You gonna give me a baby?” You asked. He nodded, panting, he wanted to thrust into you but he couldn’t help but love the way you looked right now. Chasing your own release. Selfish. Wanting. 

He fucking loved it. 

You held his wrists to the bed, using your knees to rock back and forth on top of him as you pressed your lips to his. A whisper against his lips. “You gonna cum inside me?” You moaned. 

“Yes, baby.” He braced his feet against the bed grinding his hips against yours, rubbing your clit against his pubic bone until you were shuddering on top of him, moaning into his mouth with your release. You collapse against his chest, his arms coming to wrap around your waist, his braced feet giving him the leverage he needed to fuck you. His hips starting a punishing rhythm. The loud slap of his thighs meeting yours filling the room. 

“I can’t wait.” He breathes, “I love you so fucking much.” Your choked moans did him in, his release spilling inside you, not willing to let you go quite yet as the two of you stilled. The sweat covering your bodies began to chill you. 

“I love you too.” 

The wedding was small. Springtime. For months after the proposal and very quiet. Neither of you had very much family and fewer friends. A small group in your backyard. A cake from your favorite bakery. Promises of a bright future and a new life. Here, together. 

You’d feel the flutter in your belly a few months after that.

.

.

.

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[thedambookdragon]

Seth's Death

Hello!! Here are my headcanons about the upperclassmen (+ Abby and Wymack kinda) and Seth's death, I made myself very sad writing this, enjoy (: CW: death, swearing. Characters belong to the All For The Game series by Nora Sakavic

The only thing Seth and Matt really argued about was keeping the window in the bedroom open.

Seth was a Cold Person. He would fling the window open, let the fresh air and freezing temperature in, and pass out in a vest and boxer shorts.

Matt however, is a Warm Person. Almost every night, he would slam the window closed and argue that it was freezing.

“It’s mid-July, it’s fucking boiling.”

“It’s ANTARCTICA in here.”

The night Seth died, Matt only went back into his room once, for his pajamas. There was no way he was sleeping in there alone.

And the window was wide open. Seth, the bastard, had turned the entire room into the North Pole again, so it would be cold enough when we got back, drunk and exhausted, from clubbing.

But he never came back, he was never coming back, he was-

Dan found him a while later, head against the windowsill, taking deep breaths of cold, fresh air, fingers wrapped round the handles of the dresser that Seth stubbed his toe on so many times.

Matt left the window open after that.

He was used to the cold now anyway.

Danielle Wilds was the first female captain in NCAA exy and had put up with a lot of shit from her male teammates, including Seth Gordon.

Then, the new season started, Seth’s more toxic friends had left, and as he fell for Dan’s blonde-haired, high-heeled roommate, Dan was slowly learning to live with Seth’s existence- appreciated it even, especially after getting a blackout-drunk Allison home to her and Renee, respectfully and safely.

The first time Dan had been left alone with him, he was stood, maybe a little awkwardly, in the girl’s doorway as he waited to take Allison out.

“She doesn’t like flowers,” Dan said, pointedly.

“I know,” said Seth, annoyed. “They’re lilies. For her grandmother?”

Oh. Allison had been close with Nana Lily and her husband even through the drama with her parents, and had cried for days when she had died- a year ago, Dan realised.

More annoyed that Seth had remembered something that she hadn’t, Dan turned and left him alone.

From there, a strange friendship blossomed as Seth made himself comfortable with the team, eating dinner with them, taking Allison out to dates, and most importantly, actually listening to Dan when she gave him instructions- even when he and Allison were off.

The night he died, Dan flopped herself down at her desk as usual, to write a note in her journal. She wanted the normalcy to steady her, staying strong for her team, but then she remembered that it was Seth who bought her the planner.

He had picked one up for her at the grocery store the same day she lost her old one, and handed it to her with a borderline rude, “Captains should keep track of their things, Dan.”

Dan put her head in her hands and cried. She was going to miss that asshole.

Renee Walker mourned Seth’s death the only healthy way she knew- lighting a candle and praying.

She remembered the first time she met Seth, and had seen the hopelessness in him. She saw how he was waiting for another person to give up on him, but also saw how he clung to the foxhole court with a ferocity she could only respect.

That didn’t sit well with Renee at all, but she forced it aside as she and her roommates dealt with their teammates’ sexism and forged their own friendships.

She got her chance the same time Dan did, when Seth proved her theory right and stuck with the foxes, hanging around their dorm day after day, watching as she baked cookies and brownies and cupcakes.

“Where did you learn to bake?” he asked once, rude but making an effort.

“My foster mother taught me,” Renee replied, stirring blue food dye into icing for Matt’s birthday. “Do you know how?”

“Yeah,” said Seth, a little defensive still. “I used to make all sorts of shit with my brothers.”

“Have you ever made fruitcake?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you like to help?”

The next day, Seth showed up with a battered-looking notebook filled with children’s scraggly handwriting, and him and Renee happily went through it with him, deciphering recipes and making a mess.

She had burned with a quiet satisfaction at the time, thrilled to have an in with her sulkiest teammate.

That feeling was gone now. He had once said, jokingly, that if something happened to Seth, Renee could keep his recipe book.

She would keep the recipe book. She would use it as often as she could, her own tribute to yet another life taken so soon.

Wymack was Seth’s emergency contact, and if Seth was alive when he found that out, he might have been a little happy about it. He walked into the hospital, found Allison, and took her home. As tough as Wymack was, he didn’t want to see Seth. Not like that. 

Seth acted like he hated everyone and everything at any given time, but his willingness to win, to make something out of what Wymack gave him, shone through in team meetings, when he argued, aggressively but thoroughly and sensibly, about plays, teammates, what to order for takeout and which opponent will be the hardest to take down.

He could have been something. He could have been something great, and Wymack had known it. He hoped that Seth had known it, too.

Abby was with Wymack, drinking wine and going through medical history paperwork, when he got the call. She cried right there and then, shocked at how easily she accepted it. She let Wymack go down there without her, and would have put the paperwork aside if she wasn’t looking at Seth’s history. She filled it out as neatly as she could, because what else could she do?

Then there was Allison. She was there, when paramedics rushed into the club bathroom and pulled him out on a stretcher, club staff staring impassively as Seth, her Seth, was pronounced dead on arrival. 

She didn’t cry. She would cry later, when her whole body wasn’t numb from the shock, when she realised that she wasn’t too drunk, she wasn’t dreaming, and Seth really wasn’t waking up.

She would cry when she next saw lilies, or brownies with raisins mixed in, or the number six jersey left crumpled on her bed. And then she would pull herself together.

These memories would be painful for a long, long time. But at least this way, Allison would remember him.

[scarlet2007]

The mystery of the myth.

Pairing:- Jimin X Araceli.

Disclaimer:- This is a prompt dedicate to @heejinnien, I hope you enjoy this! This Oneshot is in Araceli P.O.V. If your artwork is used in this edit, please contact me so that I can take it down/ credit you since I found all the images used in this edit from Pinterest.

Genre:- Fluff, mystery, paranormal, high school au, playboy!Jimin.

Warning:- Mention of murders, mention of cannibalism, mental asylum, mention of experiment on humans, paranormal stuff, cursed Jungkook.

Okay, you are not like those girls that goes 'I aM not lIkE tHe oThEr gIrlS' you just hate the popular boys and girls in your high school, why? You don't know, maybe you just hate that they are popular while you are just...you.

It's not like you don't have friends, you do and they are very loyal and nice.

You looked up, startled as the other class start to come to your classroom.

"What's happening?" You asked as you put your backpack on the table that is beside you to save a sit for your best friend.

"Oh? Don't you hear it? From now on, our class and class A-2 will be combined." Your other friend said as she looks at the student filling the classroom.

"Class A-2? Why that class?" You slouched against your seat, you hate that class, it where most of the popular students are from.

"I don't know, ask the teacher girl." Said your friend as she turned her back to you.

"Move your backpack, girl." You looked up to the owner of the voice and made a eye contact with none other than Jimin.

"Why should I?" If he had asked you nicely or even asked you to move your backpack, you may have done that but instead, he chooses to be a jerk and order it as if he owns the school. If he is going to like a jerk then you will act like a bitch too.

The whole class was staring at you both as the tension between both of you grow intense, "Jimin! Why don't you sit with us?! Come here!" Taehyung dragged Jimin behind you as both of you shot each other death glare. He sat behind you and you can still feel his gaze on you. You suddenly stood up as if you are a robot and went out of your class.

"Wait-where are you going, Ara?!" Your friend yelled.

"I am going to see if that idiot is here or not!" Just as you were about to sprint down that hallway that also connects to your class through a window, you bumped into someone. You were about to lose your balance but that guy caught you in time by your waist. You looked at him and he was handsome but you saw him around your school.

You looked shocked at him as he was just as shocked when you heard a whistle, "Look like someone got a boyfriend!" You looked around and then you spot her, your best friend, who was busy clicking photos of you two. Both of you quickly let go of each other.

"Shut up and stop taking photos of us!" You yelled at her as you hit her which she in return hit you back.

"I am so sorry, I didn't saw you there!" You bowed 90° degree, "Oh! No, it's umm fine." You both laughed awkwardly.

Your best friend dragged you to your usual seat. The whole classroom was staring at you as you glared at them.

That guy came inside the classroom and the student of class A-2 start to whisper as they not so subtle look at him. Strange. He went to seat at the last desk, your eyes followed him, something about that guy is off. He suddenly looked up and made straight eye contact with you, you smile at him and he smiled back. The moment between both of you didn't go unnoticed by your best friend and other people in the class. From the corner of your eyes, you can see Jimin rolling his eyes.

"Students-! Oh? Seems like your class got combined with class A-2." Your homeroom teacher chuckled as she know how much your class hate to get combine with other class, especially class A-2.

"Good morning, Miss Kim." Your classmate stood up to do a 90° degree bow to your teacher as a creating while the student of the class A-2 just stare at you all as if you all are doing something strange.

"Don't you guys have some respect to Miss Kim?!" One of your classmates asked loudly, the other slowly start to bow.

Your teacher sighed at their laziness, "Sit down, class!"

"So, look we are having a meeting so you have a free period so do your pending work and be quiet." The teacher informed all of you.

"Oh, and can someone go and get somethings from the storage room? Jimin, Araceli and Jungkook go to the storage area and find these stuff. The list is long so don't hurry that much, Y/N I trust you to not let Jimin wander around." You nodded as you pushed your self out of your seat and took the list from her hand. So his name is Jungkook. All of you start walking out as you signed, "Man, this list is long. And why are there so many random things on this list?" You complained as you were reading the list. Jimin and Jungkook looked over your shoulder as their body towers you, both of them taller than you.

All of you stopped as you arrived at the storeroom, you feel shivers run down your body.

"So, Jimin why don't you go and take the cleaning supplies out of that closet, wait- why is the closet out of the storeroom?" You question as you looked at the closet that was outside the storage room.

"Could you stop complaining about every God damn thing?" Jimin groans in frustration as he went to the closet. You ignored his comment and enter the storeroom, following Jungkook.

"Jungkook, can you go and take the crafting supplies from behind that shelf?" Jungkook nodded, looking uneasy. You start to look for the books that were supposed to be this storeroom. The storeroom used to be a library but they made it into storage after a myth started that this library is haunted, the teacher always chooses you to do this kind of work since you don't believe in this stuff and the fact that you are also the leader of the supernatural club that you created as a joke.

Your body suddenly stands straight as the door of the storeroom slammed shut, must be Jimin pulling some prank on you. You rolled your eyes at his childish behaviour, goosebumps raised on your body as the temperature in the room suddenly dropped.

"Agh-agh." You heard someone groan, not just someone, it was Jungkook! You rushed at the shelf he was supposed to be in since it sounded like he was in pain.

"OH MY GOD! JUNGKOOK!" You rushed to him as he was struggling to breathe on the floor, you grabbed him as you yelled for Jimin.

"Jimin! Jimin, come inside! Something is happening to Jungkook!! JIMIN!" You screamed on top of your lung. You looked at the shelves that were making noise as if they were about to fall. You dragged Jungkook with you, struggling as you do so, to the door so that you can open it. Shit, my phone is inside my locker.

You screamed as the shelves start to fall, you feel a sharp pain in your arm but you ignored it as the door suddenly opens and Jimin pulled you and Jungkook out with a concerned look. All of the shelves collapsed as you breathe heavily.

"Wha-what happened to Jungkook?!" Jimin asked.

"I don't know, we have to take him to the nurse! He can't breathe and I think he is going to having a seizure! JIMIN DO SOMETHING! HE IS GOING TO DIE!" You cried out as Jungkook struggle to breathe. We hear some hurried footsteps coming towards us but we were too busy panicking to notice them, in our panicked state your hand hit Jungkook's chest at full force making him gasps in a breath as he was no longer choking. Please don't do that to someone who is struggling to breathe.

"What is happening he- Oh MY GOD! WHAT HAPPENED?!" It was one of our teachers, Jungkook coughed as you lean against Jimin for some kind of support.

"I don't know, the-they were screaming coming from inside so I-" Jimin sentence was cut short as Jungkook fainted.

"We need to get him to the school nurse!" We all rushed to the school infirmary as Jimin and our P.E. teacher carried Jungkook. Your ear starts to ring as you think you heard something or rather someone, whispering something like 'kill they', maybe your ears are just ringing or it's your imagination.

At the infirmary, Jungkook was getting a checkup to see what happened to him while you and Jimin laid in other beds," Jimin? Did you, perhaps locked the door?" You whispered-asked Jimin as you remembered the door closing.

"What? Why would I do that? I thought you did that!" He whispered back, you can clearly remember the door closing as if someone slammed it shut. You can also remember that you saw a pale hand choking Jungkook, you are confident that what you saw what real and not a hallucination or your imagination.

You were pulled out of your chain of thought as the nurse asked, "Are you injured too, honey?" You looked at her, she was maybe in her mid-30s wearing a lab coat over her normal clothes. You shook your head as she smiled at you gently. "You have a cut on your hand, honey." You looked at your arm and there was a cut on your arm, it was didn't bleed that much but you are just wondering how in the world you didn't notice that? Were you that panicked that you didn't even notice that your arm was got a cut? The nurse gently took your arm and put the rubbing alcohol on it, you hissed in pain. You saw Jimin looking at you with an unreadable expression from the corner of your eyes.

Later that day, you were walking around your neighbourhood thinking about what happened today. You still can't figure what if what you saw what true or it was your imagination. The nurse told you that Jungkook got a panic attack but...what about the fingerprint on his neck? When you looked at him, you can see handprint on his neck. You sighed and rub your face with your hand, "Agh, I should not think about all that stuff right now, I am getting stressed." You keep walking around and eventually, you end up in a park. There was no one in the park at this time, it was not that late but still, it was around 10 pm. You stopped walking as you heard something behind you. You turned around but there was no one there. Strange. You turned back around only to flinch, there was a boy in front of you, wearing all black. You couldn't see his face because of his hoodie, the boy tilts his creepy. You step back as the boy started walking towards you. "Don-Don't come near me!" You fell backwards and throw a rock at him, but instead, it bounced off. There was a shield that was separating you both when the rock collides with it, the impact left a few electronic waves in the invisible shield making it visible. The boy touched the shield. You ran away at full speed towards your apartment while looking behind at that boy who was still looking at the space where you were a moment ago. You ran outside the park but you bumped into someone. "Look where you are goin- Araceli?" You look up at the person you bumped in, "Jimin, who is this?" The girl beside him questioned, his arm was around her waist. The girl was pretty, big rounded eyes, plump lips, a small face with bright red hair that suits her. You breathe heavily as you looked behind you to check if that boy was following you or not, he was not following. Thank God. You glance at Jimin, "I am his classmate, bye!" You quickly said as you were about to run again when Jimin grab your wrist making you look at him. "Are you okay, Araceli? You look as if you just saw a ghost." Jimin concern look almost made you spill out what just happen, almost. "Nothing, I am absolutely fine! Bye!" You ran in the direction of your apartment.

You leaned against the railing of the staircase when you reached your apartment building. Why does everything strange is happening today? What is it? Friday 13th? You sighed at your thoughts. Maybe I am cursed or something? That makes a lot of sense, yeah. You shooked your head to get rid of your thoughts. You begin to walk up the stairs, your phone ringed as 'Mom' showed up on your screen. You picked up the call. "Yes, mom. I am at the stairs, yeah, I am just about to reach-hello? Mom?" You looked at your phone as the call got disconnected. "Huh? What the?" You looked around as the light flickered. A mirror caught your eyes as you walk closer to it, in the reflection you can only see your self, which was normal but there is something about the mirror that is drawing you closer and closer to it as if the mirror is hypnotizing you. You walked towards it until you were in front of it, you keep looking at it as the light keep flickering. The lights went off as the darkness consume you. When the lights came back there was the same boy behind you, you flinched back but the boy grabbed you by your arm. "Wh-who are you?" You asked the boy as you turned around, your heartbeat was so fast that you thought you might get a heart attack. He took off his hoodie revealing his face as he smiled at you sadly, almost as if he was sad by your question.

"You don't remember me, do you?" You shook your head, you are sure you would remember a handsome face like his. He sighed as if it was felt psychically pain from your answer.

"You might not remember me but...we...nevermind. If you ever need my help, just say my name, okay?" His gaze fell on your injured arm. "Give me your arm." You gave him your arm as he touched your injury. You watched him in shock as the bandage fell from your arm, the cut...it was gone! You touched the place where the cut was and there was not even a scar. "What? How?" He smiled at you.

"I have to go. Remember whenever you need me just say my name." He was about to leave when you asked, "But what's your name?" He looked at you with an unreadable expression.

"Mike." With that, he walked down the stair, you followed after him but he disappeared just like he appeared.

"What the hell just happened? Was he a ghost or something?"

That night you were not able to sleep as the events that happened that day keep playing in your mind like a broken cassette player. You were walking like a zombie, looking like a zombie and well, acting like a zombie. You have dark eye bags under your eyes, hair messed up like a birds nest. You rest your head against your desk as the teacher keep teaching whatever she was. Jimin kicked your chair from behind so you lift your chair slightly and put the leg of your chair on his foot. He groaned in pain but then covered it up by coughing when the teacher glanced at him. You are in no mood to be needed with.

"Miss Araceli, this is my class, not your house to sleep in!" The teacher said when her gaze falls on your half-asleep form. You lift your head and the teacher gasp, "Oh my God, what happened to you? Why are you looking like a zombie? G-go back to sleep." You nodded and went back to sleep but Jimin tapped your shoulder lightly, "Araceli, can you please take your chair off my foot, please?" You did it since he was practically begging you. With that, you went back to the dreamland.

-Time skipped to when you are awake-

The teacher was telling all of you to make a big team for the team project which he hasn't told you about what is it. Everyone made a team including you, your team consists of You, your best friend, Taehyung, Jimin- wait, Taehyung and Jimin?!

"Wait! What are you guys doing here?" You asked while pointing at the whole members of BTS.

"Umm, making a team?" Taehyung said, well more like asked.

"With us?" You glared at them, your eye bags, messy hair made you look at a mad person.

"Ara, let them." Your best friend glared at you, "But-" she sighed. "Ara."

"Fine." You pouted but accept your defeat.

"Has everyone made a group?" Everyone said yes.

"Oh? Jungkook? Why are you alone?"

"Oh...um...everyone else made up a team before I even got the chance to ask anyone." You looked at where he was sitting all alone while others have made a group. You feel bad for him.

"Why does everyone always leave him out?" You asked.

"Don't you know? There are rumours that he is cursed, everyone who talked to him gets haunted by a ghost. His friend all stopped talking to him after getting haunted by the ghost." Hoseok explained as all of you listen intensely. "Seriously? What kind of reason is that? Haunted my foot." You rolled your eyes, he can't be cursed, right?

"Does anyone want Jungkook in their team?" The room fell silent as Jungkook look down. Poor guy.

"It's fine, Mr Wang. I can manage on my own." You looked at Jungkook, he was looking down. "No Jungkook, it's a group project." Mr Wang looked at the class in annoyance.

"I will give you an extra 5 marks if you take Jungkook in your team." No answer. You start to feel bad for him so you raise your hand. "Teacher! We can take Jungkook in!" Your best friend and BTS member looked at you as if you are crazy. "Very good, Araceli!"

"Will I still be getting my extra marks?" Mr Wang nodded and motioned Jungkook to join your combined tables.

Silence fall upon your table as everyone looked everywhere except Jungkook. "Hi, I am Araceli but you can call me Ara!" You introduced yourself and urge others to do the same. After the introduction, the table falls in silence once again. You smiled at Jungkook brightly while he gave you a small smile, your friend looked at both of you while smiling creepily, Jimin just glared between you and Jungkook, Hoseok looked terrified, Namjoon and Seokjin we're whispering back and forth while Taehyung was bothering a sleeping Yoongi.

"Class, so now I will tell you all about the project! But first, Araceli can you wake Yoongi up, please?" You nodded and smack Yoongi across the head, his eyes shoot open as he glared at you while you give me a not so innocent smile.

"Thank you, Araceli. Now this project is about chronological events that happen. You can write about whatever you want but it should have evidence that confirms that those events happened. Now the events should at least be a decade old. The deadline for this project would be next month on this exact date. Have fun on this project! Bye, class!" You all bowed as he left. The next period was lunch so the other students quickly left.

"I am hungry, let go eat first before we discuss this project." You went with your best friend to grab your lunch.

When you came back to your classroom, everyone was surrounding your combined tables. You pushed past your classmates and looked at your tables. All the table has a big 'X' mark on them with red paint. You feel shivers run down your spine as you looked at the desk.

"What? What kind of prank is this?" You asked when everyone start looking at Jungkook as if he had done this. "Start cleaning your tables!" You start to clean up your table when a bloody dead crow fell on the table, you gasped and flinched back in shock.

"What the hell?! The windows are close! How does this thing come inside?!" Hoseok yelled in terror. What is happening?

That entire week strange things keep happening to all of you, every topic that your group came up with always end up getting caught on fire. You even have a call, Mike, once because you were so terrified. He gave you some crystals and made you promise to keep at least one with you all the time, you can give others one too if you want but you have to keep one with you at all cost. It even went as far as to get a warning written in ref paint, or what you like to think as red paint. That was the last straw for all of you, you are going to get answers from Jungkook. You all need to know what is going on with all the paranormal stuff with Jungkook. It was around 7 p.m. when all of you decide to man and women up and go to Jungkook's house to get some answers. After fighting all day about who is going to his house to confront him about all the paranormal stuff going around him, you all decide that it's safe if all of you go together so if Jungkook got possessed, you all can at least fight him.

Right now, all of you are in front of Jungkook house, his house looks like your typical house but something about this house is strange, as the aura around the house is very uncomfortable. "Ring the bell." You told Jimin, nudging him. Over the week you and Jimin got a lot closer, he is not that bad. "What? Why me?!" He pushed you to ring the bell. Before you can even protest the door opened, all of you stopped what they were doing and looked at the door. No one was there, Hoseok and Yoongi turned away to go back but you grab their collar, "Don't you dare, if I am going to die here then all of you have to die here as well." You said when you felt a presence behind you so you slowly turned to look at the person behind you. There he was, the one and only Jungkook staring at you darkly. You start shivering under his dark and murderous stare. "Hi..." You squeak in a week voice you as Jungkook keep staring at you. "What are you doing here?" Jungkook glared at all of you as all of them hide behind you. "Haha, ah, we...agh...are here to...umm...group project! Yeah, group project! We are here for the group project!" All of you laughed nervously as you made up an excuse. Jungkook keeps looking at you without any movement in his body, the only movement in his body was that he was blinking. Suddenly someone came behind Jungkook, "Jungkook, what are you doing at the door?" A lady maybe in her early 50s came from behind Jungkook, she smiled at you as you smiled at her awkwardly and the other who was hiding behind your back waved at her. "Are they your friends, Jungkook-ah?" She asked Jungkook nodded his head when she suddenly smacked him across the head. "Ow, what was that for?" He whined as if he was not just murdering from his stares. "For keeping your friends outside for so long and scaring them. Look how they are hiding behind this poor girl." All of you straighten up at that, you cleared your throat as you glared at the others. "Come inside," Jungkook muttered in a low voice. Why does it feel like he is inviting you to dig your own grave?

You went inside first and others followed behind quickly. "Sorry for coming uninvited." You said when you sat on the couch in Jungkook's living room. Jungkook's mom smiled and said it was a no big deal.

"I will go and make some snacks for you guys!" She went into the kitchen before you could even protest.

"Why are you guys here?" Jungkook cold stare made you more than uncomfortable, it made you terrified. Where is your shy and sweet Jungkook?

"Didn't we just told you, we are here for the project! Hahaha..." You laughed nervously.

"At this hour?" Why does he keep questioning us?

"It's was Hoseok's idea!" Hoseok looked at you, terrified.

"Umm...yeah! I thought that...it would be good if we start the pro -project as soon as possible." Hoseok grip Namjoon's hand tightly.

"But why my house?" This feels like an FBI inquiry at this point.

"My mom is out of town so if I let boys in my house my mom would kill me." You lied without missing a beat.

"My house is getting renovated so we can't do it at mine." Your best friend followed.

"I don't even live in my house I live in the dorms and my roommate is very noisy and we don't have much space." I can agree on the noisy part, Yoongi.

"And I am his roommate." Hoseok, what the...?

"I have a dog name Yeontan and he is very dangerous, he bit everyone that comes inside my house." Taehyung, if Jungkook ever saw Yeontan he would kill you for lying.

"My mom wouldn't allow me to let my friends over." Namjoon, your mom even let you throw a party...

"I have a little sister and she would ruin our project." Jin, since when did you get a little sister?

The only one left to lie was Jimin. He looked around the room nervously as if the walls would tell him what to say. "Umm, I have a girl over so my house was never an option." An awkward silence falls upon the room after hearing Jimin's lie.

"Jungkook, why don't you take your friends to your room? Here are the snacks! Oh! And if Jungkook got possess put this cross on his head, he would be fine in seconds." Jungkook's mom pushed the cross on your hand and pushed all of you towards the stairs. Man, Jungkook's mom is strong for her age.

"You guys are here to know if I am cursed or not, right?" Jungkook asked once all of you sat down on his floor. You looked at him shocked but slowly nodded your head.

He sighed and let out an Ouija board.

"This is an Ouija board also known as Spirit board. This is the cause of all the paranormal stuff going around me, I once played this with my friends but things went down when a spirit got summoned, it possessed me and from that day onward that spirit keeps following me everywhere." He explained as everyone listened intensely.

"Does the spirit said anything about why they are haunting you?" Namjoon questioned as he pulled out his laptop from his backpack.

"She said something along with the lines of 'they killed me, I want revenge, don't go near that dark demon.' And things like that. Her name was Kim Shi Ree." Namjoon's face light up when he heard the ghost's name.

"I think I might just know why she is haunting you." Namjoon start typing furiously on his laptop.

"Look! Here an article that says in 2010 a girl name Kim Shi Ree died mysteriously in our school. It says that our school might be cursed because every decade or so students die mysteriously in school. It also says that there is a devil that kill these students every decade. The school keep destroying any records of these murders so people don't find out and they pay a lot of money to the parents of the child to stay quiet." Namjoon read the article and looked up. All of us were horrified by the article.

"What the hell...the spirit might want a proper closure to her case," Jungkook muttered.

"Guys, why don't we make this into our project?" Jimin suggested.

"What? Are you stupid? You want us to make a report about the school covering up murders to our school project? They might just kill us." Yoongi have a point.

"No, there might be a chance that there might be only one person involved in this mess. We can investigate and give our project straight to the police." Jimin explained.

"But where would we begin the investigation?" You asked.

"The library! School library." Hoseok exclaimed.

"But why the library?" Jin asked.

"Well, haven't you saw in horror or investigation movies? They always find clues in the library, so we should try our luck there because of the situation we are in it feel like a movie." All of you nodded at Hoseok explanation.

"So, tomorrow at 9 a.m. in front of school since it's Sunday I think everyone is free?" Your best friend asked as everyone nodded.

"So let's go back to our home, my mom just texted me asking when I am coming home." You said while replying to your mom.

"Wait- Don't you said that your mom is out of town?" Jungkook looked at you confused. Shit.

"I lied, haha" You laughed nervously and ran out of his room.

"Bye, I gotta go! Bye, Mrs Jeon! Your cookies were great! Can I take some of them?" You asked Mrs Jeon once you reached downstairs. Others followed shortly after.

"Sure, dear!" She gave you a whole jar of cookies. "Wow, thank you, Mrs Jeon!" You hugged her and went outside.

"Bye, Mrs Jeon and Jungkook remember to meet us at 9 sharp tomorrow!" You wave at them and start walking off to your house.

That night you called Mike by calling his name, you still don't understand what the heck he is but you know for sure he is not a ghost nor a human. You asked him if he can help you find some clue and he agreed to help you as much as possible.

You stood outside the school building at 9 sharp. "Where is everyone?" You wondered when suddenly someone came behind you and screamed in your ear, "BOO!"

You flinched but didn't scream, you looked behind you and it was none other than Mike. "Seriously? I thought you were a serious guy!" You smacked his head while he laughed.

"Whose that?" There they were, your friends.

"He is my friend, wait did you guys came with each other without me telling me?"

"Well, you left before we made the plan to come together, but Araceli, you can't just tell people about things like this." Namjoon said.

"Well, I know what is happening here for quite a while now," Mike said before introducing himself, "I am Mike, Araceli's friend." He looked down at all of them since he was 6'4cm tall. He towers all of you.

"Let's start the investigation, guys." Your best friend said.

"Wait, you guy seriously think that the school will keep the records of those students out in open? Especially in the library?" Mike questioned when you stopped in front of the library.

"Umm, yeah?" You just now realize how stupid the idea was and from the look of it, it seems that others realize it now as well.

"You naive kids." Mike facepalmed himself on the forehead. "Follow me, I know where the records might be." You all followed behind him like lost puppies. Mike takes you all to the closet outside the storage room. He opened it and did something before a closet inside the closet opened, revealing old books.

"Search them thoroughly. There might be a clue in them." All of you start to read the books one by one in Jungkook's house since his mom doesn't mind all of you in her house.

"Guys! Look, I think I found the record journal." Jin told all of you as you stopped what you were doing and went to where he was sitting.

"Look at these entries." Jin flipped the page where the first entry was.

Entry one. Date:- 12-5-1960.

This is the first time I am writing a journal, I think what happened today need to be on records.

I work in a mental asylum in Central Seoul, South Korea. This asylum is well known in South Korea but there is a dark secret that I found out today. The doctors here kill the lower class patient and fed their body parts to the upper-class patient, there is a basement that is filled with the remainings of those patients, some patients are even alive when the doctors let the upper-class patient eat them. The doctors experiment on the upper-class patient that make them go insane. This place is living hell but what happens today was horrifying. It's been a month since the doctors allow the scientist to experiment on the upper-class patient when one patient went up the ceiling and stayed there for the whole day and that patient even wrote 'It was better in hell' in blood. I will never forget this day, never. This day is going to haunt me in my dreams.

-Mark. (See the photo here)

All of you looked up when Yoongi finished reading the entry. "Our school used to be an asylum." Namjoon slowly let out.

"Look there are other entries too, but they are just photos with names on them, nothing is said."

Date:- 12-5-1970.

Name- Violet Knights.

Date:- 12-5-1980.

Name- Luka Williams.

Date:- 12-5-1990.

Name- Lily, Liana, Licious Potter.

Date:- 12-5-2000.

Name- Sana Kim.

Date:- 12-5-2010.

Name- Shi Ree Kim.

Today:-

Name:- Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jungkook, Araceli, Mike-

"Why does this have our names on it!" You throw the book away when you heard something downstairs. You all ran down stairs.

A man was sitting on Jungkook's couch, Jungkook looked around in a panic when the man started speaking, "Don't worry about your mother, Jungkook, she is outside." Jungkook didn't seem to relax at his word.

"Why are you here, brother?" All of you looked at Mike in shock as he asked what appears to be his brother. "Seems like you finally came out of your hiding spot, Mark." You gasped, this guy can't be Mark...he is so young but if he is Mike's brother and Mike is not human then maybe he is Mark.

"What is going on?" You asked.

"He is my brother Mark, we both are immortal because he sold his soul to the devil and since we were twins I became immortal too. The entry about the asylum was written by him, that asylum was a demonic cult that sacrifices people ever decade to feed the devil who is my brother. I tried to stop him but I can't since I am just immortal but I don't have powers because he was the one who sold his soul not me. I know Araceli because Araceli was the only victim that I protected back when she was a toddler. I wiped her memories because I don't want her to get hurt..." While Mike was distracting Mark and others you quickly grabbed the crystals that Mike gave you and you pass the crystals to Jungkook and motioned him to pass the crystals to other, you remembered Mike's words last night when you asked why he gave you crystals, "These crystals have the blessings of the most powerful witch, but it will only work if a human touch it. In any situation, if you need to protect your self or need to kill an evil do not hesitant, the only thing you need to do is make a circle around the evil and let your heart do its magic. If you have a good intention the magic will work with you but if you have a bad intention the magic will work against you. Remember Ara, only used this when needed because the magic can kill you if your intentions are not good. I trust you, Ara, I know you will only use when needed."

The others quickly understand what you were doing and made a circle using themself, Mark stopped when he realised what was happening and stood up but Mike grabbed him by his neck and they both fall to the ground. Mike took out a dagger made of the same crystal as Mark struggled, all of you grab each other hands and made a circle around them, you start to feel like you doe going to faint as a binding light surrounded all of you, the last thing you saw was Mike stabbing Mark in the head before darkness consumed you.

-One year later-

You sighed as you stop what you were doing, "Jiminie~ Stop bothering me~" You pushed Jimin away from yourself to which he whined, "What are you thinking about?" Jimin asked.

"About that day, what do you think happened to Mike?" Jimin sighed, after that day all of you woke up in your own houses, no one knows what happened after all if you fainted but you all know that you have succeeded because Jungkook is no longer cursed, nobody even remembered the whole cursed thing except you guys. You all found out that the school was not covering the murders, it was Mark who was covering the murders. You and Jimin start dating after two months, all of you graduate high school with good grades, things were going great but still, there was no sign of Mike returning. Others believe that Mike also died when Mark died because both of there soul was connected but you don't want to believe it.

"I don't know, Ara and I-" The doorbell ringed before Jimin can even complete his sentence, "I will go get it." You said and went to the door when you opened it you found no one there but there was a box. You opened the box and it reveals the same crystals that Mike once gave you.

"OH MY GOD! JIMIN LOOK! MIKE IS ALIVE!"

Maybe he is alive or maybe it's someone else trying to make you think he is alive because who knows what lurks in the darkness of your apartment or the alley you pass. Nobody knows and sometimes it better if you don't know something because who knows what the consequences would be of knowing things you are not supposed to know.

[heyyyharry]

Flatmate: Y/N and Layla fight and the boys have to do something

Word count: 2.7k (Yay long blurb! I personally loveeee this one)

Anon:

We’ve seen flatmate Harry and y/n fight but what about y/n and Layla’s big fight? What would they fight about that would leave them no speaking? I can see them fighting and Niall still wanting to hangout with Harry and Layla throwing a fit that he’s picking sides 🥺

I definitely see Layla as the type to be upset regarding y/n getting closer to another girl for the fear of being replaced and y/n loving that Layla loves her so much but says she can feel smothered and wants to be able to make her own friends 🥺

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.

.

“So you and Louis aren’t talking...again,” Harry said as he flopped down next to Y/N and pulled her into his arms.

“I’m not talking to him,” Niall scoffed, one hand using his phone, the other wrapped around Layla. “If he wants to talk, go to Layla’s and beg me to come back.”

“Oh my God.” Layla rolled her eyes. “You boys are so dramatic. Kindergarten must have been hard for you.”

“As if you and Y/N never fight,” Harry said.

“Never.” Layla lifted her shoulders.

Y/N nodded nonchalantly. “That’s because you’d bullied me enough in the past.”

“True,” Layla said while inspecting her nails. “Bullying you was so...last year. Now I’m bullying Harry.”

She pushed out her tongue and reached across Y/N to pet Harry’s head like he was a dog. He slapped her hand away and brushed his hair back into place. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “Even Y/N and I fight sometimes.”

“Since when did Y/N and you become the standard of everything?”

“Since always.” Harry wiggled his eyebrows, and she mockingly smiled at him with her whole face.

She didn’t care if anyone believed it; she and Y/N were not one of those basic girl friend duos. Sure, they weren’t a match made in heaven, and those cheesy friendship quotes on Tumblr didn’t apply to them. If Y/N made a friendship bracelet for her, would she wear it? Yes, only if it didn’t look like shit and went well with her outfit that day. Would she make Y/N a friendship bracelet? Absolutely fucking not.

But the thing was, Y/N didn’t care about those things. She was the ‘okay, fine, whatever’ type of girl; not the mean one, more like a people-pleaser. Layla, on the other hand, always had a lot to say about everything. Fuck the ‘we’re best friends because we have a lot in common’ bullshit. Layla believed best friends – just like lovers – had to complement each other. You started off as two completely different people and learnt to compromise and live in harmony and eventually morphed into one.

Layla had been somewhat influenced by Y/N’s tame manner; she no longer slammed doors in (some) people’s faces, or pulled Trix’s hair when she walked behind her, or kicked Harry’s in the nuts (because those were Y/N’s properties now. Ew!). And Y/N had gained more self-confidence since they’d started hanging out; she wore more revealing clothes, drank alcohol without throwing up and went to bars with only occasional panic attacks.

Layla believed they were imperfectly perfect for each other. So why would they want to risk losing it over a stupid fight?

A week after the conversation at Harry and Y/N’s place, there was a group assignment for the International Management course Layla and Y/N had registered together. Initially, there had been Harry, who’d bailed them at the last minute for his internship in a big firm (which he couldn’t shut up about). But at least she had Y/N. They would group together as they always did; it was the rule.

“What do you mean you’re doing this with Portia?!” Layla cried out as she grabbed Y/N’s shoulder and spun her around. “Who the fuck is Portia?”

“She’s in my book club and she’d asked me weeks ago,” Y/N said, hugging her textbooks to her chest. “I have other friends, too, you know.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Nothing. This isn’t personal, Layla.”

“It fucking is. I can’t do this with other people. I have anxiety.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow. “No, you don’t.”

“When I present an academic topic, I do!”

“Every single one of our courses has presentation assignments!” Y/N shouted at her. Y/N had never shouted at her. If one of the boys did that, she would’ve slapped them. But this was Y/N.

Y/N had never shouted at her.

She took a step back, eyes widened in disbelief. “Why are you shouting?”

Y/N said nothing and pinched the bridge of her nose, like she always did whenever she argued with Harry.

“Wait. Are you picking a fight with me?”

“We’re not fighting, Layla.”

“We weren’t until you started shouting!” Now Layla was shouting too. “You could’ve at least told me you’d picked another. What am I supposed to do now?”

“Stop being so melodramatic.”

“No, this is real drama.” Layla raised a finger. “First, you picked someone else without telling me–”

“There’s still plenty of time to find you a partner, Layla.”

She ignored Y/N and raised another finger. “Second, you shouted at me.” Then another one. “Third, you–”

“You’re so controlling, you know that?” Y/N interjected and glanced around to make sure they weren’t causing a scene. “This isn’t even a big deal. I can still help you with the presentation without being your partner. We don’t have to do everything together. It’s like you think you made me or something.”

Layla arrogantly crossed her arms. “Well, if you feel that way then maybe it’s true.”

Y/N dropped her jaw, her eyes too big. “You know what?” she said with a huff, holding the books tighter to her chest. “Good luck with your anxiety when no one wants to group with you because you’re...you’re a bitch!”

Y/N winced like she’d never called someone a bitch before. That was because she’d never called anyone a bitch before. Layla let it sink in when she watched Y/N walk away.

.

.

.

“This is ridiculous, babe!”

“Don’t! Let me go!” Layla grabbed the handrail of the lift as Niall tried to pull her out of there with his arms tightened around her waist. The door slid open again and they snapped their heads at the same time to see Ben, who awkwardly lifted a hand to say hello.

“Ben, tell her she’s overreacting,” Niall said as he let go of Layla and squared his shoulders, taking rapid breaths.

Ben shifted his eyes back and forth between them. “Is this a prank? I don’t want her to bite me again.”

Niall turned to Layla, eyebrows arched high. “You bit him?”

Layla answered with a shrug.

“What is going on?” Ben asked.

“She’s mad at Y/N and now she doesn’t want me to see Harry.”

Layla smacked his arm the second he finished. “I didn’t say that. I said I’d wait in the car and you dragged me up here.” To Ben, she said, “An old lady saw him pull me into the lift and almost called the police to report domestic abuse.”

Ben looked each of them up and down. “You two are a weird weird weird couple.”

“There you are!”

“Fuck, Harry!” Layla and Niall cursed at the same time when Harry popped up in the doorway out of nowhere.

“Why are you standing here?” he asked.

Ben pointed to Layla, “this one doesn’t want to see your girlfriend–” then Niall “–this one was almost arrested for domestic abuse.”

“Long story,” Niall said with a shrug.

“I’m not going in there and none of you can make me!” Layla folded her arms across her chest and cowered in the corner of the lift. When she saw Harry exchange looks with Niall, she immediately threw herself at the gap between Ben and Harry, but Harry caught her before she could slip out and threw her on his shoulder. She was screaming and kicking, but he didn’t put her down.

“Have a good day, Ben!” Niall said.

“You know what? I wanna watch this,” Ben cackled as he ran after them.

“Put me down, you–you stupid piece of shit! I’ll bite you!”

“If you bite me, I’ll bite you back, Layla. I’m serious.”

The threat froze Layla. Harry did sound serious so she might not want to cross him. He carried her to his room, put her down, and slammed the door in her face. She plunged right at it and slammed it with her fists while fumbling with the handle.

“Open this goddamn door, Harry!”

“It won’t work.”

She whipped around and saw Y/N lying on Harry’s bed, twiddling with his Rubik’s cube. Layla hadn’t seen her since their fight on campus; it’d been a week. They had never gone this long without talking to each other, so it was weird to see Y/N again in this situation.

“Tell your boyfriend to unlock the door,” Layla commanded as she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

Y/N dropped the Rubik’s cube on her stomach and finally looked at her. “He locked me here, too, Layla.”

“Sucks to be you. Locked in your own flat,” Layla sarcastically replied as she walked to the chair and flopped down in it. “Now what?”

“Hurry up, girls. We don’t hear apologising!”

“Fuck off, Ben!” Layla shouted at the door.

“What is Ben doing here?”

“No idea.” Layla rolled her eyes as a smile stretched her lips. Y/N was smiling, too.

They sat together in silence for the next fifteen minutes. Layla kept stealing glances at Y/N whenever she felt Y/N staring, but every time she looked, Y/N focused on the Rubik’s cube. She wasn’t actually solving it because she would’ve finished it a long time ago. Layla knew her too well; she just wanted to seem occupied.

“Stop doing that. It’s annoying.”

Layla instantly regretted saying that when Y/N sighed and put the Rubik’s cube down on the nightstand.

“Sorry,” Layla mumbled.

“For what?”

“For saying it was annoying.”

“Oh.” Y/N nodded. “That was a bit annoying, though.”

They both chuckled but didn’t make eye contact.

“So...how’s your presentation?” Layla asked after another moment.

Y/N looked up, batting her eyelashes, but instead of answering, she asked, “H-How’s yours?”

“Fine.” Layla leaned against the chair, staring at her fingers that were drumming on the desk. “I’m actually–” she cleared her throat, not sure why she did it “–I’m actually doing it alone. And I’m fine with that. I’m gonna crush all you bitches.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

“What’s your presentation about?”

“You can’t ask me that, Y/N.”

“I’m not gonna steal your idea,” Y/N giggled. Layla had missed her goofy giggles.

“Tell me yours first,” Layla said.

“Don’t laugh, okay?”

“Okay.”

Y/N shyly tucked a strand behind her ear. “Japanese management techniques.”

“You cheating little bitch,” Layla grinned with her mouth open and gave Y/N’s shoulder a nudge. “Harry’s helping you, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Y/N giggled into her palms; it was like she’d contained those giggles for too long and now she couldn’t stop giggling. “He insisted because–”

“He’d done an internship in Japan, yeah, yeah, your intelligent handsome boyfriend,” Layla mocked, and they both laughed together.

“What’s your topic?” Y/N tapped Layla on the knee. Layla didn’t think she was aware of that.

“I haven’t got one.” Layla shrugged. “I might steal yours.”

That was a joke. She didn’t expect Y/N to reply at all. But then Y/N said, “if you want to.”

Layla burst out laughing, but as Y/N didn’t move a muscle in her face, she froze. “Wait, you’re serious?” Y/N nodded once, which made her eyes grow bigger. “Why?”

“Because...I’m not doing it with Portia anymore.”

“You’re not?”

Y/N shook her head so fast her hair bounced. “I’m doing it by myself.”

“That’s dumb.”

“You’re also–”

Layla cut her off quick. “I’m only doing it by myself because I hate everyone and everyone hates me. You’re not me, so do it with Portia, dumbass.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment before she said, “I don’t hate you.”

Layla softened all at once. Y/N reached for her hand and squeezed it, leaving her no choice but to look in Y/N’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” they said at the same time, froze, and cracked up together.

“Can I go first?” Y/N said between giggles and Layla motioned her to go on. She shifted a bit without moving from her spot on the bed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was wrong to not tell you I was doing the assignment with someone else–”

“I shouldn’t have assumed that you were doing it with me.”

“No, you should.” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “Because we registered for this class together. We were supposed to do it together.”

Layla stuck up her nose. “Okay, fine. Go on.”

“And I shouldn’t have called you the b-word.”

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“The b-word,” Layla mocked with a teasing smirk.

“B-Bitch?” Y/N said alarmedly, making Layla guffaw as she tossed her head back, one hand over her eyes.

“Now I see why Harry keeps forcing you to curse. You are hilarious.” Layla patted her friend’s cheek, and Y/N brushed her hand off, blushing.

“Your turn.”

“Sure.” Layla crossed her legs as she slipped her hand out of Y/N’s fingers to lace her own fingers together on her knee. “I’m sorry that I’m controlling.”

“You aren’t.”

“Shut up. I am,” Layla snorted. “See? Controlling.”

“Okay, controlling,” Y/N agreed. “What’s next?”

“I’ve never had a girl best friend before you.” Layla dropped her gaze to her hands, unable to make eye contact when she said sentimental things. “I guess...I guess I was jealous...and a bit hurt that you could just replace me with anyone and I–Well, I only have you.”

“Aww, Layla.”

“Don’t.”

“Sorry. Come here.” Y/N spread her arms but Layla swatted one of her hands away.

“I’m not gonna cuddle you in your boyfriend’s bed.”

“It’s only a hug,” Y/N said, still keeping her arms open. “Come on. I don’t usually give hugs. You can’t deny me, Layla.”

“You’re so fucking weird,” Layla said. Still, she scooted the chair closer so Y/N could close her arms around her. Though her hands remained on her knee, Layla closed her eyes and relaxed into the hug.

“I really missed you,” she heard Y/N say.

“I missed you, too,” she said back, grinning wide.

.

.

.

They ended up doing the presentation together. Harry told them he was offended that they didn’t need his help anymore, but he was happy that they’d made up. They got an A for the assignment, and Y/N suggested they celebrate it with pumpkin lattes and hamburgers. Layla hadn’t eaten fast food again since she'd been nominated for Prom Queen. But for Y/N, she called it a cheat day and ordered a turkey burger with extra chilli sauce. They blasted music and ate her car.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Y/N said with her mouth full as she used her free hand to fish something out of her bag. “For you.”

“A friendship bracelet?” Layla was taken aback, holding the burger to her mouth like her hand was stuck in that position. It wasn’t just a friendship bracelet. It was hot pink. Layla couldn’t come up with any outfit that could go with hot pink.

Y/N giggled. “I was babysitting the other day and the kid taught me to make this.”

“It’s ugly.”

“I know right?” Y/N shoved the last piece of the burger into her mouth and rolled up her left sleeve. She was wearing one, too. It was bright purple. “I gave you the less ugly one. You’re welcome.”

“Wow, I’m sobbing,” Layla said with a straight face as she offered her hand. Y/N happily put it on for her.

“There you go. Our first ugly friendship bracelets.”

Layla didn’t comment, but seeing how giggly Y/N was made it impossible to hold back a smile. She turned the music up and started bobbing her head while Y/N tapped her feet and sipped her pumpkin latte. Layla intentionally put her left hand closer to Y/N’s so she could see how the bracelets looked together.

Hideous. Their colours didn’t even match. But she loved that awful composition. Just like her and Y/N.

[mushyjellybeans]

Another Bad Day

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Prompt: “I wanna take my time with you tonight.” - HBC “Yes I know I cry a lot, so what?” - @honeyvbarnes​ Warnings: Protective!Bucky, degrading from other agents, insecurities, insecure!reader, language, implied smut. A/N: Guys, we’ve made it to Friday. How are we feeling? Here’s another @the-ss-horniest-book-club​ for you, I’m also combining this with @honeyvbarnes​ birthday challenge!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LOVE!

And if anyone in the world degrades you in this way, fuck ‘em! You’re gorgeous and beautiful the way you are and you’re all good enough for our Bucky boy!!! I love you!!!

“Oh my god guys, how on earth did Y/N end up with a hottie like Sergeant Barnes?” You heard one of the lower ranked agents say in the office a few floors up where you had agreed to meet Bruce. 

“I know, he’s too good for her. She’s just so ugly and fat and he’s like the perfect god.” You winced at their tone and decided to try and ignore it. But you couldn’t ignore the tears welling in your eyes at their hateful words, to have your insecurities dished out for you on a plate like that.

These bitches didn’t even know you. You were an Avenger and they had to stay behind and type some bullshit in on the computer. What gave them the right to judge you.

You weren’t blind, you knew you were no Wanda or supermodel. But Bucky loved you and that’s all that mattered, right?

For the rest of your day you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the back of your mind that Bucky could feel the same way they did.

“Look, Y/N. Go and rest, you’re clearly not in the mood for this.” Bruce said, putting a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t argue, you got off that floor as quickly as you could. Heading back to your room where you could let all your emotions out at once.

You slammed the door to your room so hard it echoed down the long hallway and could be heard from the common room.

“What the hell was that?” Bucky asked nobody in particular, peering over the top of his book at the team, where he received a lot of shrugs and wasn’t even acknowledged.

Bucky’s phone buzzed in his jean pocket. He sighed and read the message from Bruce.

Bruce: Hey man. There’s something up with Y/N. She seemed really out of it when she met me, just thought you should know! Bucky frowned as he re-read the text message. He didn’t understand, you seemed perfectly normal this morning when the two of you left the bed you shared.

You dropped onto your bed face first and cried into the pillow. Their words shouldn’t have hurt you and yet they did, very much.

A deafening knock sounded at your door and you squinted, as though you had invisible powers to make them disappear.

“GO AWAY!” You yelled, burying your tear-stained face back in your pillow. The door opened anyway and you internally rolled your eyes.

“No.” The gruff voice said behind you. Your body stiffened. “What’s going on, doll? Bruce said you were acting weird?” Bucky asked as he sat down on the edge of the bed, stroking your shoulder but frowning when your body became rigid from his touch.

“Nothin’.” Bucky sighed and rolled his eyes. He pulled you up by your arm and he became concerned when he saw fresh tears in your eyes.

“Doll, you’re crying.” He stated, his thumb catching the new falling tears.

“Yes I know I cry a lot, so what?” You snapped.

“I’m not judging, doll. What happened? And I swear to God if you say ‘nothing’.”

You sighed, knowing you wouldn’t get out of this so easily. Bucky wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

“I overheard some girls say some stuff and I don’t know, it just hurt me.”

“What did they say baby? Who hurt my precious baby girl?” Bucky leaned in closer and captured your lips with his for a moment.

“That I was ugly...fat...not good enough for you, do you-- do you ever think that?”

“Of course I don’t! Y/N, listen to me. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I would move the fucking moon for you if it was possible, I’d do anything in the world for you. If you said to me, ‘Hey Buck, let’s retire and move someplace quiet’, my notice would be on Fury’s desk by the morning. I love you so much, I wanna spend the rest of my life with you and those pathetic wannabe’s got nothin’ compared to you baby, I’d need a telescope to find their breasts.” You chuckled wetly and wiped your tears with your sleeve. “There’s that beautiful smile. I love you and I’m gonna protect you. And for your looks? They must be fucking blind as well as stupid, you’re gorgeous to me and there is nothing I would change about you.”

“Really?” You whispered. He took your hands in his and kissed the top of your hands.

“Really baby, I mean it. I love you the way you are. I don’t wanna keep repeating myself, so let me show you how much I love you. I wanna take my time with you tonight.”

Tags: @stuckonjbbarnes​ @valkyriesryde​ @this-kitten-is-smitten​ @sebbbystaaan​ @loricameback​ @eurynome827​ @jobean12-blog​ @mycupoffanfiction​ @jamesbarnesappreciationclub​ @criminal-cookies​ @the-ss-horniest-book-club​

[dalgikiss]

Catch-22 // h. iwaizumi

index

part 14

When you yell, you yell for plenty of reasons but never because you’re angry. 

You yell at Oikawa for bothering you and messing up your notes, you yell at Hanamaki for taking your food, you yell at Iwaizumi when he flicks your forehead a little too hard after you lose a bet and it leaves an ugly red mark on your forehead for days to come and you yell at Matsukawa when he teases you about your height and holds your shoes up, just out of your reach. 

You yell at a lot of things, but you never mean a word you say, reassuring your boys that it’s all a joke through the teasing lilt in your voice. 

You cry a lot too

Matsukawa likes to call you the crybaby of Seijoh, a title you hate but you’ve given up on trying to make him shut up about it because he never lets you win. 

(He may call you the crybaby of seijoh, but he always has a pack of tissues kept handy in his blazer and holds you tight against his chest while you soak the front of his shirt)

You once cried so hard while watching Endgame, you almost blacked out from the lack of oxygen and Iwaizumi was busy fanning your face in order to get you to come back to your senses while Oikawa ran around in circles panicking. 

In the whole three years you’ve known your friends, you have never done both at the same time, a feat they have found extremely impressive because of how animated you are when you talk. 

They know you like the back of your hand, immediately able to decipher your feelings within a moment of hearing the tone of your voice. Sometimes, you wonder if it's a curse or a blessing in disguise. 

Hanamaki once said that if anyone ever witnessed you crying and yelling (like actually yelling, he has to emphasize this because you are a loud person) at the same time, it was going to be the end of the world.

If we follow Hanamaki’s theory, the world ends after you retrieve your keys

X.

“If I were a pair of keys, where would I be?” You ask yourself, fully knowing the correct answer to your rhetorical question would be in your bag. 

You check the teacher’s podium and the lost and found bin in the front of the room but to your dismay, you find nothing but the teacher’s attendance book on the podium and a few stray gloves and pencils in the bin. 

Are you dumb? Iwaizumi’s voice rings in your head and you unconsciously stick your tongue out

Your desk, check by your desk, he chides you, a rough voice that struggles to keep it’s serious tone

Your eyes light up when you spot your key ring on the floor next to your desk, letting out a sigh of relief at the sight of it. 

You crouch down to pick it up, pulling off pieces of dust that had gotten stuck on the ridges of your keys.

They say that a sound can travel 1125 feet in still air and while you’ve never thought to argue against it, you find that this does in fact ring true to its words and you still your movements when you hear Ryuoko and Iwaizumi arguing down the hallway. 

You tell yourself this is not your conversation to hear but your curiosity is stronger than your common sense and you stay crouched on the floor, legs growing numb with every second you stay. 

The argument dies down and you wonder when is the right time to get back up again so you could make your getaway without seeing anyone and once the sound of Ryuoko’s footsteps fades into the distance, you let out a huge sigh, dropping down onto the floor to try and get the feeling back into your legs. 

You’re too busy shaking your legs to get the blood rushing back to notice Iwaizumi walk in. 

“The floor’s dirty”

You look up, round eyes meeting his green ones. He stares down at you unamused and you hastily stand up, dusting yourself off. “Forgot my keys” You laugh, twirling it around your finger. He watches it make circles around your pointer finger, the volleyball keychain that had been gifted to you by Oikawa, a gift for Aoba Johsai Volleyball Club's biggest fan, swinging around wildly before grunting and turning around to collect his things. 

The air between the two of you feels heavy, weighed down by the things unspoken. Within the friendship, Iwaizumi had always been the pillar of support, standing tall and strong behind the four of you to let you grow and you were unsure of what to do. All you know is the way your gut churns with every passing moment, your heart pounding in your ears and was your breathing always this loud?

An unknown force propels you to speak despite all your instincts telling you to run and when you look back at this moment, you reprimand yourself for not listening but you want to get rid of the elephant in the room. 

“Is everything okay?” Your voice is so low, even you struggle to hear it. 

He shoves his notebook into his bag with a little more strength than needed, refusing to spare you even a glance. “Absolutely perfect”

You bite your bottom lip, pocketing your keys. “Alright, I’ll see you later. Oh, I meant to ask you before class ended but can I please get your notes for the next few days-”

“Everything’s always about you, isn’t it?” 

“What?” You stare up at him, wide and unblinking eyes. He slams his bag back down onto the table, the old desk letting out creaks of protest under his strength and for a moment, you get a vivid flashback of young Iwaizumi standing before you again. 

“Everything is always about you. From the moment I wake up to the moment I sleep, it’s always about you”

You remember the yellow light that shines in Iwaizumi’s room from his hallway and his mother’s voice- concerned, tired, motherly. 

“Every single moment of my life is dedicated towards you. Give me a fucking break for once”

You remember your stiff limbs and your shallow breaths

“Even with my girlfriend, it’s about you. Don’t you get tired of always having someone baby you?”

You remember your scratchy throat and dry mouth and the tears threatening to pool out your eyes.

“Aren’t you tired of being so fucking needy?”

You remember apologizing and it’s almost an exact repeat of the last time he was angry at you, the time he had sworn to you would never happen again but Iwaizumi is only human and humans break promises, no matter how hard they try. 

This time, you swore to yourself as you attempted to hold back your tears, this time was going to be different. 

“Aren’t you tired of blaming your fucking problems on me?” Your voice is shrill and grates against your throat and you tell yourself to be strong so your voice comes out evenly. “Whatever problems you have with your girlfriend is due to her insecurities, it has nothing to do with me and if you don’t see that then you’re just as blind as she is”

You angrily wipe away your tears with the base of your palm, letting out a wry laugh when you feel your heated cheeks and damp eyelashes. “Matsun was right, I really am the crybaby of Seijoh”

The hiccups force their way out of you and you wonder what you look like in Iwaizumi’s eyes with your sweaty, sticky skin, hair that’s beginning to plaster themselves onto the sides of your face and embarrassingly red cheeks. Pitiful, to say the least. 

“But you know what I’m not?” You clench your hands around your keys, feeling pinpricks of pain shoot through your fingers, “I am not some desperate, whiny, attention needing bitch that you’ve made me out to be. I have never asked you to give me attention, never forced you to do things with me when you obviously would much rather be doing something else and never have I ever made you make the focus of your relationship about me”

In the past, you had learned to ride the waves, to be quiet and let them scream and yell because humans were humans and emotions were hard to control. Yelling back only made things worse, their anger taking the reins and leaving behind rationality. A survival tip about getting caught in a riptide off of reddit had been applied to different aspects of your life- after all, why fight against the waves and make it worse for yourself when you could swim with it and wait calmly for help?

You knew better than to fight fire with fire. You knew better than to stoop down to his level and hurl insults at him the same way he did with you, just because you were hurting but it didn’t matter. In that one moment you had decided to argue back, you had lost all logic.

The scowl on his face runs as deeper than it has ever been at your words. When you were younger, this was the face that had made you cry into your mother’s shirt and onto your pillow, the face that made you too nervous to go anywhere near him and had made you paralyzed with fear. 

That face still scares you, terrifies you even but your pride refuses to back down. 

“I didn’t do anything at all but be your friend. I respected her boundaries and your relationship. Matsun even told you I purposely kept away from you because I wanted your relationship to last. Don’t you dare blame any of your shit on me. I did the right thing, I did what I had to do, even if it meant losing you as a friend”

The way he looks at you reminds you of a documentary you had once seen with Oikawa about mermaids, their dead eyes that held a vicious glint in them never leaving your memory.

“Am I really just your friend?” He asks you and he finally stands up from where he was leaning on the desk. “Are you sure you’re not just lying to yourself?”

Iwaizumi may be leaning on the shorter side of the volleyball team but he is still taller than average and you are painfully aware of it when he stretches to his full height and towers over you but you refuse to submit, crossing your arms and staring straight into his eyes, even if you have to slightly crane your neck to do so. 

“If you liked me, you should have said something instead of hiding it like a coward” 

The words slap you in the face rendering you speechless. If it’s even more possible, your face seems to get even hotter. 

‘“Who says I wasn’t going to?” You shoot back but you don’t sound as intimidating as you want to, voice tapering off and a fresh wave of tears spill out of your eyes and onto your cheeks. “For all you know, I was going to confess to you the same week Ryuoko did. I just never got the chance to”

The memory of Ryuoko holding Iwaizumi, your Iwaizumi’s hand is burned into the back of your eyelids, along with every hickey, every kiss and every hug and you abhor it. 

Your voice hitches in your throat and you’re very aware of the ache in your legs from standing so stiffly. You can’t help the small sob that comes out your throat and like a dam breaking, it’s all coming out and you hastily cover your face with your arms and turn away. 

Your voice is muffled as you cry into your jacket sleeves, “It already fucking sucks seeing you with her all the time and every moment I wasn’t talking to you or texting you, I had to remind myself that it was over and if I really liked you, I should be happy you’re happy”

You cough, feeling your snot beginning to run and inwardly you tell yourself how gross this all is. 

“It already hurt seeing you do all the things that I wanted to do with you with somebody else but you telling me I’m the cause of your relationship going south when every single moment of the day, I was doing my best to respect your relationship is even worse”

Turning back to face him, even with your messed up hair and snotty nose, you pray to any deity in heavens to give you enough strength to say your last few words properly.    

“suck my fucking dick, Iwaizumi Hajime”

The door to the classroom sounds much louder than you think, the sound bouncing off the empty hallway walls the same way it does in your head when you slam it close and leave him standing alone in the classroom. 

You bite down into your hand, blindly making your way into the restroom and when you catch a glimpse of reflection, you draw out blood from pressing your teeth into your hand just a little too hard. 

It takes a few minutes for you to calm down, small buzzes coming from your phone as Oikawa texted you, reminding you they were still waiting. 

The eyes that stare back at you in the mirror are swollen and bloodshot and you already know there’s no way you’ll be able to hide it from the sharp eyes of your friends. You draw an x on your throat and two more on your eyelids, taking a deep breath to calm down your shaking body. 

“Don’t” you tell yourself, gripping the porcelain countertop for stability, “Don’t”

When you finally find yourself at the landing of the stairs, standing before the exit after a few shaky moments. You can see Oikawa hugging your bag to his chest as he leans against a pillar, Hanamaki still lying on the step where you had left him and Matsukawa in your seat. 

With a deep breath and a plastered smile on your face, you open the door and wave your keys in the air, the jangling of the keys adding on to your headache. 

“I found it!”

Oikawa already sees your shaky hand that’s stuffed in your pocket and wet jacket sleeves, strong arms reaching out to hold you and when you feel the hot tears pricking the corner of your eyes, you screw them shut to ward them away. 

He holds you tight against his chest where you can hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat while you fist his shirt in your hands. 

Matsukawa silently hands you a tissue, shoving it into your clenched fist and Oikawa holds you impossibly closer to him when he feels your body shake with every hiccup and muffled sob from your throat. 

You ask them if your golf ball sized tears that were somehow produced from your body were just as large as they felt and Hanamaki wipes them away with his thumb and nods in a sore attempt to make you laugh again.

Hanamaki says the day you cry and yell at the same time is the day the world ends and he’s right. The day you cried and yelled at Iwaizumi leaves a big tear in the fabric of your friendship, one that you wished didn’t happen the same day you had to wake up early to take your entrance exam

[crossandchange]

yuto // segmentation fault

This is a gift fic for @lilyyutodae! Happy holidays Lily, I hope you enjoy this weird little fic :)

@exolssecretsanta

Warnings: Some bad words, a good amount of jargon, and weird humor. 

“God fucking damn it!” You cried as you saw those four damn words on your laptop screen: 

Segmentation Fault (Core Dumped)

“I hate my life, I hate this class, and my professor can go to hell! Who in the modern world writes programs in C!” You ranted emphatically, slamming your hands against the grimy library desk.

The figure next to you sighed and craned his neck to get a closer look. 

“I told you to get started on this project earlier, y/n. Why didn’t you listen?” Yuto commented, leaning back in his seat. “Segmentation faults are a pain to debug and you know this.”

“Yes dad,” you shot him a sarcastic thumbs up and started to add some debugging print statements. You yawned and glanced up to check the time on the brown clock on the wall above you. 12:20 AM. Fabulous, you were in for a long night. Why didn’t you bother buying coffee before the overpriced coffee shop across the street closed? Oh right, since it was overpriced.

You turned to face Yuto. “But why the hell are you here when you’re already done?” 

Yuto twirled his pencil. “As I said two hours ago, I’m working on some proofs and I can’t quite crack it.” He sighed, looking away defeatedly. You patted him on the shoulder empathetically and turned back to your own laptop.

~~~~~

You had met Yuto in your freshman year calculus class. You had gotten lost in the endless hallway of the math building and finally stumbled into the right classroom, as the professor was reading from her five-page long syllabus. When she saw you, she stopped.

“So you are y/n? Pleased that you could join us. Welcome to the exciting world of multivariable calculus. Take a seat wherever you can find one,” she smiled, extending a chalky hand to shake yours. You quickly grabbed a syllabus and rushed to the first empty seat you could find, hastily taking down any notes you missed.

The bell rang and you rushed to grab your backpack and head off to your next class, but you were stopped by a tap on your shoulder. It was the boy sitting next to you. 

“Hi, I’m Yuto. I’m an electrical engineering major. What about you?” Flustered, you sat back down and introduced yourself. 

“I’m y/n, I have a class right after this, I gotta go, but pleased to meet you!” The words spilled out of your mouth and you made a motion to grab your papers, but you were stopped by the boy--no, Yuto--scribbling on your syllabus.

“That’s my number. We should text each other for homework help and stuff. See you around!” He waved you off.

Since then, Yuto has been your best study buddy. Whenever you had quizzes, you would study together the night before. You would proofread each other’s papers and debug each other’s code. You also brought him to all the free food events on campus. The two of you would often be seen grabbing pizza, burritos, and donuts--all for the price of signing up on a club membership list.

Your roommate would often tease you as you got ready for a late-night library study session.

“Heading off to see your boyfriend?” She would smirk, leaning lazily against the doorway. 

“For the last time, he’s not my boyfriend. I have plenty of other male friends that I hang out with. He’s just super smart and I’d like all the help I can get!” You retorted, cheeks flushing red. Your roommate raised a knowing eyebrow and sauntered back into her room.

She had a point, though. Yuto wasn’t just any friend. Over the couple of months you knew him, you saw more than just his book smarts. Yuto was kind, intelligent, and orderly. Time and time again, he had been your saving grace--reminding you of deadlines, buying you coffee when you had an early morning class, and being there to listen when you complained about grades and life.

Not to forget that his ass looked great in a pair of jeans.

So it was inevitable that you fell for this sweet, calm boy. You could only hope that he either felt the same, or was too dense to notice your feeble attempts at flirtation.

~~~~~~~

You let out a whoosh of air and slowly rose to your feet, extending your arms out above your head. You did it. You had finally solved your pesky segmentation fault after two hours of furious typing, googling, and head-desking. You turned to Yuto to shake him with excitement, only to find that he had snoozed off, head lolling against the olive green fabric of the crusty couch.

Well, one could only stare at proofs for so long at the wee hours of the night before sleep took over. His face was serene; the pressure of maintaining scholarships and grades did not affect him in the land of sleep. You sunk back into the couch. Maybe you too, deserved a cat nap before finishing this last report…

When you came to, you noticed a couple of things.

First, the birds were starting to chirp outside as the sky started to brighten from a midnight black to a cerulean blue. Stupid birds and their morning songs. 

Second, your head was resting comfortably on a lap. Wait, what?

You pushed yourself up from the couch and blinked a couple of times to dispel the haze of slumber. Yuto was still propped up against the couch, sleeping away peacefully. At some point in the night, your head must have ended up in his lap. Not that you were complaining, though. 

In a trance, you slowly brought your hand up to faintly trace the contours of his face. You followed the line of his nose bridge, feathered your fingers along his eyebrows, and slowly dragged your fingers along his cheek until you realized that his eyes were no longer shut.

Well shit. 

Some rational part of your brain screamed at you to pull your hand away, but you were caught in his spell. He was looking at you intently. There was no look of disdain in his eyes, no surprise, but rather… curiosity? Your breath hitched in your throat and you leaned in.

Oh God, you were kissing him. And oh fuck, he was kissing you back. At this moment, you didn’t care about the consequences of kissing your best friend. It felt good to meld your lips with his, arms snaking around his neck to bring you closer. It wasn’t until his hands found their way into your hair that you broke away, gasping from the sudden weight of your actions. 

“I am so sorry”, you mumbled, burying your face into your hands. “I finished my program earlier and took a nap. I’ll head--”

You were interrupted by his hands pulling your hands away from your crimson cheeks. 

“Don’t be.” 

“What?”

“Don’t be sorry,” Yuto said with a half smile, peering down at you with adoration. “I just got to kiss the girl of my dreams.” He leaned in once again, but you brought up a palm to meet his lips, earning you a look of surprise on his face.

“What?” You repeated, at a loss for words.

“God, I didn’t think you were this dense.” Yuto said, shaking his head. He exhaled.

“I. like. you.” He punctuated each word clearly. Your heart was pounding in your chest.

“And I’m pretty sure that you like me too, considering you just kissed me,” he chuckled. God, the nerve of this man. You tangled your fingers with his and shyly looked down. 

“You caught me,” you said in a small voice, the adrenaline wearing off. The urge to crawl into bed and snuggle with this infuriatingly beautiful man was taking over your thought process.

Yuto was thinking along the same lines. “How about we get some breakfast and go sleep in a real bed?”

“Deal. Wait, not my place. I don’t want to deal with my roommate,” you groaned. 

He smiled and kissed your hand. “We’ll take it one step at a time, babe.”