#and every time I’ve ever got therapy she immediately hated any therapist that tried to actually find out what’s wrong with me

[be4utiful4byss]

is it bad that I’m starting to feel like everyone secretly hates me rn

[fayemarvels]

time makes the heart grow fonder

Hey, so I'm back after a little break I had from writing, hope you like this one.

~~~~~~~~

Bucky x fem!reader

Summary: Bucky wants to finish his list of amends. The problem? The last name on the list belongs to a woman whit whom he had a more romantic relationship during his time in Hydra.

Warnings: little sad, attempted murder, bad writing, doesn't follow the events of movies or series whatsoever,

Word count: 3,3k

! Please don't repost my work anywhere without my permission. Thank you!

My masterlist *******

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

“Just wanted to let you know that I’m not the winter soldier anymore, my name is James, and I have to make amends,” Bucky told to the terrified man in front of him, in a monotone voice. The man didn’t say anything; he only squished his back closer to the wall behind him.

“So, I didn’t want to kill your family, I was just a puppet to Hydra. They made me do it.” He said the words, which he told many times. He squatted in front of the man and he closed his eyes in fear. Bucky sighed and moved his hand towards his pocket. The man in front of him flinched and whimpered in fear.

“Just my note book, don’t worry,” Bucky mumbled and pulled it out of his pocket, opened it, and crossed over the man’s name. He looked over the page for a few moments, when his eyes landed the last uncrossed name, (Y/L/N). He shook his head and nodded his head towards the man.

“Good talk, man thanks for listening.” He slapped the man’s shoulder and he squeaked quietly. “Would talk more but I have to get to therapy,” Bucky said, stood up, and left the abandoned warehouse, where he cornered the poor scared man. As he walked away, the only thing he could hear were the fast footsteps of the man and his labored breathing.

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

“So, you crossed another name off your list, that’s great.” His therapist said in a monotone voice and Bucky nodded awkwardly. The room went silent and she started to write something in her little notepad, which he hated so much.

“Okay, I don’t have much to tell you. You have been making progress.” She looked back down to her notepad.

“No nightmares?” she asked and Bucky shook his head.

“No, only some flashbacks but I’ve been sleeping peacefully for the last 3 weeks.” He answered truthfully. The doctor only nodded and continued writing in her notepad.

“I want you to finish the list of amends by the time of our next session.” The doctor announced and Bucky’s heart skipped a beat.

“Then we can move on to other stuff.” She continued and Bucky shook his head quickly.

“No, I can’t do it that quickly, give me some time before I can face her family.” He pleaded and she looked up at him surprised.

“So, you had some connection with the victim? Other than your…” she stopped to think “unfortunate encounter?” she questioned and Bucky looked to the floor in shame.

“I managed to escape in 2009.” He whispered quietly and the doctor furrowed her eyebrows. “Pardon?”

“When I was with Hydra. I managed to escape and hide for about 3 years. The woman I killed, she helped me hide.” He confessed and her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“This wasn’t in the files, I would’ve known.” She mumbled to herself as she shuffled through her notes and files.

“It isn’t,” Bucky said and ended her useless search. “Nobody knows about it. Except you.” He confessed and she calmed down.

“Alright, tell me what happened James.” She said and got her stupid notebook ready. Bucky took a few deep breathes to calm himself down and wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans.

“So, a few years back, the winter soldier was sent on a mission to the outskirts of San Francisco. It was supposed to be easy, just a takedown of some S.H.I.E.L.D. officials who were visiting one of the newer bases in the area. But then I realized it was a trap. Long story short, I got shot into the stomach, and left shoulder.” He started explaining.

He didn’t remember many injuries from his time as the winter soldier, but he could remember this one very clearly. The pain, the metallic taste of his own blood. His head started spinning just thinking about that and he decided to move on.

“I got away, but the bullet damaged the chip I had in my left shoulder and it got disconnected from Hydra’s systems. I ran a few blocks before collapsed from exhaustion in an ally way behind some bar.” He stopped to wait so the doctor could finish her writing and then continued.

“I think I laid there for about 3 hours before she came out of the bar. She worked her part-time job there because she was in college. She studied psychology.” Bucky’s voice cracked a bit and he took a deep breath because he could feel tears stinging his eyes.

“Take your time James.” She reminded and handed him a paper tissue. He thanked her and dabbed his eyes with it a few times.

“She wanted to take me to the hospital but I told her she can’t. I was so out of it because of the pain but I knew that this was maybe the only chance I would get at escaping Hydra. So she drove me to her dorm room about 20 minutes away from the bar.” He paused to collect his thoughts before he continued.

“She then took care of my injuries, made me some food, and let me sleep in her bed. My wounds wouldn’t heal for a long time so she decided to take me to a house she got from her grandparents. She even apologized for getting me out of the dorm room so quickly, but she explained that her roommate would come soon and she didn’t want to be questioned.” He chuckled as he felt the hot tears tumble down his cheeks.

“She drove me there and spent the whole weekend with me. In the meantime, I snapped out of my winter soldier mindset. So I explained everything to her and she wasn’t scared of me. Can you believe that?” he smiled fondly at the memory. The doctor only nodded at him with a smile on her face. It was unusual to see her smile.

“She then had to go back to her dorm on Sunday, but she left me with a lot of food, books, and clothes, so I would be okay. She visited every weekend and sometimes even throughout the week. And after a few months, we fell in love. When her semester finished, we stayed in the house together. It was like this for about three years, before Hydra found out where I was hiding.” He shivered at the memory and continued.

“Then, they made me kill her. And you know the rest.” He finished quickly and wiped his tears with the backs of his hands. The tissue that the doctor gave him laying on the table crumbled into a little ball.

“I miss her you know,” he sniffled and the doctor nodded with sympathy in her eyes.

“Only thing I got left is a photo I managed to hide in my boot.” He laughed and took out the polaroid to look at her. The doctor put out her hand.

“Can I see?” she asked softly and Bucky put the photo in her hand hesitantly. She thanked him quietly and turned the photo to look at it properly.

Her eyes first landed on Bucky’s smiling face. She could see he was holding the camera with one hand, and his other hand was wrapped around the shoulders of the girl on his left. She was squishing her cheek to Bucky’s and laughed into the camera, with her arms wrapped loosely around Bucky’s neck. Just from the first look, you could see that they were happy.

“What was her name? If you don’t mind me asking.” The doctor asked cautiously and Bucky smiled softly.

“Her name was (Y/N).”

“Thank you for sharing with me James, this was progress as well, you opening up.” She explained to him and he nodded his head, still looking to the ground.

“But you are taking a very long time with the list of amends so I can’t give you more time. You have time until the end of the month, which is 2 weeks. Not more.” She announced and he gulped loudly.

“I understand, why you were pushing this away, and I think you know you can’t do that any longer. This is the way to forgive yourself.” She explained.

“You can go, we are finished for today.” She dismissed him and he shook his head.

“The problem is doctor; I don’t think I can forgive myself,” Bucky answered and left the room.

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

A week later, tired-looking Bucky stumbled into his apartment. It was around 3 a.m. and he couldn’t sleep. Ever since he opened up to his therapist about his years on the run, he didn’t get much sleep. His nightmares were plagued with the images of his lover laying lifelessly on the floor under the bridge.

His sleep was haunted with the flashbacks of the horrible actions he had done, while under the influence of Hydra. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see her. He tried every single nightmare exercise the doctor taught him. Nothing helped. So he tried the second option. Get drunk and pass out from exhaustion.

But even that was hard. With the serum running through his veins, his alcohol tolerance was very high and getting drunk was nearly impossible. But after nearly 7 hours of constant drinking, he was plastered.

He drunkenly stumbled into his apartment, threw his keys and jacket on the floor, and took off his gloves and shoes. After nearly falling over the table, he finally got into his bedroom. He stripped down, put on his pajamas, and moved into the bathroom to do his nighttime routine.

He fell into the bed about 10 minutes later and fell asleep immediately. He just hoped no nightmares would haunt him this night.

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

“Come on Bucky, you know me, please!” The woman in front of him begged as she backed away from him slowly.

“Who is Bucky?” He asked confused and she shook her head.

“It’s you, you are Bucky, My Bucky. You don’t have to go back. I know it’s very hard to resist but you have to try, then you can be free.” She tried to get into his head with her words but he only mumbled.

“You are my mission, I have to kill you.” He said in a monotone voice and she knew Hydra finally got into his head and she couldn’t do anything anymore. So she ran. She pushed a table in front of him to gain some time and ran out of the house, towards her car. She quickly sat inside and put the keys into the ignition.

“Come on, come on,” she mumbled as she tried to put the keys inside with her shaky hands.

“You can’t run from meeee.” The winter soldier shouted and (Y/N) whimpered in fear. The car finally started and she stepped on the gas and drove away.

She knew he would probably catch up to her, but trying wouldn’t hurt. Honestly, she didn’t have anything to lose and at this point, she was just stalling her own death.

She got into the city and slowed down a bit. There were quite a lot of cars and she didn’t want to cause an accident. But just a few minutes later, a car rammed into the passenger’s side of her car. Her head hit her steering wheel and her ears started ringing.

She looked to see the car that rammed into her, and she could see the winter soldier sitting in the driver’s seat. She saw her chance to flee when he couldn’t open his door and struggled with it for a few moments.

“Not today, bitch.” She mumbled and quickly opened her door and ran in a random direction as fast as she could. She later regretted that decision, because she got lost.

She ended up hiding under some random bridge. She sat down behind some concrete cubes and finally breathed for a bit. She couldn’t run anymore, her legs were burning and she couldn’t breathe anymore. She was also quite sure she had a concussion.

She just stared off into the distance and she could feel the tears running down her cheeks. (Y/N) missed her Bucky so much. She missed his pretty laugh and his unfunny jokes.

She shivered as she felt the cold January air seep into her bones. She didn’t even have a jacket.

“Now, as much as I love a good chase, this is where we end it.” She heard a cold voice behind her and she froze up. This was the end.

She got ready to run when he grabbed her by the neck and pushed her against a pillar behind him. The woman tried to fight him and get out of his grasp, but it didn’t do anything. He pressed against her windpipe and she whimpered.

“Please no,” she whispered as she tried to breathe. She sniffled softly and touched his wrist lightly. She knew she was going to die. She decided to let Bucky know she didn’t hate him. She knew he would blame himself when he snapped out of it.

“I love you.” She whispered and he cocked an eyebrow. “I just want you to know that I don’t hate you now, and I never will.” She could feel her eyes closing and she stretched her hand towards his face. But it didn’t get there. Her hand fell limp on his shoulder and he breathed out.

“At least your beautiful face is the last thing I get to see before I die.” She chuckled before her eyes closed and her body went limp.

The winter soldier then let go of her neck and her body tumbled towards the ground. He looked around and saw a van parked just 0.2 miles away from them. He looked at the girl one last time before moving towards the van. He opened the back door and slid in.

“Mission report?”

“Gone”

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

Bucky woke up with a gasp and tears running down his cheek. He looked at his alarm clock. It was 6 a.m. which meant, he only slept for about 3 hours, which was better than every single night prior.

He breathed in and out slowly before he stood up and moved towards his closet. He pulled out 2 pillows and a blanket. He tied the pillows together with the blanket and created something like a pillow snake.

“Okay, let’s try this.” He mumbled to himself as he got back into the bed. He put the pillow snake on the empty side of the bed and hesitantly cuddled up to it, seeking just a tiny bit of comfort. He wrapped his arms around it and pushed his face into it, and fell asleep slowly. He slept until 9 a.m.

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

“So the nightmares are back.” The doctor asked and Bucky nodded looking very tired.

“And you still haven’t finished your amends.” She said, sounding a bit disappointed. He only shook his head as he yawned.

“I think it would put your mind at ease you know,” she started slowly and Bucky shook his head again.

“I’m guessing you didn’t meet her family when you were together.”

“No, I met her friend Eliot by mistake but other than that, no.” The doctor nodded slowly and scribbled something into her notepad.

“I really think you should go and see her family. The sooner, the better.” She stated firmly and Bucky nodded.

“You are right.” He mumbled and looked at her.

“We can end the session sooner and you can go and catch a flight. You can see them the first thing in the morning.” She proposed and Bucky sighed sadly.

“Okay, thanks.” He mumbled, stood up, and left the room.

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

He got a hotel room in San Francisco later that night. He was quite tired from the flight and prayed, the nightmares would leave him alone.

He walked into his hotel room, checked if everything was as it should be, and flopped onto the bed. He put out a photo of (Y/N) and stroked it slowly.

“I hope your family understands, and they don’t hate me. Hope they are just as kind as you are.” He whispered and smiled sadly.

“I miss you so much my love, so so much.” He kissed the photo softly, put it inside of his bedside table, and rolled onto his left side. He fell asleep quite quickly that night.

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

He has been standing in front of the house for the last 40 minutes. He just couldn’t bring himself to ring the bell.

“Okay Barnes, you got this.” He whispered to himself as he walked towards the front door through the front garden. He wiped his sweaty hands in his jeans and rang the doorbell with a shaky finger.

It was quiet for a bit before the door rattled and an elderly woman opened the door.

“Hello, can I help you?” she asked happily and Bucky nodded.

“I wanted to talk about your daughter (Y/N),” he said slowly and the woman only laughed.

“What did the girl get herself into again?” the woman laughed and Bucky looked at her with wide eyes.

“She is alive?” he gasped and the woman nodded.

“Of course, nearly died in 2012, and disappeared during the blip, but yeah. She is.” Who’s asking?

“My name is James, I’m an old friend.” He stuttered out and the woman narrowed her eyes.

“You want her address?” she asked and Bucky quickly nodded his head.

“Give me the note book, I’ll give it to you.” She motioned towards his little book and he handed it to her.

“It’s not that far, you can walk there actually.” She informed and Bucky thanked her.

“Thank you so much, I have to go and see her, see you later.” He shouted as he ran away from the door.

“This should be it.” He mumbled to himself as he walked around the neighborhood. He stopped in front of a big house, with a beautiful front garden. It looked like the house, they talked about when they were together.

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

“And it should have a big front garden, so our dogs can run in it” she imagined and Bucky nodded.

“Yeah, and a big pool so we don’t have to go swimming in a lake.” He proposed and she laughed.

“Yeah” she trailed off and the smile on her face fell slowly.

“Hey, what’s wrong dove?” Bucky asked seriously and she only shook her head.

“Just hope we’ll get what we want.” She said sadly and Bucky took her face in his hands.

“Hey, we just have to believe, one day, I’ll be free and we’ll travel the world together okay?” he reassured her and she smiled up at him.

She kissed him slowly in agreement and he hummed into the kiss.

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

He got back into reality when he stopped in front of the front door. He didn’t want to wait any longer. He pressed it and stepped away from the door. The door rattled and she opened it up.

“Bucky?” she asked softly and he nodded with his eyes full of tears.

“It’s me dove.” He said tearfully and she moved towards him. She quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. He only wrapped his arms around her waist and put his face into her neck, to breathe in her wonderful smell.

“I missed you so much,” she sobbed out and tightened her arms around him.

“I didn’t think I would ever see you again.” He mumbled and she shook her head.

“I made it out with a mild concussion.” She snorted and he looked at her with wide eyes.

“It’s funny to you?” he asked baffled and she nodded.

“No one gets away from the winter soldier and I did it.” She laughed and his smile fell.

“If you are wondering, I’m no longer him, I got rid of him.” He clarified and (Y/N) shushed him.

“Let’s talk about this later, just kiss me now.” He begged and Bucky nodded. He quickly put his lips on hers and she pulled him even closer by his neck.

“I love you” she mumbled.

“I love you too, I’m never letting you go ever again.”

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

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[extasiswings]

How we feeling clowns?  Wrecked?  Anyway, here, have an episode tag for both the crossover and Buck Begins.  Also on ao3.

Eddie’s driving nearly on autopilot, the roads familiar as they get closer and closer to El Paso. Part of him almost wishes he hadn’t taken the driving shift to get them to his childhood home, even if it made the most sense—he can feel the tension in his jaw and shoulders creeping in, curling tighter with every mile they come closer, and his fingers itch for his phone, for the commiserating sympathies of his sisters who understand what he’s likely to walk into much more than Buck or Hen. 

Technically they could have skipped the detour. Eddie hadn’t even planned on telling his parents he was coming to Texas at all—it was Christopher who let it slip, and then Eddie had been immediately put on the spot and he hadn’t been able to come up with a good way out of stopping by after his weak deflection that it wasn’t a social trip was met with well, you have to stop and eat somewhere, don’t you. 

Sophia told him to lie and say the department said no. But she’s always been much better at lying to their parents outright than he is. Adriana shrugged and said if he didn’t want to go he didn’t need to give them a reason and should just say he wouldn’t be coming. But then, that’s her tactic as well and always has been—putting her foot down to establish hard boundaries, forging her own path and bucking all expectations.  Eddie’s always fallen somewhere in the middle, which he supposes is fitting—struggling to set boundaries, often getting there only when pushed, wanting approval but lacking Sophia’s talent for gentle manipulation that usually leads people to think that whatever she wants was their idea. 

So. Here he sits. Driving to El Paso. 

“Eddie?”

He blinks and clears his throat as he registers Buck’s voice, the edge of concern that says it’s not the first time Buck has called his name. 

“Yeah?”

“I was going to ask if you could pass back the aux cord,” Buck says. “But now I think I should ask if you’re okay.”

Eddie glances over his shoulder—Hen is in the back of the truck, head pillowed against the window, dozing with her eyes closed.  He swallows. 

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen my parents is all,” he replies. “And usually when they call it’s to talk to Christopher so...it might be uncomfortable.”

Buck’s voice drops. “Have you talked to them since the thing? Other than about this I guess.”

The Thing, also known as the huge fight they got into when Eddie decided that if he was going to keep working he couldn’t live at home for awhile and they tried to once again insist that he take Chris back to live with them. Like some terrible combination of the arguments they had before he moved to LA and after Shannon’s funeral, only even worse because Eddie had been raw enough over the decision to move in with Buck and let his abuela take care of Chris for awhile and really didn’t need to hear anyone tell him that choice made him a bad parent—

Sophia had been spitting mad when he told her and while he doesn’t know what she said in her own subsequent call to their parents, he knows that the next time they called him, the subject didn’t come up again.  Which, he supposes is as close to an apology as he’s ever likely to get.  

He probably could have used that as an excuse to not visit.  But then, that’s not really how they are.  Don’t apologize, pretend you don’t hold grudges, act like everything is fine, and repress until it feels like it is—the Diaz family way.  

Eddie sighs as he focuses on the road.

“Not really,” he replies.  “They’ve called Christopher every few weeks, but we’ve only talked directly...three times maybe since then?  Things seem to go south more quickly when we’re in person though so I guess I’m…”

“Bracing for impact,” Buck fills in quietly.  “I get that.”

“Yeah?”

Buck shrugs.  “I don’t talk about my parents,” he points out.  “Don’t talk to them either if I can avoid it because they always have a way of managing to just—anyway.  The last time I even called was after everything with Maddie and Doug.  Haven’t seen them since...since before I started with the 118 at least. So.  Yeah.  I get it.”

He hesitates, then adds, “You know I have your back, right?  You’re my best friend and you’re an amazing father.  I’m not going to let anybody get away with talking badly about you in front of me, even if they are your parents.”

Eddie glances back and manages a faint smile, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.  

“I’m glad you’re here,” he admits.  “Even if you did try to steal a fire truck in the middle of the night without me.”

Buck laughs and shoves at his shoulder.  “At least it wasn’t this truck.  Besides—you caught up before I did it anyway.”    

“Yeah, my Buck’s about to do something dangerous senses were tingling, couldn’t let that slide,” Eddie teases.

“Just give me the damn aux cord,” Buck shoots back, but he’s grinning.

And as they pass the next exit, Eddie feels like maybe things won’t be quite so bad.

***

Buck hates Eddie’s parents.  

It’s not the most charitable thing to think about someone you’ve only just officially met—he saw them at the ceremony when Eddie passed his probationary period, but he’d been on pretty strong painkillers at the time and Maddie had shuffled him back home as soon as possible—but he really does.

He hates the tense, anxious set of Eddie’s shoulders, hates the way his smile looks forced—it triggers the same fierce, protective instinct that rears its head whenever he gets between his parents and Maddie, and, well, he did promise, so—

He really doesn’t feel bad for interrupting the very first digs about how seeing Christopher over video isn’t the same as in person, but it’s nice to have the option and technology really is wonderful, Zoom calls must have been a great improvement from your army days, right son with—

“You know, it is wonderful isn’t it?  Did Eddie tell you how amazing Christopher is handling hybrid learning?  It’s really so great how his teachers have adapted, I can’t imagine he would have kept up so well anywhere else.”

Buck smiles brightly as Eddie’s mother’s lips thin.  Hen coughs and takes a long sip of lemonade.  Eddie blinks in surprise from across the table and clears his throat, grasping at the lifeline.

“Yeah, top of his class,” Eddie says.  

“He even has a reading group once a week with some of the other kids in his class that Eddie started to help them stay social.  I know a lot of the other parents appreciate it,” Buck adds, and Eddie rubs at the back of his neck.

“We definitely do,” Hen says, glancing at Eddie’s father as she clarifies, “I have a son Christopher’s age.  They used to play together all the time before all of this.”

“His therapist said kids are resilient, but I wanted to at least try and give him something normal,” Eddie replies, and his mother’s brows raise.

“Christopher is in therapy?”  There’s a note in her tone that makes Eddie tense and Buck’s hackles raise.

“I took him to see someone for a few sessions after Shannon died, mom,” Eddie says evenly.  After the tsunami, Buck fills in for himself.  “It didn’t seem like a bad idea to go back again to make sure he’s okay during a time that’s pretty unprecedented for just about everyone.” 

“Really, I think more parents should send their kids to therapy,” Buck interjects.  “If it’s a feasible option, I can’t see that it’s anything other than great parenting to make sure your kid has the best tools they can to take care of their mental health.”

God knows if he’d gone to therapy a hell of a lot sooner, he might not be struggling through sessions with Dr. Copeland now that he’s nearly thirty, but that’s not really the point.

“Well, some people feel those sorts of things are best taken care of within the family,” Eddie’s mother replies.

“With all due respect, sometimes the family’s way of handling problems just makes things worse,” Buck replies, his smile dropping briefly before he forces it back again.

“This lemonade really is delicious, Mrs. Diaz,” Hen jumps in as Eddie pushes his chair back and starts collecting empty plates.  “I would love to get the recipe before we leave.  If you don’t mind.” 

Startled, the older woman blinks.  “Oh.  Yes, of course.  I’ll write it down for you.”

Buck pushes back his own chair as Hen continues redirecting the conversation and follows Eddie into the kitchen where he finds his best friend gripping the edge of the sink.

“Hey,” he says quietly.  

Eddie looks over his shoulder and exhales heavily.  “Hey.”

“Sorry if I overstepped.”

“You didn’t,” Eddie assures.  “I’m just...exhausted.  And ready to get back on the road and home to my kid.”

He hesitates, then adds, “you know, my sisters would be impressed.  I haven’t seen someone manage our parents like that since they left.  I—thank you.”

“I meant what I said in the truck, Eddie,” Buck replies.  “You’re an amazing father and a great man and—it’s not right that anyone should pretend any different.  So.  I won’t let them.”   

Eddie glances at the hallway.  “Guess we have to go back eventually.  I didn’t quite think this escape plan through.”  

“Once more unto the breach?”  Buck offers.  The smile he gives Eddie is far different from the fake one he’s had up since they arrived, and when Eddie returns it, a spark returning to his eyes, it makes Buck’s stomach flip and his pulse race.

He tries not to think too hard about that.  They still have a long drive ahead of them—plenty of time to save it for later.    

“Yeah.  Yeah, okay.”

***

When they get home, Eddie barely manages to shower and plug in his phone to charge before falling into bed and immediately going to sleep.  When he wakes up, he finally checks his messages and sees several missed calls and texts from his sisters.

So? Sophia asks.  How was it?

<em>You were right</em>, Eddie taps out, and then waits. His phone rings a few seconds later. 

“I’ll save the I told you so in favor of asking if I should get Adriana on the line for an emergency Diaz sibling parental grievance vent session or if I’ll suffice,” Sophia greets. 

“It’s not that serious,” Eddie replies. “I’m okay—a little annoyed still, but...I’m okay.”

He’s not quite sure what compels him to add, “Buck was there. He, uh, he told them off about it a little actually. Politely, but that kind of polite...you know the one.”

“The one that’s basically go fuck yourself with a smile and/or plausible deniability?” Sophia fills in, and Eddie laughs. 

“Yeah, that.” He rubs at the back of his neck and leans back in his chair. “It was—he kept pointing out things about what a great dad I am.”

There’s something about the feeling in his gut that he can’t name. Something he wants to poke at, to explore, but that also makes him wary. Like a yellow caution light—it’s not a do not enter but it’s not risk free either—and he’s not sure whether it’s a risk he can take yet. 

Sophia is quiet for a moment. Then she says, “You are a great dad, Eddie. In spite of them. I’m glad you have other people in your life who recognize that too.  You deserve that.  You deserve to trust that you’re good at things, even if mom and dad say you aren’t.  You deserve to be happy, so...”

The silence that follows feels weighty.  

“What?”  Eddie asks.

“Is Buck—?”  Sophia cuts herself off.  “—nevermind.  Hey, the twins are calling, so I’ll call back again later, okay?  Love you.”

Is Buck what? Eddie wants to ask.  But he swallows it back.

“Love you, too,” he says instead.  “Talk to you later.”

As he hangs up and tosses his phone aside, his mind wanders back to that feeling.  Right up to the edge of warning lights and caution tape.  And Eddie wonders for a moment if he should—

There’s a knock at his door.  

“Dad?  You awake?”

“Yeah, buddy,” he calls back.  “Be right there.”

Later.  He can think about it later.  

***

Eddie figures it out at the worst possible time—in the middle of a five-alarm fire when Buck’s trapped inside and he doesn’t know if—

What do you do when you realize you might be in love with your best friend and they could die?

“We have to go back in there,” he says, before he can think of any reason why he shouldn’t.  “We can’t just leave him, we have to—”

“You’re right,” Bobby interrupts, and the other captain makes a noise of frustration.  

“Captain Nash—”

“You’re right,” Bobby repeats, holding Eddie’s gaze.  “We’re going to get him back.”

Maybe it’s stupid, four trained firefighters diving back into an active blaze in an unstable building with unclear direction, but Eddie can’t regret it when he sees the desperation on Buck’s face.  The relief.  The impending breakdown.

After, he’s assigned to take care of the victim and Buck’s carted off to the hospital to get checked, and Eddie thinks maybe that’s better.  It gives him time, at least.  Time to figure out what to say, what to do, whether he should say or do anything at all.  Part of him doesn’t know.  The rest is screaming I love him, I love him, I love him, wants to get his hands on Buck to verify for himself that he’s fine.  That he’s alive.  That he’s going to stay that way.

But when he gets back to the station, Buck’s parents are there, sitting at the table, and Eddie just—

He thinks about the look on Buck’s face earlier in the shift when he spilled everything, when he explained how he was apparently born just for parts and how he used to throw himself into bad situations because it was the only way to get their attention.

He could ignore them.  But he doesn’t.

“He saved my son, you know,” Eddie says, gripping the top of the staircase as the Buckleys look up.  And it’s probably somewhat insane to keep talking because he knows they don’t even know who he is, but he can’t help it because he just needs them to understand—  “Buck.  He wasn’t even working at the time, he was on medical leave and didn’t know if he would ever be able to be a firefighter again.  But he saved my son in the middle of a tsunami—my then eight-year-old son, and god knows I can’t imagine losing him, I think that would be the worst thing I could possibly go through, and I’m not sure I would survive it, but I didn’t have to because Buck saved him.  And probably twenty other people as well.  That’s just the kind of person he is.  The kind who saves people.”

They don’t say a word, so he keeps going.  “He could have died today.  Because he didn’t want to leave anyone behind.  Because he is a good man, even if he doesn’t ever feel like he’s good enough.  And he hasn’t said a lot about you, but he’s said enough for me to know that while he’s gotten the latter impression from you, he learned the former himself.  He built his life here himself.  So...I don’t know why you’re here, if you want to explain yourselves or just want him to forgive you because you feel guilty, but I just wanted you to know that.  That he’s a good man.  The best man that I know.  And if you’re proud of him for that, he deserves to hear it.  That’s all.”

Eddie walks away then, heart beating too fast, blood rushing in his ears.  

The best man that I know.  And I’m in love with him.

That wasn’t for their ears though.  

It thrums in his veins, the words caught in his throat as he showers, changes, waits for Buck to return to the station.  And when he does, Eddie almost—

But something stops him.  

“You have visitors,” he says instead.  And leaves Buck to it.

Buck finds him in the locker room after.

“So, my parents said they heard stories about me while they were waiting,” he says.  “When I asked them who from, they said they didn’t know, but that I saved their son in a tsunami—and trust me, that got a hell of a lot of questions.”      

Eddie is grateful for the open locker, the excuse to hide his face as he pulls out his street clothes.

“Yeah, well—just because they’re not going to appreciate you doesn’t mean that nobody else does.”

“Eddie.”

Eddie pulls back and takes a breath before looking over at Buck.  There’s a look in Buck’s eyes like he’s trying to piece Eddie together like a puzzle, to work out all the things he hasn’t said.  And Eddie suddenly feels exposed, far more than he had when Buck was sitting in his childhood dining room staring down his own parents.  

“You’re a good man,” Eddie says quietly.  “They should hear that.  And...someone should be willing to defend it.”  

Buck’s quiet for a moment.

“I have to go see Maddie,” he says finally.  “But maybe I could come by later?  And we could...talk?”

“You don’t have to ask, Buck,” Eddie replies.  “You know I—”  I always want you.  “—you’re always welcome.”

Buck watches him in silence for another long moment, then nods.  “Okay.  Okay, I’ll see you later then.”

It’s hours before there’s a knock on the door.  Hours in which Eddie burns dinner and then orders takeout because he’s too busy thinking, hours that he spends trapped in his own head, thinking through all the worst case scenarios, through every what if of how things could go wrong.

But also how they could go right.

And by the time he opens the door, he’s almost ready to just let the words trip off his tongue, but before he can, Buck says—

“Please don’t tell me I’m wrong about this.”

—and kisses him.

Eddie freezes, but before Buck can pull back, he slides a hand around the back of Buck’s neck and kisses him back with everything in him—every bit of thank god you’re alive and I was so afraid and I can’t lose you that he can muster.  By the time Buck pulls away, they’re both breathless. 

“I’m in love with you,” Buck admits.  “I’ve been—”

“Me too,” Eddie replies.  “I thought—I thought you were—”

Buck kisses him again.

“I can’t believe you told off my parents.”

“Well, you told off mine, so—”

Eddie pulls Buck through the door.

“Chris is in his room,” he says quietly.  “But...you should stay for dinner.  And…”

You should stay.  Just stay.

Buck does.  

[fallenhero-rebirth]

Brain update

First, let me say that this isn't about what anybody has done. My reactions are not in proportion to anything that has happened, and might be considered odd, weird and sensitive to people involved.

So let me explain.

I'm an Aspie (what we call ourselves in Sweden), on the autism spectrum. Yeah, might have guessed that from the story I'm writing, Sidestep is not the only one trying to figure out how people work.

Over the years I have built up an arsenal of knowledge and analysis to be able to pretend to be neurotypical, something that I can manage alright most days, but which breaks down once you get to know me better. I'm open with this at my current job, and luckily both my bosses seem to be okay dealing with open communication and just telling me what I need to do.

It was not always like this, and that is one of the reasons why I had a breakdown and needed to get off discord/tumblr.

Back in the late nineties, I had finally got my dream job. I was a product developer in the food industry, part of a rather small department of middle-class academics. I was the new hire, everyone else had worked there for years, and things were going well. Or so I assumed. I got cool projects, got along well with one of the sales people, and well, my boss was weird but bosses always are.

Three years later. Our parent company wanted to sell us off, everyone was starting to get worried about their job. We tried to expand into things were weren't equipped to do (you don't bring spices into a fruit jam line, will be hell to clean) and while I did the projects, I also raised an (in retrospect) too big stink about the fact that we were wasting time developing things we couldn't produce without expanding. My boss (who I had learned was a devout christian) started to get really weird, I got called in and he wondered if I was a member of a cult (I was often wearing a headscarf at the time because pressure on my head is good for stress relief). I also got told off for wearing army boots to work (we had lab shoes in the lab), because (I kid you not) if we had danish visitors to the lab (we didn't have visitors) they could be offended since they had once been occupied by Nazis. Yes, at the time I was an Antifa metalhead/satanist, it was a very volatile time in sweden and nazis were everywhere. Now they're a political party, go figure.

It all came to a head when I was confronted with a folder one of the secretaries of the department had where she had written down every odd and strange thing that I did, and there were a lot of accusations of things I quite frankly blocked out. Around this time I was suffering from bad burnout, had memory loss, my hair was falling out and I lost two bikes because I forgot where I parked them. All because of workplace hostility.

So for the first time ever, I went to the company doctor, who immediately sent me on a one month sick leave, and gave a reference to a therapist. When I went and told my boss, his reaction was "It can't be anything at work," in a dismissive tone. I wrote my resignation right then and there, left the building, snuck back a Saturday to clean out my stuff so I didn't have to meet anyone. Luckily I was backed up by my union, so I got unemployment despite quitting, and the therapist helped me get back on my feet and hook me up with some antidepressants.

Still, I was a wreck for years.

At the time, I had NO idea I was an Aspie. It weren't talked about, the only thing I knew about Autism, was from the various portrayals in movies, and well, in the nineties you can guess. Rainman pretty much was it.

What destroyed me the most was not that people disliked me, I didn't like them either, we didn't have anything in common, and middle-class people always scared me. No, what broke me was the fact that my system failed.

See, I had built up myself over ten years into someone I wanted to be. Smart. Capable. Metalhead. Researcher. Activist. I thought I knew the rules. How to interact.

It turned out I knew nothing. People had been talking behind my back for years, and I didn't know. Getting annoyed by my ticks, and I had no idea. Nobody ever brought anything up to my face until it exploded one day out of the blue. This is why I have ranted about anons on this tumblr. This is why I have been so openly against passive aggressive posts and bullying, especially the anonymous kind, because it destroys people and I don't think the people who does it knows the impact they can have. I hope they don't.

I have never gone back to the lab. I can't. I'm having heart palpitations just thinking about it when I'm writing this. I retrained. Became a machinist. Back to the working class I came from. Eventually started writing.

And this is exactly what these last months have felt like.

I thought I understood things. I was pretty open with being old, an Aspie, not understanding memes, or humor, or tik tok, or certain aspects of people's behavior like jealousy, but the problem with joking about this is that it's so easy to take as just a joke. That I'm just making fun of myself (oh it's that too). I got advice from some of you, which I ignored, because I thought that I could be different. That there was no danger in getting close. That I could be just another voice in the crowd. An occasionally evil avocado. That this couldn't blow up in my face, that everything was cool.

And then it did. And I was wrong. And the talking started, and things were coming out that I had no idea that was going on. That I was being held responsible for. Opinions that were spoken in my name. Events I was supposed to have been aware of and supported. All of a sudden I was omniscient, aware of the true passive aggressive meaning of every reblog, aware of every post in every room in the discord I wasn't even running. Wasn't even a mod on. All of a sudden I had power, and I had used it to hurt people. The people I cared about. Everything I wrote was taken in the worst possible way, twisted into things I never meant, and the more I tried to talk to people, the worse it went.

Look. I know this was at heart a war between people that just doesn't like each other and the things they do/the ways they behave. I'm still not entirely sure who's been involved, and I'm not interested in finding out. I tried to build a supportive space, reblog everyone's art and fics, encourage people to make their own things, get a kofi, get some money, make some friends.

And herein lies my problem.

I thought I understood how to be, and now I don't. I have no idea who hates my guts and who doesn't (well, except some who has very vocally let me know). I can't trust anything. I can't trust anyone. And it sucks. Someone I trusted stabbed be in the back because they were convinced I stabbed them in the back and that sucks more than I can describe. Every time I make a comment on AO3 or twitter it's after psyching myself up for half an hour, and I'm usually a wreck afterwards, because my brain doesn't know if they hate me too, and if I am imposing on them and making their day bad.

So yeah. I need to figure out how to be. How not to have a nausea attack every time I accidentally click open tumblr from pure reflex, looking away from the screen just not to see how may messages I have.

I never wanted to be the aloof author, but maybe I have to be. The question is if I can. I have been told I can't comment on pics or fics, because then I have favorites. And that makes people jealous. And it makes people think I take sides. I have been told I can't be on the discord, because then I will be held responsible for what the mods do there, and everything that's said even when I'm not around. I should apparently have someone manage the tumblr, it's not something that I, an author should do.

I now understand the authors who just stay away and remain distant, because people give themselves the power to write the narrative for you.

Part of me wants to tell people what I've told my current bosses, don't assume, just talk to me. I don't pick up/do passive aggression, I don't understand hints, I have trouble with nuance, I don't listen to gossip, I don't interact enough to know anything that's going on. Just ask before assuming.

Except that right now I can't. I can't talk about any of this. It's too close. It sets me off. It's getting better, sure, I'm on medication again, but the smallest thing still can ruin my entire day. I have no idea how long it will take me to recover and come back to some semblance of normality. I'm not posting this myself (my partner does). Writing is going well, because it lets me not be myself. I need those walls again. The therapy of writing about pain.

I'll rebuild them. I'm not entirely sure who I'll be on the other end of it. We'll see.

I have consciously not spoken about any details because those could be misunderstood, this is not a passive aggressive callout to anybody. I have no hard feelings towards anyone, I am not angry or upset, just confused and sad. I am truly so very, very, very sorry that I've hurt people, both by action and inaction. It was never my intention. I will do my best to do better in the future.

Still working on how to do that.

[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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[alexawynters]

TW

Venting. Don’t take this too seriously it’s fine I’m fine.

So my recent ex gf of 8 months (I count the time we were fucking around as well as dating bc let’s not lie I caught feels early because I’m pathetic) who broke up with me a little over two months ago is now hooking up with one of my closest friends.

Its cool. I still cry myself to sleep, have nightmares, and wake up crying throughout the night but it’s fine. I spend more time drunk than sober (I had been doing so well! It was two years since I was last an alcoholic) and replaying every red flag, every moment where I thought to myself “you know, I don’t think she really likes me, you don’t treat the people you like this way right?” And then my dumb desperate ass was like “no we’re going to overlook this because surely she would tell me right? Besides I’m asking for too much, I should just be grateful she even expressed any interest at all. Stop being needy. Stop asking for anything other than what she is giving you because you’re lucky she’s even with you, what’s wrong with you?

Like. The first two months we were together? I called my besties every other week crying because I felt like a human sex toy. She didn’t even seem to want to do relationship things. I didn’t understand why she even asked me out, I had told her before we got together if all she wanted to be was fwb that was okay. But she asked me out so I was like okay cool. You want to date me. As in be in a relationship. I’m excited for this. Let’s do relationship things. We didn’t often do relationship things. We did sexual ones instead.

Then after two months suddenly the sex all but stopped. I thought to myself okay cool every relationship hits a plateau, and levels out. This is normal. Little did I know that was the slow death of us. The. I was calling my besties every other week again, still crying, begging to know what I was doing wrong. Why wasn’t I good enough? Why didn’t she seem interested but was still with me? What was I doing wrong? What was I not doing enough of, or too much of, or just not doing right? What was wrong with me that I couldn’t seem to interest her beyond the bare bones minimum?

I found myself begging for her to spend time with me. I lived with roommates who were our friends, and it always felt like she wanted to spend more time with them than me. I had to ask her if we could have some “just us” nights which, rarely were ever actually just us unless we went out. There were times she would literally, every five minutes look out the window to see when my roommates were home, and I was like ???? Do you not want to spend time with me? She would go to the kitchen to get something and be gone for twenty minutes to an hour at a time, having gotten distracted and hanging out with them. Which isn’t inherently bad to be clear but it happened so often and I wondered. I never forgot about her when I was leaving the room and got stopped for a conversation. If I knew I was going to be long I would text her to invite her or let her know.

I had even told her if she wants to just hang out with them, she could. I genuinely wouldn’t have minded that. Have fun with your friends, you should. I could hang out in my room and be me (I’m incredibly introverted, autistic, and have anxiety, and the living situation had me ~*stressed*~ out) but she didn’t want to do that.

If we were out on a date, she was almost always texting, or snap chatting somebody else. I always tried to make it a point to focus on us when we were in dates, but it never felt reciprocated. I brought it up and then felt like an asshole for already asking for just us time, and now to please not be on your phone when we’re on a date. She looked so sad, like I had scolded her. I would replay it over and over in my head - I tried to be gentle and polite, not accusing or angry. I checked my words carefully and ran them by multiple people to try to be as non aggressive and non accusatory as I could before I ever spoke them to her. Clearly I didn’t succeed.

She has OCD (nothing against it and I usually found it endearing) and would sometimes go into a loop. I always tried to help her but usually just ended up frustrating her. She snapped at me on occasions including in front of my friends and didn’t often apologize for it. Something my friends brought up after she did it in front of them, and I made excuses for it. She was stressed out, I would be too, stop being so hard on her.

She never planned anything with me, I always had to do it. I brushed it off as her having anxiety and not liking planning, but when she asked me “oh we’re still doing that?” for the trip for my nieces wedding in which I was taking her to meet my (extremely judgey) family, the trip that I had been updating her on weekly about the plans trying to get any input from her on, the trip that I had to pull in favors for and grovel to get the time off to go to? I should have said never mind and cancelled it.

She didn’t even help plan my birthday. My best friends did, and showed me the texts where they were getting frustrated with her lack of input on it because she’s my girlfriend and surely she would want to participate in that? Want to help surprise me? It was my first surprise party ever. I told her thank you and she acted like she had absolutely had a hand in planning. Meanwhile my friends all got together while she and I were gone to vent about how pisses they were at her for her lack of effort.

I have some childhood trauma and I don’t like to be touched sexually. I’ll touch my partner and even enjoy it but I don’t like being touched. It triggers me. But she said no less than three times to different people “yeah I’ve still never gone down on a girl or anything” which made me feel like I wasn’t being a good enough girlfriend. So I got sex therapy. I worked through it as best I could. Not for me. I didn’t want to be touched that way but I wanted my girlfriend to be happy. I wanted to do right by her and give her everything she wanted or needed in a relationship. Right about this time is where the sex stopped. She also stopped flirting or doing things she used to do before we started/right as we started dating that were clear indicators that she liked me. (I am an oblivious idiot)

I started to get worried. Why was I working this hard if she didn’t actually want to touch me? I was happy not being touched, but now I was starting to think something was wrong. I was starting to feel like she didn’t even want me. I started asking for sex as reassurance that she was still interested. Still attracted.

She called me a horn dog.

Not just to me but also later to my best friend. I was so mortified I wanted to jump out of the window and run into traffic. *I* was a horndog? All I wanted was affection and reassurance. She said her love language was physical affection and so was mine but she rarely gave me the cuddles I needed. I would ask her for “pets” - where she would play with my hair or just run her hand up and down my arm. This for me is intimacy. I had no problems doing it for her ever but she would get annoyed when I asked, saying it was hard for her to focus on the tv.

Okay? So? I’m not asking much, I didn’t think. I stopped paying attention to the tv when I was petting her. I made her my whole focus so she would feel loved. I mean unless it was like Harry Potter but I would be mindful to alternate so she wouldn’t be left out.

She only introduced me to one of her friends (who I thought was pretty cool but I worry she hates me so I just don’t talk to her now). At first I thought this was because she was in the closet. To be clear I never had a problem with that. I would never push someone to come out before they were ready and I hate movies and media that have the partner doing that. It’s shitty and dangerous. If she felt safer in the closet more power to her. I actively went to bat for protecting that secret for her. Sometimes our friends would forget and tag her in shit that would out her. I would be in their texts and calling them immediately explaining the situation and asking them to untag or take the post down. I’m not saying that as any sort of bragging. That’s literally the least I could do. I’m saying it to illustrate that I don’t have a problem with her being in the closet. But then she told me her friends knew about us. So I was like okay cool you’ve met all of my friends and are part of the group. I’d like to meet your friends. “Um.. they’re just really busy”. I mean. Yeah so are my friends and I didn’t mean like right now I just meant maybe mention it to them and we can some time schedule a hang out. “They’re just really busy”. Red flag but okay. Gonna just. Overlook this one too. It’s fine.

I spent more nights when she visited waiting for her to fall asleep so I could cry myself to sleep over how worthless I felt. Why was I doing this? Everything hurt but maybe I was just asking too much. Had my expectations too high. I’ve been told that before. Usually by people who have left me, those who stay (and my therapist) insist I’ve been asking for the bare minimum. To this day I still don’t know. If all you get is nothing , surely you are nothing? You don’t deserve to ask for more.

By June I started thinking she’s not happy with me. I’m not the one she wants. I don’t think much of myself. I don’t think I’m worth anything. I wrote her a letter that sat in my desk at work, basically saying that she deserved to be happy. She deserved to be with someone who sparks excitement, joy, and romance in her. Someone she wants to introduce to her friends (that she’s out to). Someone that she wants to spend time with and forgets about anyone else (within reason obviously, not like actually forgetting the world friends and responsibilities). Someone she is actually excited to spend time with and looks forward to. Someone that makes her not want to cancel every other date. She shouldn’t settle, even if it’s for me.

It broke my heart to write that letter. I was going to give it to her after her birthday because I didn’t want to be a sick and break up with her right before/on her birthday. Turns out she beat me to the punch and dumped me after I took her home.

I don’t know why I was surprised. The entire relationship things didn’t feel right. I always felt like I was doing something wrong. People in my life always seem to like the idea of me and then when they get to see the real me suddenly it’s like oops too much I’m out. Or alternatively they just.. they think I’m interesting and then lose interest.

My birth mother rejected me not once but twice. My adoptive mother was thrilled at the idea of me until I got to be about 4 and she realized something wasn’t quite right. My dad doesn’t care enough about me to stop drinking. Almost every single best friend I’ve ever had growing up has left usually because of some stupid shit I’ve done or because they’re embarrassed of me. Cheryl thought I was some monster out to hurt my friends (even when said “hurt” friend who was actually there went to bat for me and confirmed that I was literally just in the wrong place at the wrong time). Holly stopped caring. Brie never cared. Johanna only cared when she could use her affection of me to hurt someone else she was being petty with. Lissa only wanted someone she could bully, and even once she had me it wasn’t enough. Jerika definitely didn’t want me, and even my closest friend of 17 years Amy left for three months in which I genuinely thought she wasn’t coming back because I had the audacity to try to help her out of a panic attack. Jocelyn couldn’t stand me for more than a week at a time and roxii didn’t have the time of day for me after Americorps.

I feel like my whole life has just been a game of measurements that’s found me wanting. I tried. I tried so hard and I know I didn’t succeed I know there were things I could have done differently with my latest ex. Things I could have done better. I’ve never wanted anything to work so much in my life. Never tried so hard and still I wasn’t enough. I’m never enough.

I watched her, the woman that I was in love with, slowly lose interest in me over the course of about 4 months. Do you know what that’s like? What that does to you? The more I tried, the quicker she seemed to fade. I kept thinking if I just try harder, I’m just not doing, saying the right things. I read every book on relationships I could get my hands on (blatantly ignoring the parts that told me I should see the red flags for what they were and step away). I took notes. I watched therapy videos. I put to work every therapy technique I had ever learned. I wasn’t perfect but I was going to give this everything I had. Just once I didn’t want anyone to be able to say I didn’t try. I wanted to be as healthy, loving and supportive of a partner as I could because I loved her and didn’t want to hurt her. I knew that I had a lot of personal growth that I had been working on before I met her and I wanted to really ramp that up while I was with her to be good to her. To be good for her.

I’m not even mad. My friends say I should be. They’re mad on my behalf and I’m the one telling them to be nice, and defending her. Part of me thinks they’re right but mostly, mostly I think I’m just a steaming pile of shit and I deserved this.

I wasn’t enough. I’m tired of not being enough. I’m tired of fighting the universe showing me over, and over, and over, and over, and over again how absolutely worthless, not shit I am.

When she broke up with me I told her I felt like I was losing one of my best friends. She said we’re still friends I’m still going to be in your life and we will still talk. Turns out that’s only if I initiate and usually shortly after she shuts it down. So. I guess not.

I asked her one thing and that was when (not if because obviously when, I mean if you saw her you would understand) she moved on if she could just not bring the new person around for the first few months so I didn’t have to see it immediately I would appreciate it and she was like yeah for sure. I told her I wanted her to be happy and I meant it. I just didn’t realize it was going to be barely over 2 months and with one of my good friends.

To be clear she can date whomever she wants. I just thought there might have been more time between them showing up publicly and honestly? Even if her friend was single, interested in me, and I interested in her, I wouldn’t have dated her friend. Even if the positions were reversed and I actually broke up with her first, I wouldn’t have dated her friend. I would imagine that would hurt and I never want to hurt her. Ever. I just.. I wouldn’t have done it. And then she told my one best friend to not tell my other best friend or me and I’m like?? So you know this is a little shady and you’re still gonna?? Like you literally couldn’t wake a couple more months? Just til after Friendsgiving so I don’t have to come to a group event and plaster on a smile when it makes me want to stab myself in the heart.

Alright. Well. Good for her. And I mean that. I just.. can’t see that right now so I’m not seeing any of them. I heard the song Reminds me of you by Kim petras today “cut off all my friends because they remind me of you” and literally felt punched in the gut. Like yep. Too right. Because what am I supposed to go go hang out with my closest friends, where she and her new partner are, and fake a smile? I’m barely holding it together. There’s literally not a day in which I don’t want to kill myself.

Not because she broke up with me. Because I’m tired of being worthless to everyone I care about. Like why the fuck am I even here? Is this what I was born for? To be trash? To be used by people until they find someone better? Or to be someone’s quirky new friend until they find out my quirks are not an act? Or for people to think Im interesting only to slowly realize that I’m not and want nothing to do with me?

I think about all the things I’ve survived that I shouldn’t have and get frustrated because wHY? Why couldnt I just have died and been done with everything? I said to Nathan the other day that at some point I have to realize that the common denominator here is me. Clearly I am the problem. Clearly I am worthless and it’s time to fucking accept that. His reply was that it’s easy to think that you’re the common denominator when it’s your life but that’s just because you’re stuck in it. Idk man. I don’t think I have just extraordinarily shitty luck. I think it’s just me.

I am worthless. Not shit. To anyone. There are some who have stayed but it’s literally just a matter of time until they leave. It’s inevitable, and I’m tired of trying to pretend it’s not. I’m tired of trying to pretend I’m worth something to anyone. I’m tired of begging people to care about me, family, friends, partners. I’m just tired. So tired. Im tired of being tired.

Fuck my life insurance policy. The majority of the people on it don’t care about me anyway, so fuck it if it doesn’t pay out. It wouldn’t be my problem. Sitting here trying to think of ways that wouldn’t traumatize my roommates, would be guaranteed, relatively pain free, and wouldn’t put anyone else at risk. And then I remember I’m a coward and if I fuck it up then there goes what little I have made of my career, I’d lose my job (not that I’m thriving anyway), I’d probably be permanently damaged in ways that would then make me a burden to my parents.

Maybe I can’t kill myself, but somebody else sure could. I could find somebody abusive and just throw myself into that until one day they take it too far. That’s about what I deserve. And then my policy would pay out and the people I live most would be taken care of, regardless of how their treatment of me makes me feel. Maybe I could do some good in this world. The only good I’ll have ever done but it has to count for something right? Who am I kidding nothing I do counts for anything but I’m crazy and keep doing the same things expecting different results.

It’s funny. The one person who wants to leave me the most, can’t. I wish I could though.

Don’t take this too seriously I’m venting. it’s fine, I’m fine.

[one-abuse-survivor]

A vent but also I need advice.

Recently I started getting super overwhelmed around my mother. Because every time I talk to her about anything she always starts ranting to me about her problems and how life is unfair. And SHE’S always done this. Always talked to me about her trauma from when I was really young and it traumatized me. She’s always treated me like I was HER therapist.

And I got fed up with it. And I’m in therapy myself f it amongst other things. So I told her when she was ranting at me where I couldn’t get away after she picked up after a stressful day at work and talking shit about family I loved. I told her that I loved her, but I couldn’t be a therapist for her. That she should get a therapist if she needs to talk about these things.

She exploded on me and started yelling about how no one loved her. How I was her child and I was supposed to love her! And how if I REALLY loved her I would do this for her without question!

And I repeated that I do love her but I can’t be that for her. And she started ranting about how she went to therapy but she never spoke to them because she couldn’t talk to them and tried up to bring up something extremely traumatizing that triggers me. And The Who situation triggered me so much.

And this happened again today. And I tried to change the subject to something fun like how I wanted to buy a new novel that I saw. And was about to explain it to her. And she yelled at me saying “You already have to much crap!” And I immediately shut down full force and wouldn’t say anything and she got even more angry with me. And tried to get me to talk about it but I told her it wasn’t important.

And she absolutely hates when I buy myself new things. Like completely. She’s so nasty whenever she sees I’ve bought something through the mail for myself or for someone else. And I don’t know why. It’s like she doesn’t want me to feel happy. And about how I have to much stuff. I just have trouble keeping my room clean because I’m so depressed. While my mom tends to hoard stuff in her room all the time. And I mean everything. Bathroom things and kitchen things. And then yells at us when we go in there because we’re messing with her stuff. And it just makes me upset. I don’t know why she does this. And I don’t know what to do.

I'm so sorry you're going through this, nonnie 😔 your mother reminds me so much of my own, and I really hope you know you're not asking too much by asking her not to use you as her personal therapist. You were never meant to be that for her, and her trauma and mental well-being are not your responsibility. I'm really proud of you for trying to establish these boundaries with her, and so sorry they turned into more abuse. You deserve so much better than this.

She might be struggling, but that doesn't entitle her to treat you however she wants and get mad at you for not meeting her emotional needs. She's the one responsible for meeting your physical and emotional needs, not the other way around. And her demanding you prioritise her at all moments, that you always listen when she needs to vent, and excusing her own behaviours with her trauma while punishing you for any behaviour that irritates her even slightly is very, very emotionally abusive.

And she definitely sounds like she needs a good therapist who can help her deal with her pain, but the problem with these kinds of parents (and people in general) is they don't usually want to heal. Their pain has become a tool: a shield to protect themselves from being held accountable, a weapon to throw at others when they feel unsafe or upset or inconvenienced. They don't usually vent to their kids because they haven't contemplated going to therapy, but rather because their previous therapists have told them things they didn't want to hear and have tried to hold them accountable, which I think feels to them like they're being attacked and called out for being the way "they are". Their pain has become such a big part of their identity they start believing that anyone who doesn't want to put up with them for being the way "they are", or who wants to change them, or who doesn't constantly prioritise their feelings and needs, is being unfair to them, selfish, and unreasonable.

I'm, of course, not saying this to make you feel pity for her, but because you said you didn't know why she did this, and, at least in my experience, this is why many parents act in these ways. I don't know your mother, though, so please always trust your perception of her above mine!

I wish I had advice on what to do in a situation like this, but the truth is you've already done more than I ever did when I went through this by attempting to be honest with her and set boundaries. All I can really do is encourage you to talk about her with your therapist, who will know more about your personal situation and might be able to offer some other ways to protect yourself from her or enforce your boundaries.

I also hope you know you're not doing anything wrong by buying yourself and your friends things, regardless of what she has to say about it. You do deserve to be happy and to do little things for yourself and others that will make you happy.

Sending a virtual hug ❤️

[kickingitwithkirk]

Greetings From Austin

Pairing: Alpha!Jensen Ackles x Alpha!Jared Padalecki x Omega!OFC

Summary: Jensen and Jared are at odds over a monumental decision that changes their lives in a way they couldn’t have envisioned.

Word Count: 2616

Warnings: a/b/o, homophobia, bisexuality, biphobia, angst, cursing, self doubt, depression/anxiety, medical stuff, sexual dysfunction, infertility

*additional warnings to be added in future parts.

A/N: Here we go again with one my weird as hell dreams, series Inspired by this art.

A/N II: There is no intentional hate or malevolence intended towards any of the Ackles or Padalecki families. This is a purely fictional piece containing real and created persons/names/events set in the fictional A/B/O verse. Some dates/events altered to fit story.

*no beta-all mistakes are mine

*divider by @writeyourmindaway​​​​​​​

*images found online

Prologue

Austin, TX

Mid July

“Babe,” Jensen softly says in a low voice to the person seated next to him in the waiting room, “Babe,” he says a bit louder, still getting no response. Leaning close, he blows into their ear.

Jared starts, his “what” muffled by the finger he’s been chewing on.

“You know you can’t do that, don’t want you getting sick.” Taking his hand Jensen pulls it away from his pretty pink lips, gently caressing the finger. Jared had finally stopped chewing on his hands when Covid-19 became widespread.

“Where’s your gum?” Jared bite his lip not answering.

Sighing, Jensen shifts retrieving his pack and hands a piece to him. “What’s got you masticating again?” He inquires as Jared pops the stick in his mouth.

Jared chews the gum nervously weighing how to answer the question knowing Jensen won’t accept anything less than the whole truth. “What if something goes wrong again because of me.”

Jensen’s brow furrowed. He learned years ago that while their relationship is one of equals, he had to be lead Alpha when Jared’s mental state overwhelmed him as it had the last few weeks.

***

After the public announcement in March 2019 that season fifteen would be Supernaturals last, they had agreed when finished with the pickups they would take an extended break, return to Austin and concentrate on their marriage.

Jared intended to stop acting indefinitely, pursuing other interests and Jensen wanted to concentrate on his music.

Of course, things didn’t quite end up how they planned.

Jared entered negotiations to star in the Walker, Texas Ranger reboot, along with being an executive producer. Jensen got a call from Kripke wanting him for the role of Soldier Boy in The Boys third season.

But by March of 2020, everything came to a halt thanks to the Corona-virus.

The shutdowns left Supernaturals final two episodes with no definitive filming date and their seemingly never ending last season put their other projects on hold.

For the first time in years they had the luxury of a leisurely schedule, not having to be somewhere on a timetable, they could communicate with friends and family uninterrupted, deal with their other businesses, charities, etc, leaving most days free to enjoy being together without constraint.

But even amazing, awesome, vigorous sex on every horizontal/vertical surface that could support the two big Alphas only filled so many hours and like many couples, they started getting each others nerves and looked for other ways to stay occupied.

By late May, Jared was unable to sleep or eat, even going out of the house became a chore. When he hit a consecutive fourth day in bed, Jensen bodily dragged him into the bath for a desperately needed shower and loaded him in his truck driving to his doctor's.

Upon checking in they were told patients only allowed in the facility. Jared started panicking, saying he was having chest pains and couldn’t breath. He was rushed in with Jensen hot on their heels after morphing into an overprotective Alpha mate no one was stopping.

Jared’s doctor deduced with the lock-downs prohibiting him from his routine checkups and periodic adjustments needed to his medications triggered this episode.

The first step was to wean him off his current prescriptions and change to a newly approved, alternative regime. He was checked in a facility for ten days under observation while detoxing off his meds.

His therapist switched his twice weekly tele-counseling sessions to daily for the foreseeable future and Kodas certification as an emotional support animal was approved. His progress was slow but he was returning back to his sweet natured, big hearted, exceptionally tactical, overgrown puppy self.

When the surprise call from the clinic came a few days ago about an appointment opening, Jensen initially didn’t want it, still in his overly excessive protective Alpha mode. Jared’s outburst made him relent, fearing they were on a collision course for a major setback if he didn’t.

And Jensen, being Jensen, went overboard to ensure the appointment was absolutely private.

Part I

Jared was about to speak when a woman in scrubs called out, “Mr. Bonham and Mr. Page.” they got up crossing over to her, “Hello, I’m Sissy, Dr. Rodgers nurse, please follow me.”

They pass through the doorway leading through a maze of halls like that of any other medical clinic except this one specialized in a very specific service.

The nurse opens a door near the back of the clinic gesturing for them to enter the spacious office, “Please have a seat, the doctor will be with you shortly.” She closed the door and they sat down in the pair of chairs directly in front of the large, dark mahogany desk.

Jensen, scenting Jared’s nervousness, lifts his right hand kissing his palm, making him chuckle at the tickle of Jen’s soft beard before twining their fingers together and setting them on his left thigh, smiling reassuringly.

There was a brief knock before the door opened and an older, silver haired Beta entered. “Hello, I’m Dr. Rodgers, how are we doing today?” He asks, moving to his chair behind the desk.

Jared gave him a tight smile and Jensen remained placid.

The doctor raises an eyebrow, “Relax Mr. Page, this is just a visit to go over the paperwork before deciding about how we proceed, not the Spanish Inquisition.” Jared releases his held breath but couldn’t completely calm himself.

“I know the process can be overwhelming but I must ask, is there something we’ve done to make you uncomfortable?” Dr. Rodgers inquires.

“No, everyone’s been really nice, very professional. It’s just we..we had issues the first time we attempted to do this.” Jared finished his sentence quietly, in the recess of his mind; something bad is gonna happen and it’ll be my fault.

Jensen squeezes his hand tighter, instinctively sensing Jared’s mind was trying to spiral again, “When tried this before someone leaked our plans to the media. It wasn't ever proven the clinic was involved but...”

“We do everything possible to keep our clients anonymity protected here. All of our staff have been thoroughly vetted and sign NDA, given your professions, you're familiar with how they work. Your real identities will remain completely confidential, even if you choose to not proceed. It is why you chose this particular clinic, yes?”

“Yes, it is.” Jensen replied.

“How about we get this bit of paperwork out of the way, then we can have a more relaxed visit. I’ve gone over the applications you both submitted and have noted a few discrepancies in the medical section that need clarification before we proceed,” He opens the top file, “Mr. Bonham, why did you omit Genu Varum from your medical history?”

Jensen kept his expression neutral as he felt his stomach automatically clench. He had been mercilessly teased throughout his childhood about his bowed legs by his older brother Josh and later his buddies from school when they’d come over to hang out. By the time he was in high school Jensen’s extraordinary looks and personality were what got people’s attention first. Nowadays, many a fanfic waxed poetic about those bowed legs.

“The questionnaire inquired about inherited genetic medical conditions and since mine isn’t, I didn’t think it was necessarily applicable.” Jared hears an edge creeping into Jensen’s voice and gives their tangled fingers a quick squeeze.

“Did you see an orthopedist and were they able to determine what caused the condition? Did they suggest any surgical procedures or therapies to straighten your legs?”

“I was born a preemie, the orthopedists my parents consulted decided my condition was attributable to that.” Jensen replies tersely, dropping his vocal range. Jared gripped his hand harder, telling him to cool the attitude. “The doctor didn’t recommend surgery but sent me to physical therapy, thought it would help them straighten as I grew.”

“So no others in your immediate family have this issue?”

“Everyone my family has straight legs, including my three children.”

Jared piped in, “He hates it but he does have an exercise regimen; stretching, strength training. Oh, he also takes several different vitamins, omega oils, turmeric and extra vitamin D to support his joints.” They watched the doctor scribble a few more notes in the file before closing it.

“Mr. Page,” Jared sits up straighter in his chair, “I appreciate that you went into detail about your mental health status. I see you’ve recently been hospitalized, your medications have been changed to an alternative regiment and you’ve also increased your therapy sessions?”

Jared’s interview continued for another twenty minutes as Dr. Rodgers questioned him in depth about his depression and anxiety, feeling said anxiety ratcheting up so he focused on Jensen’s thumb rhythmically moving over his hand and used every ounce of his acting skills to appear confident and in control.

Dr. Rodgers closed his file, “I only have a few general questions left then we can discuss how you wish to proceed.”

After a more relaxed, genial conversation with the doctor, Sissy took them to a couple private rooms with paraphernalia to help stimulate them into producing a couple semen samples.

Jensen was getting close to finishing with his favorite spank-bank fantasy when he felt Jared’s frustration across their bond.

~~~

Jared couldn’t get aroused.

He felt as useless as his flaccid cock.

His doctor warned him that loss of sex drive could be a possible side effect of his new regiment until his body adjusted to it. He had struggled with temporary impotence a few times on his old meds, always fearful Jensen would finally see him as undesirable, no longer a satisfactory mate.

Rationally, he knew it was his illness causing these exceptionally hard to deal thoughts recently and the nagging idea this wasn’t the right thing for them to attempt again continually kept creeping in.

Jensen’s unspoken reluctance about having more children at his age was also weighing on his conscience, warring against his own biological longings.

They had a humongous argument when he told Jensen about taking the appointment. Jen thought this was the wrong time to attempt it again, pointing out he was just getting his equilibrium back setting Jared went off on a rant about how he no longer wanted him and would leave him like Genevieve had because he was too broken to deal with anymore.

Unmitigated anguish was written across Jensen’s beautiful features, the very notion that Jared could conceivably believe that he’d ever abandon him made his soul hurt in such a way no verbal language on earth could ever express his devastated feelings traveling across their bond.

***

Everything they’d been through; from that bar fight solidifying their friendship, Jared’s first breakdown, the years of living as roommates while secretly a couple to finding wives who understood their unique relationship and still married them both in 2010.

The joyous arrival of JJ three years later that unfortunately exacerbated Genevieve's frustration of not being able to conceive coming out with a vengeance at Jared. His unexpected breakdown in Switzerland was the final nail in their marriage. Gen was there for him but in the end it was all too much and she filed for divorce.

Shortly after, Jared’s iCloud account was hacked. It was believed, but never conclusively proven, that Gen was behind it since her lawyer was trying to break their prenuptial agreement, the videos documenting his private and explicit sexual relationship with Jensen were legally considered adulterous. In the end, the court upheld the legal document but the ramifications...

They were summoned to L.A. for the meeting from hell with WB executives, both convinced it was the end of Supernatural and their careers.

After the reaming out, they each received a weeks pay suspension to cover some of what it was gonna cost PR in time and money to deal with the inevitable repercussions and placate the show's sponsors.

How would the show’s fans react? Would they still be able to accept them as brothers only on TV while in real life they were involved in a highly stigmatized relationship?

When they returned to work there was an atmosphere of tension that hadn’t existed before. It was an open secret that all shows had their share of bitchiness and backstabbing behind the scenes. Jensen may have the thicker skin, keeping tighter control on his emotions, but Jared knew it hurt him just as deeply the loss of some of their friends because of prejudicial, social beliefs that two Alpha males shouldn’t be involved.

Jensen’s parents showed up unexpectedly in Vancouver a few weeks later. What started out as a not quite comfortable visit quickly deteriorated with his religiously conservative parents. They had not raised him like this and blamed Jared, saying he had corrupted him, leading him into a sinful lifestyle. He needed to repent and return to his wife to whom he had made a commitment before god.

Jensen blew up, replying it was none of their business, it was between them and oh, yeah, Danneel knew about them before marrying him and they better not say anything to her. Without another word his parents left. When he later called them to make amends, his mother coolly stated that he was no longer part of their family and to never contact them again.

Three months after the twins were born in 2016 came the finalization of Jensen’s divorce from Danneel, painful but congenial. They easily agreed on joint custody and still spent most holidays together. Jensen gave Dani financial security in their settlement, he wanted to make sure she didn’t have to worry about working again unless she wanted to.

All these years later, Jared continually has nagging thoughts that they had let everybody down. They received support when they publicly came out as bisexual then lost some of it when they married, being mocked for not coming out as gay.

***

There was another knock at the door and Jared ignored it, it was that nurse checking on his lack of progress again. The knock turned into pounding, “Jared, open this door now dammit!” He flinched realizing Jensen knew what was going on with him. Releasing the privacy latch and opening the door a crack he saw concerned green eyes only.

“Sorry, I thought you were that nurse,” he stepped away and sat back down as Jensen came in and re-latching it behind him. “She came to get me when you stopped answering,” Jensen said, walking over to him and started running his thick fingers through his husband’s long hair, “what’s going on babe?”

He glances up knowing that Jensen already knew, “It’s okay Jay, take as long as you need.” He paused at the unpleasant scent wafting around him. “If you’d be more comfortable we could do this at home…” Jared shakes his head, “There’s the risk of damage, contamination and or not able to get it back in time that could make the semen unusable.” Jared quotes from a website.

Jensen softly chuckled, “Nerd.”

Jared notices the bulge in his jeans, “You didn’t...”

“Drain the snake..choke the chicken..spank the monkey.”

“Fuck, okay, you didn’t! Stop using old man slang.” He shook his head smiling  at Jensen intentionally goading him.

Jared reached up for the hand playing in his hair, grasping it to draw Jensen down next to him.

“Jack, I don’t want to wait any longer on doing this. I love JJ and the twins, you know I do, but they'll always be yours and Danneels. I know the timing could be better... but I'm almost thirty-eight and I want my..our own pups running around the house driving us crazy.”

“For the next eighteen years?”

“Minimum.”

tbc

Part II

SPN: @donnaintx​​​​​​​​​​​​ @lyarr24

GFA: @babypink224221 @waywardjoy @let-me-luve-you @all-4-wincest

Sam/Jared @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen: @flamencodiva

[lonestarbabe]

Holding Out for a Hero

Chapter 10: I Wanna Be Missed

[AO3]

T.K. and Carlos are pining idiots, and then, they have a moment of clarity.

I wanna be missed like every night

I wanna be kissed like it’s the last time

Say you can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t breathe without me

I wanna be held, fragile like glass

‘Cause I’ve never felt nothing like that

Say you can’t walk, can’t talk, can’t go on without me

Carlos

Ever since T.K. had come clean about the lies that he had told Carlos, the mood had changed between them. But Carlos felt like there was cement stuffed in his throat because nothing felt settled to him. He worried about T.K. more than ever. How can I know if he’s okay when he’s so good at faking it? How can I protect him? When are things going to spiral again? He was panicked at the idea that eventually, things were going to get worse again. New obstacles were always waiting along the horizon. As soon as I let my guard down, that’s when bad things happen, so I have to keep my guard up. I will keep him safe. I will stay vigilant.

“Did you feel the energy of the arena?” T.K. said after his show, bouncing on his toes. “I’ve never felt so alive.” T.K. was always good-spirited immediately after shows, but lately, he had been ebullient. He didn’t even have the post-show depression that usually appeared after the adrenaline worse off. He’d also been sober, at least as far as Carlos could tell.

“It was a great show,” Carlos praised. “You’re always so good.”

“Things are finally starting to feel normal.” T.K. finished packing his things to leave the arena. “And I get to see Marjan next week, and she won’t even have to give me a lecture to get my life together.”

“That’s great, T.K.”

“Who knew therapy would be so good?” It had only been a few weeks, and Carlos was worried that T.K. felt too good. When the honeymoon period wore off and T.K.’s therapist started to unearth more complicated topics, Carlos feared that T.K.’s good mood would plummet. He hoped T.K. was ready for the ups and downs of getting better. “I’ve tried it before, but I’ve never felt this good.”

Maybe I’m projecting. When Carlos had lost his job and his boyfriend, he’d been just as cheery when he first started therapy. He was hopeful. He thought he was over the worst of it, so he became complacent. Then, Taylor was arrested, and Carlos realized that no matter how many good days were having, you had to be ready for the bad days that crept in. Carlos wanted to warn T.K. about the lows that could so quickly turn into a spiral, but he didn’t know how to mention it without killing T.K.’s good mood.

He looked at his watch. “It’s late. Where to next?”

“Just the hotel. I’m not ready to go out yet,” which was a small relief. Carlos wasn’t going to gatekeep T.K.’s recovery, but he still worried about it. “I don’t even want to go out.”

“Wow,” Carlos said with a smile. “You really have changed.” He hoped he sounded encouraging.

“You’re staying with me, aren’t you?” Carlos loved staying in the same room as T.K., having him close, and laughing with him until early in the morning.

“I know you get lonely,” Carlos said, leading T.K. to the car. When they get there, he opens the door for T.K. and then plops down beside T.K., exhausted. He yawned, causing T.K. to yawn in response.

“You can have your own room if you want,” T.K. reminded him. He said that every time they stayed somewhere overnight. “It’s not like I need to pinch pennies, but I like having you around.” I like having you around too.

“It would be a waste,” Carlos said with a shrug. “Besides, I like our sleepovers. Gossiping and watching romcoms.”

“You love romcoms.”

“I only watch them because…” I love you “… you pout if I don’t.”

“Play it cool if you want. I know you love The Notebook.”

Carlos laughed. “You do know that romcom means romantic comedy, right?”

“You’re just trying to distract me from your romcom-loving, mushy heart.” T.K. nudges Carlos with his shoulder. “Just for that, I’m making you watch The Notebook tonight.”

“No thanks. I don’t want to cry.”

“A good cry is good for the soul.”

Carlos shook his head. “That’s what you’ll say until after The Notebook you make me watch Mamma Mia! to neutralize your emotions.”

“You love it,” T.K. replied with a cocky lilt and rested his head on Carlos’ shoulder. Carlos stayed very still the whole rise home so that T.K. would keep his head there.

When they got back to the hotel, they got into their pajamas, and as Carlos was going to get on his bed, T.K. patted the space next to him. “Sit with me for a while. I want you close so I can comfort you when the movie gets too sad.”

Carlos obliged. He saw that T.K. had already flipped the TV. “We’re not watching The Notebook.” Carlos knew what T.K. was about to do before he did it. “Don’t start pouting. I’m not falling for it.”

“Fine,” T.K. said, flipping the TV off.

Carlos regretted his choice. “I didn’t mean we couldn’t watch any movie.”

T.K. grinned. “I have better ideas.” He scooted closer to Carlos, easing across the big bed.

“What are you—"

T.K. pressed his lips to Carlos’, and Carlos pushed his weight into the mattress so that he could match the pressure on his lips. I forgot how good kissing can be. Carlos hadn’t kissed someone like that since Taylor, and he missed the feeling, and the kiss jolted the exhaustion from Carlos’ body. T.K.’s lips lingered, ghosting over Carlos’ even as T.K. pulled away. Selfishly, Carlos let T.K. kiss him again. A kiss never hurt anyone, Carlos thought. Just a few moments more, and then I’ll put an end to this.

T.K. pushed Carlos down on the bed and climbed on top of him. He pulled his shirt over his head and trailed his lips down Carlos’ neck, and Carlos was helpless to the chemicals surging through his body. Carlos raked his hand down T.K.’s abs. He’s beautiful.

“T.K., hold on.” Carlos couldn’t bring himself to say, “Stop.” T.K. rolled off Carlos right away, and Carlos fought the urge to pull T.K. back onto him. He missed the grounding weight, and before saying anything else, Carlos steadied his breath. God, I want him. “Do you really think this is a good idea?”

“What’s wrong?” T.K. asked, breathing heavily. I have to be the voice of reason.

“If we don’t stop now, we never will.” Carlos brushed a hand down T.K.’s face, needing to know that the moments they shared were more than just fantasy. T.K. was real, oh too real. The gesture gave T.K. the wrong idea. It was an implicit, ���Keep going.” Carlos pulled his hand away, not wanting to be inadvertently cruel with the inherent promise in the softness of his touch, but it was too late. T.K. beamed, and Carlos was seconds away from promising T.K. the whole universe.

“I don’t want to stop.” T.K. kissed Carlos’ neck, and Carlos steeled himself, scrounging up all the self-restraint in his body. I don’t want to stop either. But he had to maintain boundaries. My heart is at risk, and I need to keep this situation under control.

“I do,” Carlos said without wavering, and T.K. wilted for a millisecond before hiding his disappointment under the effortless, carefree expression he used for his fans. Carlos hated that look being used on him. T.K. pulled himself further from Carlos. I can’t have it both ways. I’ve made my decision, and I have to stick with it.

“Okay,” T.K. said with a shaky voice; the intensity of his gaze shifted from Carlos to the generic art that was on the hotel wall. “That’s okay.”

“Are you upset?”

T.K. looked over his shoulder for a second, and he smiled like an eighth-grader with braces told to “smile with their teeth” on picture day. “Not at all,” he said, sounding a lot like a fire alarm with a dead battery. Only a moron would turn down T.K. Strand, and right now, I’m the most self-loathing moron on earth.

T.K.

I’m such an idiot, T.K. thought as his thoughts started to spiral into self-recrimination. I should have known that he wouldn’t be into me. I’ve ruined everything, and I took the best thing in my life and flipped it on its head. He’s looking at me with pity in his eyes and must think I’m so pathetic for making a move.

“I’m sorry,” T.K. said, rising from the bed. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Don’t be,” Carlos said in a rush.

“I thought…” T.K. trailed off. I thought there was something between us. Anxiety was building in his chest, converting into anger. “I shouldn’t have…I’m just lonely,” he said harshly. Carlos’ face fell, and T.K. hated himself for the part of him that wanted that hurt reaction. He couldn’t take the way those brown eyes were looking at him, the way they softened that anger even as the anger fought harder than ever to take over T.K.’s mind. “You’re really hot.” Complimenting Carlos’ appearance was a happy medium between the angry façade of rejection and the yearning heartbreak that so easily came with loving the way someone looked at you more than the way they looked to you.

Carlos didn’t respond, and T.K. couldn’t stop talking because if he did, he wasn’t sure what he might do instead. “Can’t blame a man for trying.” For hoping. He painted on a breezy smile as he pushed down the monsters stirring inside of him. “I’m probably not your type.” He probably likes sane people.

“It’s not that I’m not attracted to you.”

T.K. couldn’t help the hope that rose in his chest. I’m fool. He eased closer to Carlos, but he kept space between them. “Then, kiss me.” Please, and if you can’t do that, at least hug me. Hold my hand. Smile at me. Love me. He’d take anything that Carlos would give; he’d give anything that Carlos would take.

Carlos shook his head, voice low, “I can’t.”

T.K. wanted to beg. He wanted to say, Pretend I’m yours for just an hour. Give me a taste of your love, and I won’t ask for more. Let me have just one moment, so I can imagine how forever with you might feel. Make me feel like I matter. “What’s a little stress relief between friends?”

“Stress relief wasn’t what we were doing, T.K. Not to me.”

“What were we doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is this going to make things weird?” T.K. asked, dreading the answer.

“Of course not,” Carlos was quick to reassure him.

“I’m going to sleep,” T.K. said, flopping onto the other bed and flipping the lamp off. He didn’t want Carlos to see the glassiness in his eyes. He was trying not to cry because then Carlos might realize how heartbroken he was.

“Are you okay?”

“A little rejection isn’t going to make me a druggie again, Carlos,” T.K. snapped. But the thought passed my mind, he thought darkly.

“We can still watch a movie.”

T.K. shook his head. “I’m exhausted.” He turned away from Carlos, and he tried to force himself to sleep. I wish I had an oxy to chase the sadness away, he thought as his breathing steadied and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

Carlos

Carlos hadn’t been able to sleep. T.K. was across the room in the other bed, turned on his side so that he faced away from Carlos. Carlos crept out of the dark room, slipping into the lit hallway. He pulled out his phone and realized that he didn’t have anyone to call. He studied his contacts, trying to find a relationship that he hadn’t neglected. Finally, he took a gamble and called the one person who always seemed to see through T.K.’s bullshit.

“What did he do this time?” Marjan said after one and a half rings.

Carlos wondered if calling her had been a mistake as he struggled to find words. He looked at the time, and it was three am. He considered hanging up altogether, but Marjan’s curiosity would probably lead to her calling him back. But what do I say?

“Oh, I see,” Marjan said when Carlos didn’t say anything. “You’re worried you did something.”

“It’s late. I shouldn’t have bothered you.” He gulped. “I didn’t have anyone else to call.” That’s pathetic!

“It’s earlier here.”

“Still,” Carlos hedged.

“Carlos, we’re friends. I wouldn’t have answered if I didn’t want to talk.”

“We are?”

“Anyone who cares as much about T.K. as you do is a friend.”

“I’m not doing so well on that front. I think I care too much. That’s the problem.”

“Caring too much isn’t a problem, Carlos.” It is when it stands in the way of my job.

“I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” Marjan said. “You’re worried about getting too attached.”

“I’m already there,” Carlos said with a titter.

“What’s the problem?”

“My job. I can’t cross any more boundaries.”

“Sounds like an excuse to me.”

“I’m not sure why I called. Sorry to have wasted your time.”

“You’re not getting out of this that easy, buddy.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“You called for a reason, and since you did, you’re getting the friend treatment.” She continued, “This isn’t about your job. It never was. You’re afraid. You’re terrified of what it means to love him. I get it. I’ll kill you if you tell him I said this, but T.K. is sunshine on a rainy day. He makes you feel important. When you’ve gotten his trust, he’s loyal and affectionate. He gives his whole heart. But all those things that make T.K. so lovable are also what makes him so terrifying because sunshine can burn. He becomes self-destructive. He burns too brightly. He gets lost in his passion, and in the process, he hurts the people who are closest to him.”

“How do I deal with that?”

“You remember that loving T.K. Strand means knowing that you can’t save him from himself. You can support him. You can lessen the heat, but you can’t burn with him, no matter how tempting that may be.” That’s what I was afraid she would say, Carlos thought.

“I can’t stop these feelings, can I?” Carlos asked miserably.

“Not really, so it’ll only hurt you both if you’re a dumbass about it.” She sighed. “Tell him how you feel. I’m serious.”

“He’s asleep,” which was probably for the best. If T.K. was awake, Carlos might have stormed into the room before he had the chance to think things over.

“He won’t be forever.” I can’t avoid this forever.

“Yeah,” the conversation dwindled. “Thanks for the advice. Goodnight, Marjan.”

“Call me again sometime when it’s not so late. We can have a real chat. Like real friends do.”

“Will do,” Carlos replied before hanging up the phone and sneaking back into the room as quietly as he could, afraid to wake T.K. up. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do come morning, but when he came back into the room with the light already on, a dim glow around T.K.’s face like a halo, Carlos had a wave of courage that he didn’t think would last until the morning.

Carlos stared into T.K.’s red-rimmed eyes, knowing that it was a decisive moment. He either had to end whatever it was between them for good or take a chance on feelings that were blooming between them, but he knew he couldn’t keep T.K. in limbo. “Do you have a minute to talk?” Carlos asked, fear in his voice, and the pause before T.K. spoke felt like it lasted a lifetime.

[lyssismagical]

8 and 59 iron dad?

“Do you hate me?” & “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” 

(This one kinda got away from me idk how it happened but this ended up being 3k lmao) 

Tony was grieving. That’s all it was.

Peter repeated it to himself over and over again, all day everyday, to convince himself it wasn’t actually his fault that Tony kept lashing out at him.

It wasn’t easy to feel like an intruder in what was meant to be his home, but it wasn’t Tony’s fault. He was grieving, that was all.

It had been four months since Pepper died doing the snap to win that battle.

Tony was grieving the loss of his wife. His best friend. The mother of his child. The one who’s stood by his side for decades.

The lashing out, the anger, the cold shoulder, it was fair. Tony was grieving.

If Peter felt hurt by any of it, he refused to show it. He would hold his chin high and meet every emotion with meek apologies and offerings of anything he could think of.

Peter had been living in the cabin for all four months, taking care of Morgan by himself while her dad was more or less MIA, in the throes of guilt and grief and anguish. Happy and May were grieving in the city, picking up her life. Rhodey was busy with work, helping rebuild the broken world.

It was down to Peter to take care of the five-year-old and her grieving father.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t taking it’s toll on him.

He hadn’t slept well for as long as he could remember. He was trying to catch up in the missing five years, dealing with the nightmares and the obvious signs of PTSD after back-to-back wars he fought in, not to mention trying to stay on top of his school work at Midtown without actually going to school, and trying to keep tabs on everyone he cares about without them worrying about him.

It wasn’t easy work, that alone. But he’s also being a parent by himself.

It’s tiring. He’s a kid too, but he has to continue growing up too fast for everyone around him.

“Petey okay?” Morgan asks, crawling onto the couch next to him.

He blinks back the sleep that tries to take over his vision and forces himself up into a sitting position. “Yeah, I’m good, Momo, just a little tired. You want breakfast?”

“Pancakes!” she exclaims, hopping up onto her feet again. “With chocolate chips! And juice pops!”

Peter smiles and drags himself to his feet again. He slept for maybe an hour, trying to finish his reading for English along with all the projects he has to complete before midterms.

He gets Morgan situated at the table with a coloring book while he makes a batch of pancakes for them, setting aside a few for Tony.

“I’ll be right back down, alright?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Eat up and then go get dressed, alright? I’ve gotta drive you to the city in a few hours for your appointment with Miss Sarah.”

Thankfully, he got his driver’s license before the snap, so he can take her to her therapy sessions in the city three times a week, along with play dates, birthday parties, grocery shopping, and everything else Peter has to remember.

Morgan obediently shoves another piece of pancake in her mouth and grins up at him.

Tony’s room is dim, only the warm lamp light filling the room.

“I brought you breakfast and a coffee,” Peter murmurs, settling them down on the nightstand. Some days, Tony’s better at pretending for Morgan’s sake at being okay. Today’s not one of those days.

He opens the thick curtains and pushes the window open, letting in some spring air, before cautiously touching Tony’s shoulder. He’s awake but unresponsive.

“Mister Stark?” Peter tries. He grabs the coffee off the nightstand and offers it out to Tony.

But his foot catches on the edge of the bed and the coffee spills over the white sheets.

The reaction is instant.

“Fucking hell, Parker!” Tony shouts, shoving the sheets off his legs to avoid burning his skin. “Had to go fuck this up too?”

“Mister Stark, I was just- I was just trying to help,” Peter says, caving into himself as he tries to clean up the coffee with his own sweater sleeves. It burns at his skin, but he doesn’t stop, movements panicky and shaking.

Tony shoves at his hands, getting to his feet. “Haven’t you done enough?”

Peter would’ve preferred it to be screamed at him, to be grabbed and shaken, to be punched. But it’s said quietly, cold, and something breaks in his chest.

“I was just trying to help. I’m sorry,” Peter repeats, blinking back tears. “It was an accident.”

“An accident? A fucking accident?”

Tony looks angrier than Peter had ever seen him. Angrier than the day of the ferry. Angrier than when he found out about the warehouse. Angrier than the day of Pepper’s funeral when he threw a fit.

“I’m sorry, Mister Stark.” It seems to be the only thing computing in his brain, anger slowly simmering because he doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve to be shouted at after all the work he’s constantly putting into the family, after taking over all of Tony’s responsibilities.

“Stop fucking apologizing!” Tony shouts, throwing his hands up in anger. “Stop fucking things up! Stop being a fucking nuisance! I don’t need you to bring me coffee and breakfast like I’m- like I’m a damsel in distress!”

Peter goes to snap at him, opens his mouth to shout that if Peter weren’t here, Morgan would be all by herself. That if he stopped being a ‘nuisance’, Tony would’ve starved to death and Morgan would’ve been alone because Tony isn’t being much of a role model right now.

But a quiet, “Petey?” stops him from going farther than opening his mouth.

“It’s okay, Momo, you wanna meet me at the car? I just gotta finish this up, alright? And then I’ll go take you to see Miss Sarah.”

“Daddy?” Morgan tries again, searching their faces for help, for some sort of clue for what to do.

But Tony doesn’t say anything. Just stands there, chest heaving for breath and tears burning at his eyes. So Peter takes the responsibility, like he always does.

“He’s okay, Mo, just sick, ‘member?” Peter says. “Go put on your shoes, okay? Meet me out at the car. You can choose which ones you want to wear.”

This seems to catch her attention because Peter hasn’t let her wear her sparkly new light-up shoes because of all the spring mud. She takes off from the doorway, disappearing from their views.

“Peter, I- I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“I’m going to take Morgan to the city,” Peter interrupts, trying his best to blink back tears. “She has an appointment with her therapist and it’s grocery day, so…”

It’s not Tony’s fault, Peter repeats in his head, he’s just grieving.

But there’s only so many times you can play the grief card, especially as an adult. There’s only so much Tony can do before it becomes inexcusable.

“Kid-”

“I’m seventeen,” Peter says, too much anger and venom filling his voice because Tony hadn’t been there for Peter’s seventeenth birthday after they got back from the Snap in late July. Tony hadn’t left this bed that day. Morgan didn’t know it was his birthday, nobody could take care of her, so Peter spent his birthday doting on Morgan like he was her parent, like always.

Tony flinches, sitting on the edge of his bed and cradling his head in his hands. “I’m so sorry, kid, I know I’ve been… I’ve been awful, I just-”

“It’s hard, I know,” Peter says, trying so hard to keep the bitterness from his voice. “I know what grief is like.”

Eyes wild and upset, Tony looks up from his hands, something too similar to the anger from before burning in his expression.

“You didn’t lose everything!” Tony says. “She was- Pep was my everything.”

It’s not his fault, Peter repeats like a mantra. It’s not his fault he thinks his grief is the end of the world, like the worst thing to have ever happened, grief has its ways of working like that.

“Well you have a daughter who lost her mom and now she’s lost her dad too because you won’t even show your face!” It’s a low blow and he hates himself for it, but he’s so sick and tired of carrying everything by himself. “She’s got me right now, and that’s it. All she’s got is a nuisance who can’t stop fucking up.”

The words to their job though. The anger from Tony’s face disappears like it was never there in the first place.

“Peter-”

“I think it would be better if I took Morgan and we stayed at May’s for the night,” Peter says. He has to be the adult.

He doesn’t want to leave Tony. Grieving alone. But he’s not going to let Morgan stay in a house that could be dangerous. Not that he doesn’t trust Tony, but he doesn’t want Morgan to be yelled at for any mistakes, not like he was.

And this is the breaking point for Peter. He’s spent months doing everything in his power to make sure Morgan and Tony are okay, but Tony hasn’t made any efforts to meet him halfway. All he’s done is throw anger and give the cold shoulder.

Peter knows what grief does to people. He’s seen it firsthand. When May lost Ben, the same scenario as Tony losing Pepper, May took care of Peter. She made sure that Peter was okay, and she got them both therapists and she met everything headstrong and chin held high. She grieved but she never made Peter feel like he wasn’t important, she never made Peter feel like a nuisance.

“Kid-”

Peter shakes his head, steels himself, and heads out of the cabin, refusing to look back.

*Peter waits in his car during Morgan’s session with Miss Sarah and cries.

And he knows he looks like a mess when he goes in to pick her up ninety minutes later.

Miss Sarah sees it immediately and she ducks her head to look at him properly, worry creasing her face.

“Are you alright?” she asks.

On one hand, the last thing he needs is to be scrutinized by a therapist, but on the other hand, she’s the first adult who’s sounded like they genuinely cared about his well being since the snap’s reversal.

Just that alone makes him want to break down.

“I’m okay, yeah. Just a rough morning, I guess,” he murmurs, trying to get a hold of himself. “Is Morgan doing alright?”

“She’s making stellar progress, Peter, but I’m worried about you and about Tony. From what Morgan tells me, you’re under a lot of stress.”

Peter shrugs, trying to look nonchalant as he looks over Sarah’s shoulder into her office where Morgan’s finishing up a coloring. “Tony’s dealing with a lot right now, so I’m stepping in as a caretaker, I guess. It just takes its toll.”

“You know it’s not your responsibility to take care of her, right? You’re not the adult,” she says. “You’re shaking, honey, do you want to sit down?”

He shoves his trembling hands into his hoodie pockets. “We should really be going. We’ll see you Sunday?”

“Of course,” Sarah replies, looking back at Morgan. “You know, I can always talk to you as well. I’ve always got room in my schedule for you, Peter.”

And Peter nods like he’d really accept the offer.

Instead, he takes Morgan’s hand, leads her out to the car and takes off to May’s apartment, refusing to let the tears bubble over.

They do, as they always do, you can’t stop tears forever.

Luckily, the tears wait until Morgan’s tucked into Happy’s arms and May’s got her arms around Peter.

And he breaks.

His head falls onto her shoulder and her arms wrap around his waist, soft shushing noises escaping her mouth as she looks over at Happy for help.

“Tony, he- I just- May, I can’t- I can’t do it anymore,” he cries. When the words start, they never seem to stop. “I fucked up and he yelled at me. He told me- He told me I was being a nuisance, that I shouldn’t be there anymore. He- I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t leave Morgan.”

“C’mon, kiddo, let’s go play in Petey’s room, okay?” He hears Happy say, leading Morgan out of the foyer.

Peter can’t stop shaking, can’t stop crying, can’t stop sinking under the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t sleep and I can’t eat and I’m so tired, May. I’m so tired. Please, I can’t-”

“This never should’ve been put on you, kid,” May says, voice soft and gentle. She steadies him and leads him to the couch, letting him curl into her side. “It’s not your job to be the adult, to be Morgan’s parent. That’s not on you.”

“I just wanted to help,” Peter says, feeling pathetic and messy, like his whole being has been torn to pieces and strung across the world.

May nods, tipping her head down to look at him properly. “Get some rest, baby. We’ll take care of Morgan and I’ll call Tony, okay? He’s going to come through.”

Peter sobs, hiding his face in shame. “I can’t, May, I can’t sleep. I always have nightmares of- of Titan or the war or- I just- Please, I can’t sleep-”

“Peter, honey, I know you’ve gotten used to doing this alone, but I’m here now. If you have nightmares, I’ll be here to help.”

And that’s what he needed.

He needed an adult to tell him it would be okay. To hold him close and tell him that he didn’t have to do it all on his own. And May was there, she always was.

“Rest, honey. It’ll all be better soon, I promise.”

It had been weeks since he’d gotten good rest, always up at dawn for Morgan and always awake until the early hours of morning for Tony or schoolwork. His eyes closed on their own accord, slipping shut as May pulled a blanket around his shoulders.

And he believed her. He trusted her. He was still just a kid and when an adult says it’ll be okay, it has to be, right?

*He wakes crying, hands fumbling in the air to fight an invisible threat, but his hands are caught in the air.

“Hey, hey, hey, you’re alright, take a breath.”

And that certainly wasn’t May’s voice or even Happy’s.

“Tony?” Peter asks, voice breaking as the tears refused to slow.

“I’m here, kiddo, I- I’m sorry. I couldn’t possibly be more sorry than I am now. I really messed up and I’m going to fix it, alright?”

The living room is still bright, thankfully. Peter doesn’t know if he told anybody about his fear of the dark ever since he was dusted, but he’s glad he doesn’t have to spill those secrets now.

“I can’t do it anymore,” Peter admits through his tears, sniffling miserably as he pins Tony’s hand between Peter’s cheek and the cushion, closing his eyes. “I can’t do it.”

But Tony nods. He doesn’t get angry or upset or even push Peter away. “I know, kiddo, I’m sorry you had to do it in the first place. I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I’m going to get better, okay? I’m going to fix this now. Sarah is setting me up with my own therapist and I’m going to start being a better parent, okay?”

“I’m sorry too,” Peter says. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I shouldn’t have taken your kid and left you. I should’ve kept going, been stronger, I just- I couldn’t-”

The silence that follows scares Peter more than he’d like to admit, blinking his eyes open as more tears spill down his cheeks and his trembling hands grab onto Tony’s sleeve.

“Please don’t- I can’t- Are you mad at me? Do you hate me? I shouldn’t have- I was trying so hard and I still wasn’t good enough-”

Tony’s thumb runs over Peter’s cheekbone, gently brushing away the tears. “I could never hate you, kiddo. You were so strong, so much stronger than I could’ve ever been, even if you shouldn’t’ve had to be. If anything, you should be mad at me, not viceversa. I saw the things you were doing for Morgan-”

“It was nothing.”

“You drove an hour into the city three times a week for her therapy. You did all the groceries, the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, everything. Morgan even told me about her birthday party that you planned for her. You worked nonstop and all I did was be an ass to you. You had sticky notes all over your walls to remind you of the things you were doing like fucking dance lessons with Morgan. You went to mom-and-daughter dance lessons with Morgan every weekend. Don’t tell me that’s not nothing.”

“You should see our routine,” Peter says, laughing wetly. “I wear a bright pink tutu and everything.”

Tony offers a gentle smile. “You’re my kid too, Pete, not Morgan’s parent. You should be in high school with Ted and the scary girl, going out as Spider-Man, dealing with all the trauma you’ve thrown on the backburner, not taking care of the things I should’ve been doing.”

“You’re going to get better?” Peter asks, throat tightening.

“Yeah, kiddo. I think you and Morgan will stay here for a little bit while I work on getting myself in a better headspace, but May and Happy are going to be your parents, not you. And when I get better, I’m going to take over, alright? You can relax now.”

Peter hesitantly shuffles over on the couch, making space for Tony next to him with a tentative smile.

And Tony doesn’t hesitate to curl up beside Peter and hold his kid close. “Thank you for everything you did for me and Morgan, kid.”

“It’s what Pepper would’ve done.”

“I love you, you know that? And so did she, even if she was worse at admitting it than I was. She was the one who bought the matching Big Brother/Little Sister t-shirts for you two. She wanted you apart of the family as much as I did.”

“I love you too, Tony.”

This is compromise. This is Tony meeting Peter halfway. This is the first step in the right direction. And Peter believes the promises that everything will be okay. He wouldn’t trade the past few months for the world. He loves Morgan and Tony too much for that.

[axwalker]

Tears in Heaven 10: Endings

Synopsis: Alexis O’Brien is about to get married but memories of her old life are coming back to haunt her.

Pairings:  Drake x MC (TRR)

Warnings:  NO ONE UNDER 18 should read this story. This is an 18+ blog.

Mention of child death, mention of depression, grieving

N*FW content!

A/N:  There will be a small epilogue next week, but this is the official ENDING.

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Thank you so much to all the people that read it, shared it and commented it. Every single like, reblog or comment gave me life! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

@mskaneko​ Thank you for all your amazing insights when you read and your incredibly inspiring edits and mood boards. You’re one of a kind!

@pedudley​ Thank you for pre-reading every chapter and being such a great, supportive friend. Your feedback meant a lot/

@burnsoslow​ The MVP of this whole thing!!  I was so stuck before your brilliant book idea!! Thank you for that and for the hours and hours (and hours) of editing!! Without you I would’ve never been able to write this fic. You’re an amazing friend and human being. THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR HELP.

I LOVE ALL OF YOU SO MUCH ❤️

To catch up: Masterlist

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Pixelberry. The edit at the end of this fic belongs to the talented @mskaneko​

Word count: 7 697 (!!!)

Songs inspiration: Tears in heaven by Eric Clapton

Tagging: @ao719​  @yukinagato2012​ @texaskitten30​ @kingliam2019​ @cordonia-gothqueen​ @bebepac​ @nomadics-stuff​ @cordonianroyalty​ @forthebrokenheartedthings​ @bascmve01​ @gibbles82​ @mom2000aggie​ @gardeningourmet​

Perma: @burnsoslow​ @mskaneko​ @mskaneko​ @pedudley​ @pug-bitch​ @ac27dj​ @twinkle-320​ @kimmiedoo5​  @marshmallowsandfire​  @loveellamae​ @debramcg1106​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​  @ravenpuff02​ @princessleac1​ @ritachacha​ @drake-colt-lover-99​

Liam woke up feeling restless. He rolled over in bed, trying to get a few minutes of sleep, but guessed it would be useless. Before taking a long hot shower, Liam called the kitchens so they’d bring him a large jug of strong coffee with his breakfast - he would need it to get through the day. Thirty minutes later, he was sitting on the balcony of his room at Valtoria, sipping his second cup of coffee of the morning and thinking about his fiancée. More than the conversation he had had with Alexis two days prior, it was the one he and his brother had shared the previous afternoon that he was obsessing over.

Since he had met her, he had been head over heels for Alexis. However, even if his love for her was undeniable, the real question was if they were right for each other. Reluctantly, Liam had to admit that he barely recognized himself in the jealous, controlling, manipulative man he had become. And as tempted as he was to blame Drake and his return for the demise of their relationship, deep down, he knew something else was profoundly wrong with them.

Leo was right: He didn’t trust Alexis. Liam wanted to, desperately, but he just couldn’t. The memory of the day he had found her almost dead on her bed still haunted him. Liam had never really gotten over it.

Alexis entered their room and saw Liam sitting with his paper and sipping coffee, lost in his thoughts. Earlier that morning, when she had left Drake’s cabin, she had done so convinced that the only right decision was to marry Liam. However, standing there and watching him, her own words resonated in her head. Liam deserved better. And he did; he deserved better than a life with a woman that would never be able to fully love him. Neither of them would ever be happy if they went ahead with their wedding.

Alexis was scared -- terrified -- of loving Drake again, of facing her grief, but hiding behind Liam couldn’t wouldn’t, be the solution anymore.

“Hi, Li,” she said, sitting on the chair next to him.

“Love.” Liam saw her sad expression and instinctively knew what she was about to tell him.

Alexis hugged herself and took a sharp breath, trying to gather some courage. Her eyes watered as she tried to get the words out. “I’m sorry, Liam.”

Liam’s hand gripped his cup of coffee. “You’re calling off the engagement.”

“I … I wasn’t planning to do it,” she sobbed. “But the more I think about it, the more I realize I’m not good for you, Liam.”

Despite his best efforts, a cold rage overpowered him. “Do not pretend that this has nothing to do with Drake, Alexis.”

“I’m not going to lie. Drake showing up again accelerated things. But our problems have nothing to do with him. Our marriage wouldn’t have lasted. We were asking too much from each other. I would never be happy being a duchess, and I know how badly you want to be a father, Liam. It was selfish of me to ask such a huge sacrifice of you.”

“I don’t care, Alexis. I would do anything for you,” Liam implored. “I know we have problems, but I’m sure that if we work together, we would be able to find a solution.”

She shook her head. “Are you happy with me, Li?”

He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “I love you very deeply, Alexis.”

“That’s not what I asked. You’re constantly worried about me. You don’t trust me. And we never share our problems because we don’t want to burden each other. We never talk about Tom.” She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.

Liam’s eyes widened. “Did you just say his name?”

She nodded.

“One day with him, and you’re already saying Tom’s name again.” His glossy eyes looked at her. “It’s always been him,” he muttered. “All this time, you didn’t stop loving Drake, did you?” he asked her.

“Liam … please don’t go there,” she begged, more tears running down her face.

“Did you ever even love me?” His voice betrayed the cool façade he was trying to maintain. Incapable of staying put, he stood up in front of the balcony’s railing.

Alexis cut the distance between them and hugged him as tightly as she could. After a moment, she took his head between her hands. “I love you, Liam. And not only because you saved my life, but because you’re an amazing, loving, generous man; because of all the moments we shared together. You gave me a reason to wake up in the mornings. Thanks to you, I was able to smile, to live again. I’ll never forget that.”

“Right ... you’ve always loved me, but you never fell in love with me,” Liam replied bitterly.

At that moment, watching Liam breaking in front of her, Alexis hated herself. “I tried Li. And it has nothing to do with you; I just never really got over … everything.”

Liam wiped a tear from her face. Too heartbroken to talk, he simply took her in his arms and kissed her head.

Alexis took off the engagement ring and placed it in his palm. “I never deserved this. And maybe you don’t believe me right now, but I know you’ll meet someone who will.”

Every word she pronounced felt like he was being stabbed. Liam turned his gaze towards the gardens. “Please leave, Alexis. There is no point in prolonging this anymore.”

Alexis squeezed his hand and left him there. As she walked away, a strong feeling of contrition flitted through her body in response to the tightness in her chest. However, despite her guilt over hurting a good man, Alexis knew she had made the right decision.

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Drake put his syringe and gloves in his bag, patted Thunder on his rump, and left the horse’s stall, rubbing his neck tiredly. After a long day doing the weekly check-ups on the horses of one of his biggest clients, he was shattered. However, working to exhaustion hadn’t worked as well as he had hoped; Alexis and her goddamn stubbornness hadn’t left his mind for a second.

When he finally got home, his heart skipped a beat when he saw Alexis sitting on the steps of his porch, waiting for him.

“Hi, Drake.”

His heart raced as it did every time he saw her. “Hi, Lexie.”

“Can we talk?” she asked, and he detected a slight edge in her voice.

“Of course, Lexie. Let’s go inside.”

Alexis shook her head no. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d preferred if we take a walk.”

“Why?” Drake questioned, puzzled.

Because if I enter the house, I won’t be able to leave it again.  “It’s better,” she stated simply.

“Okay.” Drake shoved his hands in his pockets. If she didn’t want to come into the house, that meant she was divorcing him and choosing Liam. He felt the pain of losing her all over again threaten his heart.

Drake and Alexis walked a while next to each other without a word. Inadvertently, they took the path to the lake where they used to fish and have picnics with Tom. Drake glanced over her; the look in her eyes was not sad as he had expected but determined. She was wearing the fierce expression that meant she had made a decision.

They sat in the old wooden pier next to each other. “What do you want to talk about, Lexie?”

Alexis bit her bottom lip. “I broke up with Liam.”

His eyes immediately darted to her left hand. Relieved to see that the ring was gone, Drake exhaled a lightened breath. “Lexie.” He was impatient to kiss her, to feel her again, but something about her demeanor stopped him. An awful thought snaked into his mind. “Do you want to sign the divorce papers anyway?”

Alexis placed her small hands on his large ones. “No. It’s the last thing I want.” She smiled at him.

Drake cupped her face, allowing his thumb to draw soft circles around her lips. “I don’t get it. Why are you so sad?”

“I need to ask you for something.” Drake nodded, still tenderly rubbing her face. “I’m sure that I don’t want a divorce. But I’m not ready to move back here yet.” She took a sharp breath. “I never really grieved Tom, you know? I mean, I did all the four first stages. I was furious at first and then hurt and broken at that clinic. But after my depression, I regressed. I realize now that I’ve been in denial for the past three years.”

Drake wiped her tears again and pulled her close to him.

“My therapist didn’t want me to leave the clinic. She said I wasn’t ready, but I wasn’t a danger to myself anymore, so she didn’t have any other choice but to sign my release. I need to do that now. Finish my therapy, be alone, and I’m sure you’re going to roll your eyes at this,” she joked, “but I need time to find myself. I don’t know who I am anymore, Drake. I don’t do any of the things I used to enjoy. And I feel this guilt that I can’t seem to shake. I feel guilty for the pain that I just caused Liam, but I especially feel guilty about us. About all the things I told you that day.”

“Lexie, please. You have to let that go. You weren’t yourself back then -- neither of us was,” Drake said tenderly.

“I still need to forgive myself.” She squeezed his hands. “Please don’t give up on me, Drake. I just need some time. A few months, maybe,” she pleaded with tears in her eyes.  

It hurt like hell, but he understood. Drake took her face between his hands. “Listen to me, baby, because this is very important. I love you. No matter what. No matter what I’ve done or you’ve done. No matter what will happen. I will always love you.” He interrupted himself to give her a soft kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “If I have to wait for you for the rest of my life, I will. I lost you once, but I swear I will never lose you again. Never.” She smiled through her tears. “This is what I wanted. That you chose whatever was best for you. And I think this is it. I’ll be here at the end, loving you. Okay?”

“Thank you, Drake.” She leaned in to kiss him, and he crashed his mouth with hers in a searing, hungry kiss. After a breathless moment, he forced himself to stop. It was clear that Alexis wasn’t ready for anything else. They shared a few more moments together, then Drake walked her back to her car.

She opened the door but stood next to it, torn between her longing to stay and her need to leave.

“I know you need to go through this alone, but promise me that if it’s too much, you’ll call me, Lexie. Day or night.” Drake said as he gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I promise.” Alexis kissed him again, trying to memorize how much she enjoyed his lips on hers, the way he had to kiss her with all his body. Drake held her as close as he could; if he had his way, he would never let her go.

But Alexis was too confused, too rattled by everything that had happened. She needed to claim her independence and regain control of her life before coming back to him. Watching her leave broke his heart, but he knew that she was worth the waiting.

With tears in her eyes, she got in her car and drove away, hoping that she wasn’t making a huge mistake.

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The first month was arduous. Coming back to therapy and having to deal with Tom’s death proved to be as challenging as Alexis had thought, but she persisted, determined to get better. She and Drake respected their arrangement and didn’t see each other, but whenever a session became too strenuous, or she was at risk of getting depressed, she called him, and they talked for hours over the phone. Drake told her about his experiences in prison and his life in Spain, and she finally spoke about the long months she had been committed to the clinic and her suicide attempt. Each phone call left them hopeful and terribly nostalgic, but Drake never pressured her.

After two months of intense therapy, Dr. Salas, her psychologist, encouraged her to do something for herself. Alexis immediately knew what she needed. For the next four months, she rented a cottage in Portavira and moved next to the beach. It was a small cottage, but it had a porch where she could sit, watch the ocean, and write every day. During that time, Alexis cried a lot, but she also began to take long walks along the beach, hike and swim in the ocean; the calm of the secluded beach and the soothing sound of the waves had a curative power on her. Alexis missed Drake desperately, more and more with every passing day, but she knew that she needed to finish what she had started before coming back to him.

The first days in Portavira, Alexis only managed to write a few lines, but soon an idea began to form in her mind. At first, she refused it; nothing would be more painful than writing that, but Dr. Salas had suggested that it could be cathartic to explore her grief through her words. One afternoon where Alexis was feeling unusually relaxed, she sat in front of her computer with a cold glass of Chardonnay and started typing. She cried her eyes out with every word, but in the end, she felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest. For the first time since her little boy had died, Alexis accepted that while the pain in her chest would never really disappear, she might be able to be happy again.  

The next morning, she called Charlie, her old boss, and sent her the manuscript.

Drake was quickly regaining his excellent reputation among the owners of Cordonian stables and racetracks. Thoughts about Lexie consumed him day and night, so he spent those six months working like crazy. In his spare time, he read, fished, or rode his horse, but he felt restless all the time. One night after talking to her, an idea crept into his mind. He already knew the perfect place, so he made an offer, and when he got it, he devoted all his free time to making it perfect.

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Liam rubbed his eyes tiredly; he had been up working for almost 20 hours straight, trying to figure out a way to bring new investors to Valtoria. He, Hana, and his team had developed a health plan that aimed to offer affordable healthcare to all the duchy’s citizens, but he needed private investors and the help of the Crown to be able to fund it.

At almost 10:00 p.m., Liam leaned against his chair. Hana dropped her pen on the desk and raked her hair with her hands. They both yawned at the same time, which made them chuckle.

“We’re too tired, Hana,” Liam said as he stood up to get a drink from the cart in his office. “Something to drink?”

“Gin, please,” Hana answered, grinning.

Liam couldn’t help but admire how pretty his assistant was. Hana was a special woman; she was smart and kind, and she cared about Valtoria almost as much as he did. He always had fun in her company.

Alexis had left him six months ago. The first two months had been hell; after being in love with her for so long, Liam had had trouble adjusting to the idea that she would never be with him. However, after some time, he realized that Alexis had made the right decision. They weren’t happy together; she had never stopped loving Drake, and he was in love with a woman who no longer existed. Besides, Liam had to admit that he felt lighter and freer without the burden of his constant concern for her. His love for Alexis wasn’t healthy or romantic; it was toxic and harmful for both of them.

Liam handed Hana her gin, smiling at her. “What would you think if I called that place where we had dinner with the French ambassador the other night? We can ask for a couple of Black Truffle Croque Monsieur and some eclairs au chocolat?” he asked playfully, his stomach groaning at the thought.

Hana’s face lit up. “That would be perfect, Liam.”

“You call the restaurant, Hana. I will go look for a bottle of Beaujolais from the cellar.” Liam left his office, grinning. He didn’t know why, but the prospect of spending an intimate moment with Hana made him happier than he had been in a long time.

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

Alexis swam for almost an hour. The cold, tranquil ocean was the only place where she could calm her nerves that morning. After four months on the beach, she was going back to Cordonia that same afternoon, hopefully to stay. Charlie had arranged a public reading in a small bookstore in Cordonia to launch her book, and Alexis had invited Drake - the real reason behind her nervousness that morning. A smile formed on her lips from just the thought of him. When she had called him to invite him to the reading, she hadn’t dared to tell him that she was ready, that she couldn’t wait another minute to be with him. Mostly because she didn’t want to do it over the phone.

But also because a part of her was still scared. There was no doubt in her heart; she loved Drake more than anything. But what if they were able to be happy again and another tragedy struck them? If she had to go through the pain of losing him again, Alexis knew without the shadow of a doubt that she wouldn’t be able to recover.

In addition to all of that, there was something she needed to tell him, and Alexis wasn’t sure how Drake was going to react. She stepped out of the ocean and dried herself. When she got to the house, Alexis went to her closet, thinking about what she was going to wear. Butterflies flapped in her stomach, knowing that she was dressing for him, that if everything went well, she would be in his arms that same night — the feeling of being 19 years old all over again washed over her. After a short shower, she applied light makeup and blow-dried her hair. Before leaving the house, she looked at herself in the mirror. It didn’t matter how scared she was; fear had dominated her life for almost five years. It wouldn’t control another minute of it.

Drake turned on the engine of his jeep, his heart racing thinking about her. He had no idea what her book was about, but Alexis had talked about it with that cute voice she had when she was really thrilled about something. Drake could almost see her face if he closed her eyes: her wide, gorgeous smile and a pink blush covering her cheeks with excitement. During their conversation, she hadn’t said anything about their marriage, but Drake knew she wouldn’t have invited him if she wasn’t ready to be with him again. At least he really hoped so. Before going to the library, he made a quick stop. His project was on the right track. He prepared the last surprise for her and then left for the reading.  

The children’s bookstore that Charlie had picked was perfect. Small and cozy, it had a lounge with two large sofas and colorful cushions. Posters of Tom Sawyer’s books and figurines of the Harry Potter and Narnia universes decorated the walls. The owner had moved an antique armchair to the middle of the room, so the kids and their parents would be surrounding Alexis in a half-circle as she told her story. She was greeting the families that her agent had invited when she heard a familiar voice calling her.

“Blossom!” Maxwell ran to hug her. “I missed you so much; I have a million things to tell you!”

She hugged her best friend back. “Hi, Max! I missed you too. How’s the married life?”

“Perfection. Rashad is the best husband in the world. A total control freak, but I knew that already.”

Alexis laughed. “Anyone seems like a control freak compared to you.”

“I guess that’s true.” Max beamed, looking at her. She was wearing a beige mid-length dress with an oversized camel blazer and nude high heels. “You’re gorgeous, by the way.” Her friend gave her a knowing smile. “Drake is going to drop dead when he sees you.”

She gave her friend an anxious smile. “He isn’t here yet.”

“He’ll be here soon, Lexie. Don’t worry,” Maxwell said, placing his hand on her shoulder.

“Darling, everything looks fabulous.” Olivia kissed both her cheeks. “I’m so proud of you,” she said earnestly.

“Come on, Liv. Don’t make me think you’ve gone soft,” Alexis teased.

“I mean it, Alexis.”

“I know you do,” she replied, squeezing her best friend’s hands. “Thank you.”

Charlie interrupted them. “Please take your seats. You need to start, Alexis.”

Alexis sat in the armchair; she glanced at the door one more time, and there he was, looking shamelessly handsome in a white shirt and jeans. Drake winked at her as he sat on one of the sofas next to her. His boyish grin had the power of rendering her speechless. She swallowed her nervousness and opened the book. Drake noticed that it was signed by Alexis Walker, and his smile got wider.

“Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Tom who lived in a small red cabin in the middle of the woods. Every night before bed, his mom and dad sang him lullabies and told him stories of faraway lands, brave princes, and courageous queens. His best friends were Buttons, a little grey rabbit that followed Tom everywhere he went, and Maxie, an enthusiastic fire truck with a loud voice that only Tom could hear. Tom wanted to travel very far; thus, his dream had always been to conquer the faraway lands his parents described to him every night. One sunny April morning, Tom put his wooden sword and blue cape in his backpack and left, followed by Buttons and Maxie, to live the adventures he had dreamed of.”

Alexis looked up and saw Drake staring at her with glossy eyes. He gave her a soft nod, so she turned her eyes back to the book and kept on reading. Perhaps to avoid thinking about his lost son, Drake’s attention focused on her. He looked at her, enraptured. Alexis’ bright brown eyes were almost shining; her silvery voice had the entire room captivated with her story. The inner light he had always loved in her was back, as bright as before. In only a few months, she had managed to regain control of her life and make her dream come true. Every time he thought that he couldn’t possibly admire or love her more, she surprised him again. He was utterly, hopelessly, crazily in love with her.

“… Tom, Maxie, and Buttons had lived an incredible adventure. Tom missed his mom and dad deeply, but he knew that they were waiting for him in their little red cabin in the middle of the woods and that he’d soon come home.”

Alexis closed the book with watering eyes. “Thank you for coming. This book means a great deal to me.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I hope you enjoyed it. I’ll be happy to answer questions if you have any.”

One woman holding a little girl in her lap raised her hand and asked the question Drake was dreading. “Is Tom’s character based on someone real?”

Charlie had warned Alexis that she needed to be prepared to answer that. She gripped the book and took a deep breath. “Yes, on my son.” After drinking a gulp of water to control herself, she added, “He’s no longer with us.”

Drake smiled at her sadly but reassuringly when the audience went silent for a few seconds.

Maxwell quickly raised his hand. “Um … I just wanted to know if you’re preparing a sequel.”

Alexis gave him a grateful look. “Not at the moment, maybe later. Thank you for your question, sir.”

A little girl in pigtails asked her a question about Buttons, and a blond boy questioned her about Maxie the fire truck.

After she was done answering and signing copies of the book, she went to meet with Drake, Max, and Olivia.

“I loved it, Blossom! I have to say that Maxie the fire truck is the best character. He seems to be the smartest, funniest, cutest one of them all. Certainly much more than the evil Queen Nevrakis,” Maxwell beamed as Olivia shook her head, for once, more amused than annoyed.

A sudden silence made Olivia realise that Drake and Alexis were looking at each other longingly. She cleared her throat. “I have a date with Jin tonight, so we better get going, Max.”

Maxwell beamed as he hugged both of them. It was unquestionable for anyone who knew them that Drake and Alexis belonged with each other, and nothing could make Max happier than to see them together again. “I’m so happy for you guys! See you soon!”

They both chuckled; Drake brushed Alexis’ hand with his, slowly intertwining his fingers with hers.

“Did you like it?” Alexis asked Drake timidly.

“It was wonderful. The way you described him was simply perfect.” Drake threw her a small smile. “It was our Tom. I admire you so much, Lexie. Thank you for this; I needed it too.” They locked eyes with each other, both their hearts racing.

“I’m ready, Drake,” Alexis blurted out and immediately felt the blush in her cheeks, her heart beating furiously in her chest.  

“Are you sure you’re ready to come with me?” he asked her with his deep voice, an intense longing in his eyes.

“As long as you still want me to,” Alexis gave him a coquettish smile.

He tightened his grip on her hand. “Always, Lexie.” The loving look she gave him back was enough to drive him wild. Drake looked around him; they were in a children’s bookstore surrounded by kids and Alexis’ old boss. Probably not the best place to kiss her as he was dying to.

“I have a surprise for you,” he whispered sheepishly.

Alexis arched her brows. “Really? What is it?” she asked excitedly.

Drake smirked. “A surprise has to be unexpected. As a writer, aren’t you supposed to know definitions of words and shit?”

“Smartass,” she laughed. “I just need to say good-bye to Charlie really quick, and we can go.”

When they got into the car, Drake leaned to her seat and cupped her beautiful face. She let out a soft gasp when he kissed both her cheeks, the corners of her lips, her nose. “I’m going to spend the rest of the night, of my life, kissing every part of you, baby,” he growled in her ear.

If Alexis waited another minute, she would’ve imploded right there, so she crashed her lips on his, making him groan with want. Drake pressed her body against the seat, but an annoying thought made him stop. “Our first time after all this time will not be in the passenger seat of my jeep, Lexie.”

Alexis bit her bottom lip. “Let’s go,” she urged him.

After a short drive, Drake pulled over on the side of the highway. He grabbed a silk tie from the back seat. “I need to cover your eyes.”

“It’s dark, and we’re in the middle of the woods, Walker. Are you trying to kidnap me?” she asked with a flirty tone.

A smug grin spread on his lips. “Actually, that is exactly what I’m going to do. Turn around.” Gently, he placed the tie around her head and tied a knot. “No peeking, Lex,” he said, kissing her head.

She shook her head, now too excited to speak.

After a few minutes, they arrived, and Drake helped Alexis to get out of the car. The feeling of walking in an unknown place with her eyes covered could’ve made someone nervous, but there was no one Alexis trusted more in the world than Drake; he would rather die than let something happen to her. They walked a few inches with him firmly holding her. When they stopped, he pulled her back against his chest, circling her waist with his arm. He leaned to speak in her ear. “Six months ago, in one of our phone calls, you told me how difficult it’d be for you to live in the cabin again. That you would love to start our lives somewhere else.”

Alexis nodded.

“That day, I recalled how much you loved that abandoned house next to the lake. It was small and run down, but you fell completely in love with it. Remember?”

“I do,” she said with a lump in her throat.

They were taking a stroll next to the lake when Alexis saw it. The house was almost in ruins, but according to her, it had significant potential. As it was clearly uninhabited and there was a window open on the ground floor, she climbed through it; Drake followed her, chuckling, with Tom in his arms. Once inside, he had to admit that the house did show promise. They would have to spend a lot of weekends renovating it, but he loved manual work and was sure Alexis would make it as cozy and comfortable as she had made his father’s cabin. Back in their own place, they daydreamed about buying the house and renovating it. She drew a small sketch of what she pictured: a huge kitchen where they could both cook together, a swing for Tom to play, a porch to watch the sunset, and a main room with a skylight where they could see the stars every night. It would take some time and a lot of effort, but they thought the house was worth it. When Drake was about to make an offer to the real estate agency, tragedy overcame them, and they forgot all about it.

Drake uncovered her eyes, and she gasped. They were standing in front of the house, but it had changed. Drake had spent the last five months working on it every minute of his spare time. The old washed-out exterior was now a beautiful wooden façade with a large, wide-pillared porch in the front.

He held her tightly. “Now this is the exterior. There’s still a lot of renovation work to do inside. You’ll see.”

Alexis had happy tears in her eyes. “I … I can’t believe you did this, Drake. It’s gorgeous.” She turned around, and he cupped her face and gave her an intense, searing kiss.

“Come on, I want to show you the rest,” he said when they finally parted, breathless. Drake grabbed her hand, and they laced their fingers together.

They stepped into the house, and even if Drake was right and the first floor still needed a lot of work, Alexis wandered around happily with her heart full. “I love the kitchen! We can have a large counter here,” she said, pointing to one side of the room. “What would you think about a thick wood table?”

Alexis’ face reflected so much excitement and enthusiasm that Drake couldn’t help but grin at it. His gaze followed her as she pranced all over the house with a thousand ideas of how to renovate every corner of it.

“So I gather you like it?” he asked, arching an amused eyebrow.

“Like it? I love it, Drake! It’s perfect. I’d like to move here as soon as possible!”

Drake couldn’t help but smile tenderly at her. “Are you sure? We can stay in the cabin for a few more months while we do the renovation work here.”

“If the water is running, I’d prefer to stay here,” she answered with an earnest smile. “This is us, Drake. Ours. A new life together. I’m not running from our past, and I never want to forget Tom,” she said, brushing a small tear with her hand. “I just want to start over in a place where we can create new memories.”

“If that’s really what you think, there’s a room that’s already finished.” He threw her a quizzical smile. “Do you remember the drawing you did of how we pictured our house?”

Alexis let out a spontaneous laugh that made Drake's heart leap. “I would barely call the doodles I made drawings, but I remember the moment, yes.”

“Well, I hope I did the doodles justice.” Drake held his breath as he opened the door.

Alexis gasped; he had remembered everything she had dreamed of. A soft, fluffy carpet. A big bed full of cushions, a fireplace warming the room, and the skylight over the bed. The moon and stars lit up the whole room through it.

Mesmerized, she took off the blazer she was wearing, and Drake’s eyes widened. The beige dress she had underneath was tight and hugged every single curve of her body. Suddenly, Drake was very aware of the taunting way she moved; she turned her back on him to look at the fireplace, and his eyes went straight to her bare upper back and the delicate line of her neck. Blushing, he moved to readjust himself. Her thrilled voice pulled him out of his thoughts.  

“I love it, Drake. Every single part of it! The skylight is exactly how I’d imagined it!” He took off his own jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “What?” she asked, catching her bottom lip between her teeth when she realized he was looking intently at her.

“Are you wearing that for me?” Drake’s low baritone and sexy smile made her blush crimson red.

“Maybe,” she answered with the most innocent look in her eyes but a sultry voice.

Drake cut the distance between them; even with her sexy nude heels, he towered over her. “Don’t give me that innocent look, baby,” he growled. “Or I won’t be able to control myself.”

Alexis leaned towards him, her hands playing with his collar. “See, Drake, that’s the thing. I don’t want you to control yourself.”

He swept her off her feet. She looped his neck in a burst of roaring laughter. “I want you so fucking much, Lexie,” he told her as he gently dropped her on the bed. Their bed. He hovered over her, holding his weight up with his right arm.

She hid her nose on his neck, inhaling the intoxicating sandalwood. “Me too, Drake.”

“You deserve the world,” Drake said, staring at her almost black eyes looking at him adoringly. He wanted nothing more than to make this night last as long as he possibly could. “It’s been four years that I’ve been thinking about this moment,” he said, gently kissing her cheek. “Four years that I’ve dreamed of making you mine again.” He growled at her ear as he nipped it. “And now, I finally have you here --” He softly bit her neck. “-- all for myself.” He kissed her collarbone as he slowly unzipped her dress. “This damn dress is making me wild, Lexie.”

As he rubbed his thumb on her lips and cheeks, Alexis’ heart beat so fast, she was sure he could hear it. Finally, he kissed her, and time stopped. His lips felt so soft on hers, his tongue so passionate when it slowly entered her mouth, intertwining with hers. His strong hand cupped her head as he deepened the kiss. Suddenly the need became urgent, and he moved to her neck, possessed by the need to claim her. Drake softly sank his teeth in her, making an exhilarated moan escape from her throat.

Slowly, he pulled the dress’ front zipper down, peppering sultry kisses on every inch of skin he discovered, until only her lacy underwear was left. He pulled her to him and kissed her senseless as he unclasped her bra. Her beautiful breasts appeared, her buds erect, ready for him to kiss them. Drake softly flicked his thumbs over them. Then his tongue tasted them, taking pleasure in the sight of Alexis arching her back for him. He took a deep breath until all he could smell was her cherry fragrance. With a cocky smile, he pulled down her last piece of underwear, leaving her completely exposed and vulnerable to him.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Lexie,” he groaned as his eyes wandered over her body lit up by the moonlight, and his calloused hands moved down her body, rubbing her face, her breasts, her hips, a trail of excited goosebumps appearing everywhere he touched. “And you are all mine.”

Alexis gave him a flirty smile. “I want to see you too, Drake.” She softly pushed him up until they were both on their knees.

The sight of her naked, kneeling in front of him and undressing him with nervous fingers, desperate to kiss him, to touch him too, almost killed him. She undid his jeans and let her hand wander around his cock. He drank in the sight of her, enjoying her soft, small hand around him for a moment. Her soft, skilled strokes on his impossible hard length felt incredible, but after all the months, the years they had spent apart, he wasn’t going to last long if she continued. “I won’t be able to resist much longer, baby.” He grabbed her wrist. “And there are a lot, a lot of things, I want to do to you first. Lay down,” he growled, standing up to toss off the rest of his clothes.

Alexis felt like she was on fire, ready to explode. Drake’s lips kissing her legs, her knees, and her inner thighs only made the fire wilder. She gripped the sheets when she felt his hot mouth on her, kissing the soft skin around her clit.  

“It drives me insane how wet you already are for me, Lex,” he said, parting her lips with his tongue and softly entering her, inebriating himself with her taste.

“Drake, god! Drake,” she chanted again and again as his expert tongue and fingers explored her, thrust inside of her. Feeling the heat build more and more, she tugged his hair, making him smile against her warm skin. Finally, she reached a point of no return and screamed his name again.

Drake smirked. “Fuck, I’ve missed that, baby.”

Still panting, she managed to answer in a soft voice. “Me too, Drake.” Drake caught her lips in a slow, tender kiss as she came down from her high.

“Come here,” he whispered, scooping her and sitting her in his lap. Alexis straddled him, enveloping his torso with her legs. Cradling her with his arms, Drake’s desperate lips ravaged her neck, alternating soft kisses with small bites. Her back arched, giving him full access to her breasts that he cupped, his thumbs slowly circling her hard nipples again. Alexis rolled her hips against him.

Drake chuckled against her neck. “Are you trying to tell me something, Lexie?”

“I need you now, Drake,” she moaned. His cock was already throbbing, but he felt like he was going to burst at her words

“Whatever you want, Alexis.” He positioned himself with the tip of his dick, teasing the little nub of her center. “Look at me, baby. I want to see your pretty eyes as I enter you.”

She locked her burning eyes with him, and he grabbed her hips, confidently guiding her body to enter her folds slowly, giving her time to adjust to him.

The world, the moon, and the stars, everything around them faded. Each set of eyes only saw each other, reflecting the passion, the excitement, the deep love they felt.

“I love you, Lexie,” Drake whispered as he slowly moved inside of her, adoring her smell, the way she moved, how she moaned his name.

“I love you too, Drake,” Alexis whispered back, reveling in the sensation of him filling her completely. Of her heart racing with every delicious thrust. Of his strong arms holding her tightly, safely. Of his hands caressing her back. “I feel you everywhere, Drake, god.”

They rocked their hips at the same pace, increasing speed as their movements became more passionate, more desperate. He ground into her powerfully, feeling her walls tighten around him. The sensation was unbelievable, an exceptional connection that neither of them could ever experience with anyone else. “Come with me, baby,” he whispered as his hand reached her center, allowing his thumb to rub the little nub in it, making her lose her mind. Alexis couldn’t formulate a coherent thought, let alone talk, as the most intense wave of pleasure of her life came cresting over her. A powerful “Drake!” escaped her lips as she climaxed.

His name on her swollen lips and the way she was still vibrating against him pushed him over the edge.

“Mine, Lexie, mine,” he growled, marking her neck as he filled her in complete ecstasy.

He pulled her into his chest, both of them silently enjoying their descent from heaven.

He held her tightly, kissing the top of her head as he lazily rubbed her back, incapable to stop touching her.

“A penny for your thoughts, Lexie.”

She looked at him through her eyelashes, smiling.

“I was just thinking about how absolutely perfect this was.” She stroked his chiseled abs with her hand.

He smirked. “You’re perfect, baby. A fucking work of art.”

Alexis smiled against his chest, a pleasant feeling of utter happiness settling in her chest.

Part of the night was spent with tender whispers, passionate touches, and shared laughs. The rest, they spent rediscovering every nook and hidden corner of each other’s bodies as if they were trying to recoup the last five years in a few hours. Finally, the morning lights caught them sleeping tangled in each other’s bodies. Drake opened his eyes first, smiling as he hadn’t done in five years.

“Good morning, baby,” he whispered in her ear, waking her up.

“Nuh, uh, too early.” She hid her head under the pillow.

“You have to see this, Lexie. Wake up,” he said softly, kissing her bare back.

“God, I’ve forgotten how good you are at motivating a girl.”

Drake chuckled. “Come here.”

Wrapped in the sheets with Drake hugging her tightly from behind, Lexie sat on the porch in front of the lake, and she understood why he had woken her up. In front of her eyes, a sumptuous spectacle of pink, ochre and golden sun rays extended over the glowing lake. It was the most stunning sunrise she had ever seen.

“There’s something I need to tell you that might change your mind about us,” Alexis warned him cautiously. She bit her lips, feeling remorseful. She should have discussed it the day before, but selfishly, she had wanted to enjoy the night with Drake.

He almost laughed at the idea. “Nothing would change my mind, Lexie. Test me.”

She took a deep breath and let the sentence out as fast as she could. “I don’t know if I ever want any more children, but I don’t think so.” She carefully gauged his reaction as she asked. “Do you?”

“I don’t know,” he answered sincerely. “I didn’t for a long time; I was adamant. ” He looked tenderly at her. “Now, I’m not so sure, but I do know that the idea scares the shit out of me.”

Alexis let out a relieved breath. “Me too.”

“I’ll tell you this. We’ll revisit the idea in a few years, but we won’t do it unless we’re both sure. Deal?”

“And what if I don’t change my mind, and you do?” she asked worriedly.

“Then we won’t, Lexie. All I want out of life I have right here,” he said, holding her even tighter. “Nine years ago, in my vows, I told you that I loved the fire in your eyes and how much you love life. I told you that I would always take care of that gorgeous inner light of yours. But I didn’t do a great job.” Alexis was about to protest, but Drake put his thumb on her lips, smiling. "I promise that I’ll devote the rest of my life to making you happy. I’m so proud of you, of everything you are, Lexie. I love you more than I did back then, much more.” He opened his palm, where he had their wedding rings in his hand. “I always knew that one day we would be wearing these again, Mrs. Walker.”

Alexis beamed. “I love you, too. You have no idea how much. For years, I felt lifeless, and now just looking at you, my heart hammers, Drake. You take away the emptiness, the sadness. You make me so incredibly happy.”

A bittersweet tear escaped from her eyes when she extended her hand and watched, immensely moved, how Drake slid her wedding band and engagement ring on her finger. Then she put his on.

Relieved, she turned her head up and caught his lips in a delicious, deep kiss.

Drake noticed a small, tiny tear. “What’s up, Lexie?”

“I was really convinced that I could never feel this extremely elated again, and now that I do, I also feel …” She stopped in her tracks.

“Guilty. You feel guilty for feeling happy.”

She nodded slowly.

“Me too.” Drake rubbed her cheek with his hand. “I think we have to learn to live with that, baby. Tom will always be here. He’ll always hurt.”

Alexis snuggled against him as Drake drew her into his arms. A loving smile spread on her lips; no matter how difficult or painful their grief would be in the future, they would be facing it togther.

The End.

[selfmadesuperhero]

i’m very much not okay 

and i’ll probably take very long for me to explain why

i don’t know how to write this. i don’t know where to even start. i’m here because i just don’t have anywhere else to go. i can’t afford therapy. i no longer have any close friends other than Mabu (gf).

it’s getting pretty bad inside my head

i know most people’s lives are hell this year and i’m not special. i know that. to me, this year is feeling like the last nail in my coffin because 2019 had already chewed me up and spit me out. 

i kept my last job for eight years. after my first year there, another developer came in, and we became friends. we worked side by side less than 4 feet apart for six years. our hours were flexible but we always agreed upon our schedule just so work would be more bearable, because we both hated it and often had to team up against our boss’ downright abuse. it was a very small company (at its biggest we were only 7 employees). we were also going to graduate at the same time from the same school (different majors), so we had a bit of a pact to leave our shitty boss once we’d graduated and start developing our own, way less shitty games.

at the start of 2019, he got an excellent job offer. i was thrilled for him and told him to of course get out of that hellhole we hated so much, we were only there because the pay was decent and the hours were flexible so we could get our degree, you know? it stung, but i was happy for him. on the last day i gave him a ride home (which is also something i did almost daily), he surprised me by hugging me and telling me i was like a brother to him and our plans weren’t going to change. 

i believed him, and went back to work. he was soon replaced, obviously, by a junior developer because that’s how capitalism works. but suddenly, i no longer had someone to take a stand with me against my boss - there was no one left that i knew, everyone had resigned or been fired and i was the oldest employee. you’d think that’d earn me something, after eight years being dedicated to the same company, right? 

(shortly after, my grandma passed, after years and years of agonizing in a wheelchair. we lived together)

fuck that

the first months were fine. i was being the senior developer and teaching the junior constantly, so my boss stayed out of my way. but see, this is where he started to get ansty. the more the junior stopped being a junior and was actually useful for something, the more that piece of gigantic ass just started thinking only about our salaries. i started in that company in 2012 making little more than 3 bucks/hour (remember i live in a third world country, but it was still specialized work), but by 2019, my salary was pretty much double of what the junior was making, and every penny extra i got during those years was a CONQUEST. i also worked six hours while he worked eight, so.

my boss basically started treating me even more like shit. he wasn’t nice to be around before, but he was bearable in small amounts. suddenly it was obvious to everyone that he was really fixating on me and my performance, and to me it was obvious he just wanted me to walk away too so he could replace me with TWO junior developers instead of just one measly charlie. 

then, the nationals elections began. oh boy.

this probably wouldn’t read as news to anyone, but i’m a huge leftie, obviously. if you’re at all interested in politics, read about what socialist policies have done for uruguay during the past 15 years and how they turned us into AT LEAST a developing country, but i digress. 

the people that sat in my office even shared my political views or whatever, but my boss is actually part of the conservative party and started actively campaigning. every time something involving politics happened, he made a point to come barging in the office and telling me and specifically me about it like i was personally running against his party. i actually recorded him once to have proof of him at least screaming at me, so i could check if i was crazy for thinking he had something against me. he frequently called me communist and just mocked my views. if you’re wondering, yes, this is illegal, but nothing happened. 

then, two big things happened at once: we lost the election, and my recently adopted puppy was diagnosed with distemper. yes, it happened on the same that and it’s a day i’ll never forget. 

my girlfriend and i had talked about getting a puppy once we moved in together. we’d named him like two years before it actually happened. we moved in together on may 2019 and on september i found the most precious boy for adoption on facebook and i was innocently all like “oh i’ve had to put rescue dogs for adoption before, let’s give back!”. 

on october 27th, he had a seizure and the vet told us it was likely we’d have to put him down because only 20% of dogs survived, and it was even less for puppies. 

when i went to work, i had to put up with my boss laughing and mocking me for winning the election “against me”. i guess i missed my running for anything?

this post is already too long for me to get into details about my dog’s disease. for months, every day we looked after him constantly. i read everything there was to BE READ about distemper online, spent thousands of pesos on medicine and treatments just in case he had a chance. good news is he did! this is the only positive note in this post. 

it still wasn’t easy. he made us cry at least three times a day. we really thought he was dying, and we’d made the mistake of naming him 2 years before he was even born. we’d taken PERFECT care of him while he was unvaccinated, but the vet told us it was most likely he was already infected before he came home to us. i’d never seen such a small puppy so sick. he hallucinated constantly. if you don’t know, distemper is a neuro/digestive/skin/bone/HELL disease that’s really nasty. he’d have seizures almost daily and poop and pee himself. he stopped being able to control his body other than his two front legs, which he didn’t even have full control of. when he stopped being able to walk, he started crying constantly, it really tore the heart out of my chest

we called another vet, a dog physical therapist, so she’d tell us how we could help him. she told us to make him stand as long as possible, so every time he had a meal, i’d bend down with him and hold his hips - so he’d be able to stand, and slowly gain back some muscle mobility. every day we massaged his legs and flexed his joints, even his tiny toes, so he’d avoid atrophy. and we did it!! as i’m writing this, he’s one year old now, he’s no longer sick even if he’ll carry with him plenty of lifelong sequels, and he walks and runs and barks like the best of them ♥ i wasn’t going to plug anything but if you wanna see his progress, it’s on instagram @hamiltonthefighter

okay, i guess i ended up talking at length about his disease in the end, sorry. his walking again had a price to pay for me: my own back. for two or three months i was bent over this dog, you know? i still can’t get out of bed without help sometimes lol around december it got really bad but i just kept popping pills because joy oh joy, i was doing my thesis and i didn’t really have time or money for anything else. my job was basically paying for our rent, my university classes including the thesis course which was ridiculously expensive, and our dog had given me credit card debt out of desperation (we even had to buy those rubber things used for yoga to place on our floors so he’d have something to use his nails against instead of constantly slipping on the floor, we tried every medication that might help, we gave him CBD oils, all kinds of vitamins, constant vet visits where during the first two weeks he got like three different shots every day, etc)

i’m rambling, and i’m sorry, but i don’t really think anyone will read this. i started this post crying my eyes out and writing about my dog at least has been calming, because even if he’s a drooling mess now, he’s still the same he ever was and i love him very much and he’s sleeping soundly next to me and he’s finally close to fine. 

remember the friend i talked about like half an hour ago? the one that worked with me for six years? nothing changed between us during the first months. for my thesis, i was going to develop a videogame with Mabu, but we were allowed to have external coding help because it was about GameDev, not the actual coding. i knew how to code, obviously, but Nico (the friend, guess we’ll give him a name) was also part of our project so he was gonna help us code so i had more time to focus on art and 3D modelling. the idea was kill two birds with one stone, make something we all liked, mabu and I were going to graduate with it and then we’d keep working on it during 2020 as we’d always always talked about.

by december, even if nico and i still talked regularly, i could tell he had just moved on with his life. he’d said he’d help us, but he was doing his own thesis, so i told him not to worry at that time, our final due date was in february. he asked us to forgive him during december and promised us he’d come back in january to DEVOTE himself to the project. i started coding the project besides working on the art and i was thankfully able to meet all the deadlines, so it was really fine, of course i understood where he was coming from. 

then, on january 7th, Mabu’s grandma passed away. she was scheduled for a heart surgery that supposedly only had 1% risk, and she passed on the table because of a doctor’s mistake. the surgery was here in the capital, but Mabu’s family lives five hours away. she comes from a very big, very loving family, and her grandma (being the mother of five children) was very much the center of it. i also loved her. she’d replaced my grandma the second she passed and every time i saw her she hugged me like i was a lost grandson. 

when my girlfriend called me during her surgery, i immediately left work because i just knew she would be crying if things were okay. this was a nightmare come alive for a family of 20+ people, and most of them were 5 hours away from their own house. my mother in law was (and still is) devastated by the lost of her mother because she was the one to encourage the surgery and she still thinks she killed her. i drove my her, my girlfriend, her sister and her sister’s boyfriend on my mother’s in law van for five hours while they all cried or slept and i had to really, really pinch myself because i was EXHAUSTED but what else could i do? 

logically i missed work the next day. LOGICALLY. i had the service to attend and i was 5 hours away from the office and i didn’t even have my own car with me. i told my boss to discount the day, since i wasn’t entitled to the mourning day by law because it wasn’t my grandma. he didn’t even reply - he almost never talked to me by this point unless it was to berate me for something. i went back to work the day after the service.

now, remember we were doing our thesis and it was due in february? it really wasn’t great timing for anyone to die, but i was trusting Nico’s promise that he’d have more free time and he’d make up for not helping us code sooner. i told him the news about Mabu’s grandma, and then basically had to tell him to say something to her for her loss because he was supposed to be her friend, what the fuck, why aren’t you at least sending her a text.

let’s just say, january wasn’t a great month for Mabu and myself. two weeks after the passing, we still hadn’t had news from Nico. Mabu didn’t even have time to properly mourn because we had to turn our thesis in like, little over a month. i wrote to nico just downright ASKING if he was gonna be able to help us or WHAT, to which he said to me...

he’d never promised anything because he was really busy with his own stuff and he didn’t want to bring it up sooner because he knew Mabu was mourning and things were hard for us at the moment? 

like that’s great pal, thanks for telling me at the last POSSIBLE second you were just dropping out altogether, what the actual fuck? it still baffles me that someone can be so thick headed, but he kept saying he had made no promises and both Mabu and I knew that was a lie and i honestly just couldn’t deal with someone so selfish he couldn’t at least give a heads up sooner

the icing on the cake during the beginning of this year is someone i haven’t even mentined: MY PIECE OF SHIT BROTHER. talking about him may deserve another post, because this is already so long and convoluted and i haven’t even talked about his involvement in my misery during 2019-2020. i’ll try to make the story short if anyone’s still reading this far: 

a lot of years ago, our maternal grandmother moved to uruguay from russia and bought a tiny shitty house here next to my mother’s. my mother still hasn’t talked to me since 2013 because i’m trans, but that’s neither here nor there. i tried to keep in touch with my brother (we don’t share dads so he was no relation with my side of the family), and around 2017 i finally succeeded in making friends with him. or so i thought, clearly. 

that grandmother passed... sometime. i don’t really know because they cut me off. she didn’t speak to me either, she was literally a crazy old nasty woman and i didn’t even care when i heard she’d died, to be honest. she was such a nasty woman, she’d put her tiny shitty house to my and my brother’s name just to keep her own daughter out of the inheritance when she bought it. 

that also meant i was inheriting something for the first time ever, even if it was shitty. BUT my brother had his own fake grandma (the woman who looked after him his whole life instead of our mother) who was very old and frail and asked me if he could house her there. i said yes because again, i didn’t give a shit about the inheritance or the house or anything regarding my mother’s side of the family (other than him obviously), so for years this woman occupied the house. my brother basically took all existing furniture and appliances because he was moving in with a girlfriend and i even loaded up my shitty car with his stuff. all i wanted to inherit was the couch set, which had come all the way from russia and everyone had promised me since i was a wee lad, but he started whining about his fake-grandma not having a living room set and nowhere to sit and i didn’t even live by myself yet so i let them have the fucking couches, too. 

oh boy this is already too long but now i’m too lazy to make a separate post

anyway, sometime during 2019, the woman moved out to an old folks home because she could no longer take care of herself. i immediately asked about the couch set with hope in my heart that it could finally be mine, but my brother told me our mother didn’t want me to have it. 

he wanted to rent the house to make a profit, which sounded good to me because of that dog related credit card debt i talked about. and here’s where you might think i’m not that there in the head, but all my life i didn’t want anything to do with that house until my mother was in the ground - not out of hate but because i thought it was a shitty thing her own mother had done to her, and the inheritance should have been hers. she doesn’t have a degree or a stable job because she’s a russian translator so hey, whatever, they needed it more than i did. but then my brother starting getting ideas about improving the house so we’d make more money, and how we should do it together, and... i think i might have mentioned already why i didn’t exactly have time to redo a house? i was doing my thesis? about to graduate? my boss was constantly on my case? my dog was about to die? 

i helped as much as i could at first, but then december came, and then january, and my brother just kept nagging me about the house like i was purposefuly sitting on my ass doing nothing, because oh every day it’s not rented it’s money lost. no amount of explaining how stretched thin i was seemed to suffice, not even when mabu’s grandma died and nico left us hanging with the thesis and i had less than a month left to code the whole project by myself while ALSO taking care of the art. 

by the end of january, i was so stressed, i called a doctor after a panic attack. he gave me a weeks rest because of my back, because i wasn’t even able to get up without help at that time. it wasn’t much of a rest because i still used that time to sit at the computer and code 15 hours a day at LEAST, but hey. 

it was the first time in 8 years i’d taken medical leave of ANY kind. i didn’t even get medical leave when i got my chest surgery. it happened on a friday and i was back to work the next monday. i’d never skipped more than 2 days of work at best when i had a bad case of the flu or something, but that was it. 

when i went back to work, my boss immediatelly called me to his office. he started berating me about my performance again, bringing graphs comparing the amount of lines of code i’d written next to my coworkers. i didn’t mention this, but the graphic designer had also quit during 2019, so i was also covering that workload and no, that didn’t exactly translate to lines of code. i also had to spend HOURS every day tutoring the junior because he was too much of a cheap shit (didn’t use those words) to hire an experienced developer. i’d even WORKED AS A GRAPHIC DESIGNER FOR MEDIA CONTENT FOR HIS POLITICAL CAREER, EVEN IF IT WAS AGAINST MY BELIEFS AND NOT AT ALL RELATED TO MY JOB. he denied everything. EVERYTHING. he stuck to the narrative that i was just lazy and the proof was i’d just taken AN ENTIRE WEEK because “my back just hurt a little” and i had the audacity to skip work for someone else’s grandmother dying

i’m not exaggerating, i swear to anyone who might be reading this. that day was brutal and i’m still not over it half a year later, i don’t care if that makes me sound like a wuss. i worked eight years of my life in this fucking place. 

this argument lasted for hours, but i kept my head down because i couldn’t afford to lose the job, specially not then. i even apologized for any loss in performance and tried to explain my point of view and what i was going through (which i’d already done to another superior weeks ago anyway). but just when i thought i’d MAYBE be able to keep my head above water, he told me he was denying my the request i’d made to take two weeks of holiday days before the thesis final due date. 

i had already explained everything to him. everything, even nico dropping the team and my having to do everything by myself. i broke down and i told him he was forcing me to leave my job, i’d just have been certified by a doctor and i was asking for leave for SCHOOL (all things that are protected by law here), but he just kept repeating i could either walk away from my job or show up during those two weeks. he just wanted me gone, but he couldn’t fire me right away without having to pay me THOUSANDS because of my seniority (by law). he knew what he was doing to me and he didn’t care about it. he didn’t even let me TOUCH MY COMPUTER, he told me he wasn’t the one pushing me away, that i was doing this to myself, and he’d ask for a lawyer to check my computer for any “inconsistencies in my activity”, even. i really have a hard time just thinking about that day and how utterly humilliating it was. i lost a lot of personal files, because i sat at that desk for eight years and of course i had personal files because sometimes i stayed after hours before going to class. 

imagine for a second a sixty year old man, rich as shit, political candidate, standing in front of a computer, disconnecting the mouse and keyboard so i couldn’t touch it, yelling at me i was doing this to myself and i was losing my job because i had the audacity to ask for two weeks leave to finish my fucking school thesis. 

and yeah, i lawyered up. i didn’t have actual money to AFFORD a lawyer, but mabu’s cousin’s girlfriend was a lawyer and lived one block away and i immediatelly told her everything there was to tell. she brought me to the firm she worked in and they guaranteed me i had a pretty strong case and i was at least gonna be able to walk away with something.

that put things in hold for a while because the “trial” or whatever wasn’t gonna be held until after the thesis, so i tried to forget about it. my boss even owed me my untaken paid vacation days, which i told the lawyers because i was pretty sure he’d just forgot, but i wanted to know if it made a better case against him. they agreed, and i left it at that. 

but you know who was still making my life miserable even when february began and i had less than three weeks to finish our project right? MY SWEET BABY BRO. he was constantly nagging me about having to do all the work himself, like I’D ASKED ANYTHING FROM THAT HOUSE TO BEGIN WITH. but see, the nastier he started getting, the more apparent his lies began to appear. he got nasty to the level where ON THE DAY I WAS TURNING THE PROJECT IN he kept calling me demanding MONEY for stuff he’d paid for the house without checking in with me. i was honestly baffled by his level of selfishness, i was already sleeping three hours a day tops and he expected me to what, paint walls? he was FIERCELY against having to wait for my project to be done even if it was two weeks away and he was asking and asking for money when i’d just told him i’d lost my job without a penny to show for it. nice guy, really. 

suddenly, the following lies became clear: 

 my mother didn’t care if i took the couch set, he told me that because he was moving again and he was planning on taking the couches himself. (he ended up doing just so, too). he lied to me with the thing that hurts me most in the world: my mother hating me. he had even made a joke about it, because my mother had bought a new couch not long ago, and he didn’t “get” why she “didn’t want me to have anything”

 years ago he’d told me he had refinanced a tax debt the house had, and i gave him money for it. now that the house was about to be put up for rent, he pretended that had never happened and suddenly started talking about how we needed to take care of that

 he wasn’t planning on splitting the rent three ways between him, our mother and i. he was gonna keep two thirds, and i later even found out my own mother had given him the idea. 

 then poor mabu confessed to me once, two years ago, she’d wore a skirt one time visiting my brother and his then girlfriend, and he had told her nasty stuff to her year upon saying goodbye and she had never said anything because didn’t want to hurt our sibling relationship 

talk about final nail huh? 

i confronted him and he denied everything, obviously, he instantly played the victim card, how dare i think that way about him, how dare i break his dreams of reuniting the family again. he said things to me i’ll also never forget like, apparently, it shows that i’m a shit person because i have no friends and no one wants me around, unlike him that has so many. he told me i thought the world owed me when i was shit and i believed anything anyone told me before believing him. no one told me any of his lies, i caught them all by myself, but whatever. he cursed me and told me he never wanted anything to do with me because i was rotten and i only cared about money and i was so so selfish. this must have been around march and i still don’t know anything from him, or care.

what do i have to do for that side of the family to leave me alone, i wonder? all i ever wanted to do was be his friend

the “trial” against my boss came and suddenly every lawyer that worked at that firm was taking a fucking holiday except for the one that was supposedly leading my case - except suddenly, i didn’t have much of a case at all. i walked away with less than 2 thousand dollars and that was WITH the vacation days i hadn’t taken. the agreement was the lawyers were gonna keep 25% of however much i made but THAT vacation money wasn’t supposed to count because it didn’t come out of the “trial” thing, you know? 

well, it did. the lawyer screwed me over too. but hey, at least he’d gotten me unemployment for a couple of months (you only apply for unemployment if you’re fired, not if you walk away from a job, and my having been fired or not was what was being contested), i still tried to be optimistic, i had a few months to figure things out while i looked for another job, and at least i was able to finish paying for school with that money.

yeah, this was late february, beginning of march. joke’s on me for being optimistic at all

my own brother plotting with my own mother against me has done a number for my mental health. i already had baggage aplenty, like every trans dude or girl whose parents would rather see them dead than be a dyke/fag (my mother’s own words, ladies and gents)

my boss of eight years kicking me to the curve at the worst moment in my life in the most humilliating of ways while blaming me for it has left me feeling so worthless to people in general. i’m getting better with time, i think, but i’m still all not there. i have a really hard time thinking my work is worth anything at all.

i keep thinking my brother was right, and i’m a shitty friend, and i don’t deserve anyone around. my only real friend at the moment is my girlfriend, which makes it really hard to have any arguments because i start feeling like my life is ending because she’s pretty much all i have left and she’s the most important thing in the world to me because i wouldn’t have survived all this shit i’m writing without her by my side. i would walk to hell and back for her. but nico also left me behind without a second thought, after telling me i was like a brother to him, no matter how many times i invited him to hang out or anything to keep in touch. i’ve been a shitty friend to a lot of people, but not him, and he still didn’t care about me at all, so i just stopped trying. 

but now social distancing has got me all fucked up. i can’t trust people. i can’t go outside. everything is scary to me, i have at least two or three panic attacks per WEEK and they get nastier and longer every time. i know i need help, but i can’t even afford rent, let alone therapy. Uruguay has the worst unemployment rates since 2006 now thanks to our baby-Trump right now. i look for jobs daily even if the notion of having a job even SIMILAR to the one i had before gives me the shakes. programming isn’t as hard as some people may think, but the workplaces are usually VERY toxic because you’re valued by the amount of lines of code you write, and i’m so so tired. i’m still looking because I NEED. TO. PAY. RENT. but not because it’s something i want in life, at all. i’d much rather be poor and just do freelance work instead, but i’m failing.

i thank the people that have helped me or commissioned me these past few months from the bottom of my heart. i’m sorry i’m not more active, i’m sorry i’m still rusty and can’t draw faster, i’m sorry i sometimes spend half a day crying my eyes out because i just don’t know how to move forward. i have a week left, i still haven’t made enough for rent, let alone the bills or food. mabu used to get plenty of art commissions on etsy, but she hasn’t sold anything since march either and she’s younger than me so our financial struggles have an even deeper impact on her

i’m just so, so tired. i’m lucky to have mabu, and that is about it. i honestly don’t think i could have survived this year without her. for months the future has looked like a black screen to me. i can’t even trust the vegetable market in front of my fucking house because some piece of shit spread the rumor that i’m trans and now i can’t even open the door to my front house without getting stares sometimes, it’s ridiculous. i wish i could trust more than one person in the world so that everything wasn’t on her shoulders.

i’m not okay. we’re not okay.

that’s about it. i’m sorry i can’t end this on a more positive note. at least we graduated with an excellent score. not that we had a graduation, obviously. thanks corona.

thank you for reading if you read this far ♥

[shego1142]

So, since it’s ending tomorrow I feel like I should talk about my tumultuous feelings around Unus Annus.l:

... When the channel was first announced and everything, I was pretty panicked by it.

I have severe existential anxiety and nothing I have ever done to help myself with those problems has ever actually helped.

I’m paralysed by my fear of change, my fear of losing those I love.

The inevitability of it all just...

I very rarely do anything in my day to day life other than lay in bed and try to distract myself.

I’m so terrified of things ending that I don’t know how to engage in life.

I tried... I tried really hard to spin Unus Annus into something motivating for me.

I wanted to finally start my own YouTube channel.

I wanted to make a tumblr post every day.

Or write something every day.

I didn’t do any of it.

I’m aware that many of the issues I’m being open about are things I need to see a therapist for.

But therapy is expensive so it will have to wait.

And speaking of therapy...

I saw, have seen, the suicide pact posts.

I know there are many people out there who want to use Unus Annus ending as their “date” to kill themselves.

I’m not a therapist and I don’t know the right combination of words that would help you.

I know how bad depression gets though.

And all I can say is, from one depressed person to another, if you’re looking for a sign not to kill yourself, this is that sign.

Please don’t.

If not for yourself, if you’re not there yet, then don’t do it because Mark and Ethan would be deveststed.

That was never their intention when starting the channel.

I don’t know, for sure, what their intentions were, when starting the channel.

But I know people dying in their name was never an intention of theirs.

I think at least one of their intentions was to have fun.

To inspire.

To live.

That is the other side of the coin you know.

Memento Mori always came with Memento Vivere:

Remember You Must Live. 

And I know that my paralysis was never their intention either.

But I still feel like I should talk about it, both for myself and for anyone who is feeling similarly.

I lost my grandpa shortly before Unus Annus began.

And this year... 2020... it seems to have been a year of loss.

I lost my doggy this October.

I don’t think I’ve processed either of these losses.

I know many others have lost so much more.

And I live in fear of losing my grandma.

She’s taken care of me since I was an infant, and she’s the only person in my immediate family who really understands me.

She’s one of my best friends and I really don’t know what I’ll do without her.

I don’t know where I will go. How I will survive.

I’m trying to learn. Trying to learn to let go, to remember to live despite knowing that death is inevitable.

And honestly, mock me if you want to I guess, but I believe in spirits and an after life and everything.

(I’m pagan and have had actual ghost encounters)

But it still hurts.

It’s still bone chillingly painful.

Missing someone.... it’s an ache that hurts even if you’re sure you will see them once again.

There are Unus Annus videos I never watched, never will watch, I guess, because I had severe panic attacks when trying.

I want to spend the most time I can with those who matter to me, and yet there are aspects of life I’ve had to remove myself from.

And Unus Annus has honestly made many of my... anxieties worse.

It’s pointed out my .... shortcomings? and continued to stay there, like a gaping wound, a hole in my heart.

And I wish I could say I’m not mad at Mark and Eef, but honestly there’s a small part of me that is.

It’s that same part of me that is mad at the universe for giving us the beauty of life and taking it away with death.

But... pointing it out doesn’t really make it Mark or Ethan’s fault.

And I’m so much more happy and grateful of what they’ve shared with us.

They could have just set the cameras down and had all their adventures to themselves.

But they brought us along for the ride.

And as much as I hate that it has to go.... I’m glad I got to see what I did of it. 

I know it’s “just a YouTube channel” but I also know it’s not at all.

It’s an allegory, a metaphor or what have you. It’s saying hey, go live your life because you never know when that life will stop.

And it’s obvious by the sheer amount of people that they have inspired that they didn’t miss their mark at all.

The hit the nail right on the head.

I just wasn’t their target to begin with.

And that’s okay. Like I said, therapy is obviously a better option for me.

But it is.... heartbreaking that depression and anxiety have.... robbed me of engaging with both their channel and my own life, friends, family and pets.

I have watched Unus Annus videos from the start, all the ones that I could without panicking, and I loved them but I always held it at arms length.

“Don’t get to close, it’ll leave you too soon”

And that’s what I do in general. What I’ve done since I was a very small child.

And I am talking about this now mostly just to really get my feelings down, but also to reach out to those who feel like me, to those who feel like they aren’t coping with the end of this channel.

It’s okay to not be coping. It’s okay to not be able to let go.

Just... keep trying to engage with life. We Weill be able to one day. We will get there, one day. And we’ll be glad we kept trying.

🖤🤍🖤

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Twelve

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

May 3rd, 1993

It was Emile’s birthday, but all he could do was sit on his bed and cry. His heart hurt, because one of his friends was sick, and wasn’t getting better anytime soon. And Emile was worrying himself sick worrying over her. When there was a knock at Emile’s door he went over to open it, finding his dad on the other side. “What’s wrong, Emile?” Dad asked.

“You know what’s wrong,” Emile said. “She’s not getting better. If the fever doesn’t go down, they’re gonna take her to the hospital.”

“And she’ll get the treatment she needs there,” Dad said. “Emile, you can’t worry yourself sick over every friend you have, or you’d never feel okay.”

“But—”

“No but’s,” Dad said. “You have to be your first priority, Emile. You can’t put other people’s health over your own, not when it’ll hurt both of you in the long run.”

“She’s really sick, Dad,” Emile sniffled.

“But she’ll get better,” Dad said. “And in the meantime, you have to take care of yourself. Stop obsessing over whether or not she’ll be okay. Enjoy yourself, and don’t feel guilty for it. You should always be your first priority, Emile, never forget that.”

December 14th, 2000

Emile was working on making breakfast in the kitchen when he heard Remy stumble out of his bedroom with a groan. He inwardly shook his head with a laugh. Remy was definitely not a morning person; at least not when he stayed up late. And he didn’t know how late Remy was up last night, but judging how Remy immediately gravitated towards the coffee machine, it was a late one. “How bad?” Emile asked.

Remy grunted as he leaned against the kitchen counter, observing the coffee pot.

“Wow, that bad huh?” Emile laughed, finishing spreading cream cheese on his bagel as he moved to the refrigerator to grab some milk.

Remy didn’t acknowledge anything else until the coffee pot had finished filling with Remy’s magic elixir, at which point Remy immediately poured a cup and drank half of it in one go.

“Oh. Worse than I thought,” Emile said. “You good, Rem?”

“Mm,” Remy hummed. “Couldn’t stop thinking.”

“About?” Emile prompted.

Remy sighed, turning to the coffee pot. “Need more coffee.”

“For the conversation, or to function?” Emile asked.

“Yeah,” Remy said, pouring more coffee into his cup.

“Geez, Rem, how late did you stay up?” Emile asked.

All Emile got in response to that was a finger as Remy drained his cup of coffee. He gasped when he finally came up for air. “Okay,” Remy said. “The first buzz should be hitting shortly. Once it does, we can talk.”

“You’re a disaster, Rem,” Emile said with a shake of his head. “But yeah, I’ve only got afternoon classes today, and I haven’t heard back after my interview yet.”

Remy grunted and went to their small cupboards, looking for something to eat. Emile knew that Remy hadn’t been going to as many of his classes, especially not after midterms, in order to pick up more shifts to help pay for rent. But Emile could have sworn that sometime soon, something important was supposed to happen in one of Remy’s classes. Could that be what was keeping him up late?

Emile shook his head and walked into their small shared space in the apartment, currently being occupied by cardboard boxes to serve as a table. He sat on the floor and put his breakfast and milk on the boxes. The bedrooms had come with beds, which Emile was thankful for, but he wished that the entire apartment had come furnished, sometimes, even if it would have been more expensive. Sitting on the floor all the time just wasn’t gonna cut it.

Remy collapsed on the floor next to him, stuffing a granola bar in his mouth. Emile tried to brush Remy’s hair with his fingers, but Remy had so many cowlicks it wasn’t even funny. Emile wondered how much hair gel Remy used to keep his hair in place on bad hair days like these.

When Remy swallowed the last of the granola bar, he kept his eyes trained on the table as he said, “I was up until almost four in the morning.”

“I...why?!” Emile asked. “It wasn’t for classes, was it?”

Remy shook his head. “I just...couldn’t sleep. I don’t really know what I was feeling, but it wasn’t pleasant.”

“Were you happy? Sad? Angry? Confused?” Emile gently asked.

“All of those, save happy, rolled into one, I guess,” Remy said, brows knitting together, even though all the while he never looked at Emile. “I just...couldn’t stop thinking. About last night.”

“About therapy?” Emile asked. “Because if you don’t think that Kim is a good fit, we can find someone else...”

“Not about therapy,” Remy said. “I couldn’t stop thinking about...about...how you said...said that I...hurt you.”

Emile blinked. He couldn’t think of anything to say, really. He had told the truth, and he knew Remy hated it when he sugarcoated things. But clearly, this was affecting Remy differently. And judging by the way Remy couldn’t even look Emile in the eye, he was pretty sure the effect was a negative one. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Remy choked on a laugh. “I thought you didn’t want to be my therapist.”

“I don’t. But I want to be your friend. And if you trust friends enough, you can tell them your secrets. You just can’t unload everything on them and expect them to magically fix it,” Emile said. “So. I’ll ask you again. Do you want to talk about it?”

“...I cried,” Remy admitted. “I’ve been crying a lot lately, and I don’t know where it’s come from. The last time I cried like I did last night, I was in the ninth grade and someone who I thought was my best friend exposed me to the whole school for brownie points from the popular kids. I felt the same level of hurt as I did then. But...the hurt wasn’t directed at you.”

Emile frowned. “Who or what was it directed at?”

“Myself,” Remy said. “I just...I got so angry with myself, because the last thing in the world I wanted to do was...was hurt you. You’re my best friend. I hadn’t had a best friend in years, unless you count Toby, and neither of us were very touchy-feely, even then. And then I got sad, because I had done all of this, and you never spoke up about it. And what if that meant I made it feel like you couldn’t speak up about it? I’d played off hurt as a joke one too many times before, you wouldn’t know that I had realized that was wrong unless I genuinely apologized and told you I realized it was wrong. And! On top of that! I was super confused, because why should I care, right? The whole point of me pushing everyone away was that I didn’t care. But I realized last night...I do care.

“I care about you, and I care about your friends, and in order to convince myself I don’t care, I make them hate me so caring about them feels pointless. But it doesn’t work. And...and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but at least right now, I do need a therapist. Like, don’t get me wrong. I don’t like shrinks. I get uneasy when someone literally has been trained to pick your brain apart, but I need that as part of my support, and I need support beyond you and the therapist, too, because I only see her once a week, maybe, and I can’t just go to you the rest of the time, because I don’t want you to burn out, and I realized I need to have some of my own friends, even if they’re also your friends, because they could be part of a support network too, and obviously I can help them, friendship isn’t just a one way street, right? And I mean—”

Emile cut Remy off with a hand over his mouth. “Remy, slow down, I can barely understand you when you’re talking that fast. And please, end your sentences with a period once in a while, you need to breathe.”

Remy stopped mumbling into Emile’s hand and Emile let his hand drop. Remy took a deep breath. “I...I really don’t want to hurt you, Emile. And I’m super sorry that I did. And...I’m willing to do what it takes to make sure that it doesn’t happen again.”

Emile sat there in silent shock. Clearly, he had misjudged how much progress Remy had made over the past couple months. He genuinely cared about Emile. And while he might not care for others, not yet, he wanted to learn. And Emile felt a swell of affection and pride at that realization. “It won’t be easy,” Emile warned. “If you want me to call you out whenever you make a bad comment, it’ll happen frequently, possibly enough for you to get defensive. The key is to put that defensiveness aside and listen to what the other person is telling you, when they say that behavior is unacceptable.”

“Yeah...I...I figured. I’m not exactly good at reading a room, unless it’s to figure out how to make people hate me,” Remy said, scratching the back of his neck.

“And you’re willing to put in the work to change that? You genuinely want this?” Emile asked.

“I...yeah. I want to have friends again,” Remy’s voice was small, and soft, and fragile, and it broke Emile’s heart to hear it.

“Good. Then I can be your tutor,” Emile said. “We can hang out on campus if you want, or drive around town, or do whatever. But know that if you do something that I don’t think is kind, I’ll call you out. In front of whoever’s there. Not to shame you, but so you know that isn’t okay, and the people around you know you’re trying to learn.”

Remy nodded. “I don’t like the thought of that,” he admitted. “But if that’s what I need to do to get better, then I’ll do it.”

The swell of affection hadn’t dimmed in Emile’s chest any, and he smiled softly at Remy. “Thank you for being willing to try,” he said. “I know you won’t know how to do everything right off the bat, and I’m willing to go over things with you if you need or want an explanation. But the fact that you’re trying at all is a good sign. I’m proud of you for that.”

Remy’s eyes widened and they snapped up to meet Emile’s gaze. “You’re...what?” he asked softly.

“I’m proud of you,” Emile said. “Haven’t you ever had someone be proud of you before?”

“Maybe when I was really little,” Remy said. “Never once I grew past, like, seven. No one ever told me they were proud of me, unless I asked, and even then, it felt forced, or like they didn’t want me to prompt them.”

“You know, there are days where I’d love to strangle a majority of your family,” Emile said matter-of-factly.

Remy blinked. “That may be the first aggressive thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“And what’s more, it’s true,” Emile said with a bitter smile. He stood. “I’m getting dressed, and when I’m done and you’re out of your pajamas, we can figure out what to do today, sound good?”

“Don’t you have DnD tonight?” Remy asked.

“That’s tonight,” Emile said. “I’m free until my afternoon classes. And after that, we can always have dinner together.”

Remy did a double take. “You know, you keep talking like that, people will start to think that we’re dating,” he said.

Emile shrugged. “Eh, I don’t have a problem with people knowing I’m bisexual. You don’t seem to have a problem with people knowing you’re gay. If people ask if we’re dating, we can just be honest and say no. Unless, of course, you need to get any creeps off your back, in which case I will happily play your fake boyfriend until they leave.”

“You’re too good to have me as your friend,” Remy said, waving Emile off to his room. “I don’t know why you chose me as a friend, but I’m glad you did.”

“Me too,” Emile said with a smile, going to his room and getting dressed.

As he picked out what shirt he wanted to wear, he was left wondering why Remy brought that up. Having dinner together was something friends did all the time. And it wasn’t like that phrasing was dating-exclusive. He didn’t understand why Remy felt that needed to be pointed out. Who cared if people thought they were together? So long as Emile and Remy knew the truth and no one tried to hurt them, where was the harm in it?

“One of life’s greatest mysteries,” Emile chuckled to himself. “The enigma that is Remy Picani, with his best friend Emile Thomas.”

In all seriousness, though, he did wonder. He wouldn’t ask Remy about that right away, not after Remy had opened up to him so much already this morning. It wouldn’t be fair to him. Maybe another day, he decided. He walked out of his room to find Remy wearing that same leather jacket he had gotten recently and refused to take off whenever they went out. Emile laughed. “Where to?” he asked.

[thefloorisbalaclava]

Everywhere - Chapter 10

Pairing: Javier Peña x female reader

Warnings: SMUT (yeah y’all. it’s finally going down)

A/N: I think this one of the longest (if not the longest) chapter I’ve written for this fic and I think you know why lol. The song for this chapter is Brown Eyes by Fleetwood Mac ;)

Summary: All the feelings and emotions finally come to a head in a very passionate way.

one|two|three|four|five|six|seven|eight|nine|eleven

Javier's POV

Javier's hands shook as he started his car and pulled away from your place. Once he got far enough away, he pulled over and hit the steering wheel in frustration. Why couldn't he just fucking say it? Those three little words he knew were true. He just couldn't do it.

"Fucking idiot," he whispered to himself. The words 'off limits' kept echoing in his mind and he hated himself even more. You opened up to him in a way not many women do and he was going to ruin it all. And then he thought about the way you said you were going to take a page from his book and just go and sleep with someone. He would lose sleep over that for sure even if you did say you were only joking.

He pulled into traffic again and found himself driving to see one of his informants. He would regret this in the morning but right now he needed relief. His mind was full of you and it just wasn’t fair. How was he supposed to be okay with how things were? You had no right making him yearn for you the way he was. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been able to use that word—yearn. It’s lust, he tried telling himself, but he knew damn well it was more than that and that you meant more to him than anyone has in a very long time.

Your POV  

Another sleepless night along with the umpteen glasses of wine you had with Javier left you feel groggy and moody in the morning. You wanted to go for a run but your head screamed no at the thought so you showered, got dressed, and drove to the precinct.

“Mornin'!” Steve shouted as you walked in and you groaned.

“Ugh…mornin'. Why are we yelling?” You walked to your desk and collapsed in the chair, putting your head down on your arms.

“Long night?” Steve asked leaning on your desk.

“Something like that.” You wanted to say more but Javier walked in and you pretended to be busy with some paperwork.

“Hey,” he said to no one in particular.

“Hey…what’s that on your neck?” you heard Steve ask Javier and you looked up to see for yourself. Well, you certainly didn’t leave that on him which could only mean one thing.

“Of course,” you murmured under your breath and both men looked at you. “What? Just talking to myself.”

Javier was about to speak when the door opened and a woman walked in saying she needed to talk to him. Of course she was beautiful. He placed a gentle hand on her back and walked her over to his desk. You knew you wouldn’t be able to stop looking, stop thinking, so you excused yourself.

“Bathroom,” you mumbled to Steve.

While in there, you looked at yourself in the mirror. You were pretty, right? Javier was clearly attracted to you. Unless it was only lust. Yeah. That’s all it was for him—lust. That’s why it was so easy for him to leave your place and go straight to another woman.

After some time had passed and you felt it was safe, you walked out of the bathroom only to bump into Javier’s informant.

“You must be her,” she said in a slightly accented voice. “Javi’s girl.”

“Excuse me?” You put your hands on your hips and waited for her response. God, you were even standing like him now.

“You’re the one he’s been telling me about. He describes you perfectly.” She smiled and you rolled your eyes.

“Why are you two discussing me?” you asked.

“He comes over sometimes. It used to be for…well, you know, but now he just talks about you.”

“Oh…so you just talk? That explains the hickeys I guess.” You waved your hands. “You know what? I don’t even wanna know.”

“We both know how irresistible he is,” the woman said as you walked away. “I promise you that is all I did to him though.” You stopped for a moment and almost turned around but thought better of it.

“Peña!” You burst through the door angrily and he, along with everyone else in the office, turned to you. “Can I ask you why the hell you think it’s okay to discuss me with your…liaisons?!”

Steve looked between you two and sighed in an almost ‘here we go again' sort of way.

Javier walked up to you. “You think maybe we can talk about this privately?” His voice was hushed as he looked left then right then back at you.

“Why? Your little informant already knows everything! Why shouldn’t everyone else?” Suddenly, he grabbed your arm and pulled you out of the office and down a hallway that no one ever really used.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked quietly.

“Why the hell did that woman call me your girl?” You used air quotes for emphasis. “Why does she know so much about me? Do you fuck them then use them as therapists now?” You thought about what you said for a moment. Fucking was his therapy.

“I never called you my girl. I swear. Why are you so angry about this?” He was standing with his hands on his hips and you did the same without noticing. His jaw moved side to side as he waited for your response.

“I don’t want to be discussed by you or anyone else especially someone you’re sleeping with.”

“I didn’t know where else to go or who I could talk to,” he admitted.

“Steve?” You gestured to the office. “God…Javier…every time I think you might be starting to change you pull some shit like this.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I can’t change,” he snapped.

You smiled sadly and threw your hands up in defeat. “You’re right. I only wish I realized that sooner.” You shook your head and walked away.

Steve turned as soon as you walked in. “Everything o-"

“No,” you said calmly as you sat at your desk.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I wish I never came back.” You said it loudly so Javier could hear you as he walked through the door. You had no idea at the time that your wish would come true in a strange way.

---

“I was better off not coming back at all.” You paced the floor of Connie and Steve’s apartment as they sat and listened. You told them everything about last night and neither of them were shocked.

“Isn’t it clear that he loves you even if he can’t say it?” Steve asked and Connie shook her head.

“Coming into work with hickeys from another woman isn’t exactly making it clear, Steve.” She stood and hugged you. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m glad you’re back. So is Steve.”

“I’m gonna go home. I just wanna sleep,” you said as you hugged her back. “I’ll call you later. Thanks for listening.”

You drove home, tears blurring your vision the entire time. Javier had broken your heart once again and here you were still fucking loving him. You hated it.

As you pulled up, you noticed a car in the drive and recognized it immediately. “Fuck,” you whispered when you saw Javier leaning on the car smoking a cigarette. He stood up straight as you stopped your car. You turned the car off and just sat there even as he approached. He knocked on the window and you rolled it down without looking at him. You didn’t want him to see that you were crying.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“We do? Why?” You pushed the car door open and he jumped out of the way. “Oh…sorry.”

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“You can talk if you need to.” You walked to the front door and opened it. “I’ve said all I needed to. Besides don’t you have people to talk to already?”

Javier closed the door behind him and sighed as he watched you throw your keys on the table then walk to the kitchen for something to drink.

“How dare you make me the topic of your…pillow talk?” you scolded.

“Because…I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed. “Talking about you is the only thing that helps. I can’t-"

“DEA wants me in Mexico,” you cut in. Remember that wish you made earlier…

“What?” Javier walked closer to you.

“I’m going to Mexico.”

“You already decided?” he asked.

“Why shouldn’t I?” You pushed past him and walked upstairs to your bedroom. He followed but stayed in the doorway.

“You’re leaving…again?”

“Why do you care?” You spoke without looking at him, shrugging your jacket off.

“Okay fine. Yes. I’ve talked about you with other women, okay? Because if I don’t, I can’t fucking function!” He stepped into your bedroom. “I can’t get you out of my head and it’s…I’m not used to it.”

“What are you saying, Javier?”

“You know last night when you asked me why I had to be everywhere? Well, now I’m asking you: why do you have to be everywhere? Why do I see your face whenever I close my eyes? And it’s not just that.” He breathed heavily and moved even further into the room.

“Wh-"

“Your little quirks. Every. Fucking. Detail. The way you wrinkle up your nose when you’re thinking really hard about something.” He smiled. “The way you play with your fingers when you’re embarrassed or nervous. Your hair…there are always the same loose curls that never seem to stay pulled back with the others.”

Your eyes were filled with tears again. “I don’t understand, Javi…I don’t get you.”

“But you do. Better than anyone.”

You shook your head. “I thought I did.”

“I don’t want you to go to Mexico,” he said.

“If you haven’t noticed this is not about what you want. I’m going.” You turned away from him.

“No.”

“Excuse me? No?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” He stood his ground even as you approached him and got so close you could feel his breath on your face.

“And why should I listen to you? Because you ‘see' my face everywhere? Or is it because you’re able to remember little details about me and I’m supposed to just melt over that? What is it, Javier?!”

“It’s because I love you!” he shouted. “Goddamn it…I fucking love you!”  

“Javier…you…,” you cried, tears falling down your cheeks.

“Yeah, I said it. I love you.”

“And I’m just supposed to forgive you for everything now?” you sobbed.

“No and I don’t expect you to.”

“And you’re not just saying it so you can…you know?” You wiped your tears.

“Do you really think that lowly of me?” You made a face and he scoffed. “Dumb question.”

You moved away from him and sat on your bed. “So…what now?”

He sat beside you and took your hand. “I think this is when I apologize for everything, for hurting you.”

“I fell for you hard, Javi,” you confessed, “Too fast. I’ve been angry at myself about it. You were supposed to just be some asshole I had to work with, and you are,” you giggled, “But then you became so much more and I can’t for the life of me figure out why.”

“I wish I could tell you…”

“And we’re so different. How did I even let myself fall for you this way?” You shook your head and sighed.

“I can’t believe I’m saying something like this but we can’t always help who we fall for.”

“See…you’re so fucking smart but you’re such an idiot sometimes.” You nudged him playfully.

“I am a man.”

“A goddamn fool,” you said as you pushed him gently. He took your hands and kissed that back of both before looking into your eyes.

“Is it okay if this fool kisses you now?”

“Si. Por favor,” you breathed and Javier smirked.

“You should speak Spanish more often.” He kissed you softly then pulled away. “I like it.”

“I’d much rather hear you speak,” you admitted.

“And what would you like me to say?” He pulled you onto his lap.

“I don’t care just say something…”

“Me encanta besarte,” he said against your lips. “Tan dulce.” He kissed you again and you slowly moved your hands to the front of his shirt. You began unbuttoning but he stopped you.

“What?”

“Are you sure? I don’t think I can handle you changing your mind again. I need to know right now if you’re sure.”

You shake his hands off yours and continue unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m sure.” He gasped as you reached down to unbuckle his belt. “You okay?” He nodded and bit his lip as you pulled the belt out of the loops and threw it to the floor. Your hand accidentally brushed against his hardening dick as you went for the button of his jeans. He cursed under his breath. Finally, you were able to pull his shirt out and finish unbuttoning it.

“Are you purposely taking your sweet damn time?” he grunted.

You shrugged. “I like this color on you.” Javier growled and flipped you over so you were lying flat on your back. He pulled his shirt off and tossed it behind him before leaning over you.

“I want you.” His face was so close to yours that your noses touched but when you tried to kiss his lips, he would move just a bit and leave you hovering. “I’ve dreamed about this,” he whispered.

“Javier…please do something.”

He laughed. “If you’re gonna take your time then so am I.” He stood up and pulled you with him, making you sit up on the bed. You pulled your shirt off then went for the button on your pants. “I’ll do it,” Javier said eagerly. You laid back and watched as he slowly removed your pants then admired you.

“You just gonna stare?” you asked.

“I want to remember,” he told you, “I need to remember this moment—you laying there…for me.”

You sat up again then kneeled on the bed in front of him. “It’s only fair that I get to do the same with you.” You tugged at his jeans and he helped you pull them down then stepped out of them. The boxer briefs he wore accentuated his erection and he caught you staring.

“You can take them off, you know?”

“I know,” you murmured against his lips, “But I’m taking my time, remember?” You began rubbing him through the material. His mouth dropped open slightly as he breathed rapidly.

“Okay okay.” He grabbed your wrist and pushed your hand away.

“Am I too much for you already, Javi?” You smiled innocently. He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you in for a kiss. “Hm…” You slid your fingers through his hair and pulled then pressed a soft kiss against his lips. “I can do that too.”

“Is that the way you like it then?”

“Did you think I was just gonna lay there and take it?” you asked with a smile. “Maybe that’s what you’re used to but I’m not.”

“Fuck. You’re gonna be the death of me.” He slid his hands up your back and unclasped your bra. You let the straps fall from your shoulders until it they slid down your arms and Javier pulled it the rest of the way. “Lay down.”

“Don’t get used to telling me what to do,” you said as you laid down again.

“Yes ma’am.” Before you could speak again, he kissed you and took your breath away. His hands explored your body, barely there touches over the curves and scars as if he was memorizing every inch of you. He kissed your gunshot wound then moved to side the side of your stomach and kissed the scar there. “Fuckin’ ex-boyfriend,” he mumbled, remembering the story you told him.

“You remembered?”

“I did.” He continued kissing you all over, stopping at your breasts to give them special attention. Your body responded to him in a way that it never responded to anyone else. His touch was like magic. You told yourself it was because you hadn’t been touched this way in so long but you knew it was more than that.

“Up.” He tugged on your panties and you lifted your hips so he could pull them off. “Damn.” Admiration glowed in his eyes and you suddenly felt shy. You closed your legs and turned your head. “Mírame…don’t get shy now.”

“I…am not shy,” you lied. You looked at him again and almost argued but he spread your legs and began touching you. “Oh,” you gasped.

“Is this okay?” You nodded and he smiled. “Tell me.” You tried to but he slid a finger into you and your words melted away into a moan.

“M-more,” you said but he kept up the same pace, fascinated by the way you responded to him and the sounds you made. “I need more.” You reached down and grabbed his hand, pushing it against yourself harder. “You’re not gonna break me, Javi. Come on.”

“You could ask nicely…”

“I’ll make you sit and watch me do it myself if you don’t—” You cried out as added another finger and pressed them deep inside of you.  

“What were you saying?” He pumped his fingers in and out of you faster, bringing his thumb up to play with your clit. You tried shoving his hand away as you hit your peak but he kept going, enjoying the way you writhed and whimpered beneath him. He had dreamt of how you would look and sound but this was better than any fantasy he’d ever have.

“Oh…fuck…” You held his hand still but his fingers still moved around inside you. “Javi!” His thumb brushed against your clit and you were sure you saw stars.

“You okay?” He slid his fingers out of you and immediately put them in his mouth, closing his eyes happily. “Exquisito.”

“I’m glad you think so but…” You struggled to sit up a bit but once you did you pulled him then flipped him onto his back. “…it’s my turn.” He was still wearing his boxer briefs so you used that barrier to tease him, grinding your wetness against him just to feel how he throbbed and twitched.

“I’m gonna tear right through these things if you don’t take it out now,” he warned.

“Hm?” You sat up and moved your hips back and forth on him, his dick and the fabric causing a sweet friction against you. You played with the waistband of his underwear before pulling it and letting it slap against his skin. He hissed and you giggled.

“Gimme something,” he begged, watching how you moved against him. You leaned over and kissed him deeply, his hips jerk up searching for that friction again. You smiled against his lips before pulling away and reaching over to one of the drawers of your nightstand. “What are you-"

You sat back up and shook the little packet in your hand. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Why do you have those?” he asked.  

“For all the wild, hot sex I have, Javi…duh,” you joked. “Am I not supposed to have condoms?”

“I don’t know. I just didn’t think you…would need them.”

You grabbed him through his underwear. “Looks and feels like I do.” You slid down a little so you could pull the underwear down. He groaned in relief but gritted his teeth when you grabbed his dick and ran your thumb along the tip. “You okay?” you asked, mocking the way he asked you earlier.

“More than…okay,” he breathed, watching as you opened the condom then rolled it on him. You slid up his thighs again and settled over him. He tried to grab your hips but you quickly grabbed his hands and held them by his head.

“My turn,” you repeated as you used one hand to reach between your bodies and grab him so you could lower yourself onto him. The stretch made you whimper and Javier’s eyes looked like they were about to roll to the back of his head. “Shit…” You sat up carefully and moved your hips slowly, letting him ease his way into you until he was fully seated.  

“Jesus,” he cried out almost reaching out to touch you but moving his hands back to where they were quickly. You leaned in and held onto his wrists as you kissed him.

“Do you want to touch me?” you asked, moving faster in him. He nodded and forced his head down against the pillow. “Okay.” No sooner were the words out your mouth than he was touching you. His hands grabbed at your waist and moved them at the pace he wanted.

“Keep going,” he said, “Just like that.”  

You kept it up for a short time before bouncing on him. Your hands moved to his chest for balance as you lifted and lowered yourself on him hard. When you looked into his eyes you expected to see lust but there was so much more. There was a passion that you’d never thought you’d see from him. And love. The love was there and always had been. He moved his hands from your waist and placed them over yours where they laid against his chest. He lifted and held them, lacing his fingers with yours, holding you steady as you rode him.

“Come on,” he urged, squeezing your hands. You moved his hands back above his head so you could lower yourself and kiss him. He slowly took one of his hands from yours and slid it down to play with your clit. His eyes stayed on you even as you kissed.

It didn’t take long for you to break the kiss in order to moan loudly, feeling yourself come undone. “Javi,” you said breathlessly against his cheek.

“I’m here. Let go, hermosa.” He kept his lips close to yours and looked into your eyes. His free arm wrapped around you and held you close as you both chased that pleasure. His hips moved in tandem with yours and his finger teased your clit until you were pushed over the edge.

“Javier!” You had never screamed a man’s name during sex but there’s always a first time for everything. You came around him and tears filled your eyes as you kissed him weakly. He grunted and growled lowly as he thrust up into you a few more times before stilling and moving his hand from between your bodies.

“Fuck…me…” he said weakly.

“Just did.” You kissed his chest then laid your head against it. He still hadn’t let you go and you were fine with that. You laid like this for a while until you were strong enough to push yourself up. “Bathroom,” you told him and he took his arm from around you. You rolled off of him carefully but he still hissed as he slipped out of you. You walked to the bathroom and cleaned yourself up before joining him again.

“My turn.” He rolled out of bed with an exaggerated groan and you ogled him as he sauntered to the bathroom. You tried your best to keep your eyes open but your body screamed for sleep and you gave in.

---

When you woke up, the room was dark and Javier was not beside you. You sat up quickly and looked around only to find him out on the balcony smoking a cigarette. The moonlight shined down on him giving him a lovely glow.

You rolled out of bed and found your panties then found his shirt and put it on before joining him. “I thought you left,” you confessed.

“Nope. Just needed a cigarette.” He finally looked at you and smirked. “Nice shirt.”

“Thanks. I borrowed it.” You looked out over the beautiful land and mountains in the distance. You’d never get tired of this view.  

“I want you to know that this wasn’t a one-time thing.” He put his cigarette out and turned to you. “This means something to me.”

“Me too.” You moved closer to him and he wrapped his arm around you. He tilted your head up and kissed you. It started off as an innocent kiss but it became deeper, more passionate. Soon he was picking you up and placing you on the banister of the balcony. “If I fall and die, I’m haunting you forever.”

“Please do.” You both laughed then kissed again and you found yourself sliding your hand into his jeans.

“You didn’t put your underwear back on?” you asked.

“I came out here for a quick smoke, not to be judged on my fashion choices. And you’re one to talk. A shirt, my shirt…and panties.”

“You love it.” You stroke him to hardness and soon he’s thrusting into your hand. He looked at you and you nodded. He ran to the bedside table and grabbed a condom before running back out and pulling himself out of his jeans and putting the condom on.

“I fucking do.” He pushed the shirt open, revealing your breasts. His hands found your panties then slid them aside. “Still?” he asked after finding you wet and ready for him.

“Please Javier…”

He held you tightly as he pushed into you, moving slowly and carefully. You wrapped your arms and legs around him. It felt so fucking good but you couldn’t believe you were doing this. You were fucking Javier on your balcony while wearing his shirt. If you did fall and die you could only imagine what people would say. You hid your face in his neck as he fucked you, whispering sweet words in Spanish.

“I don’t wanna go to Mexico,” you said against his neck.

He pulled your head up so you could look at him. “Then don’t. Stay. I want you to stay.” You nodded then kissed him.

---

When you both lay in bed, spent and satisfied, he ran his fingers over your skin subconsciously. His eyes were closed but he wasn’t asleep yet.

“Say-"

“I love you,” he said just as you were about to speak. “Oh sorry…what were you gonna say?”

“I was gonna say ‘say you love me again’ but you beat me to it.” You kissed his nose and he smiled sleepily. “I love you, Javier Peña.”

God help you. You were in love with him.

When you look at me with those brown eyes What do you want to do Do you have to have me The way that I want you I want you

When you look at me with those brown eyes What do you want…

Tags: @longitud-de-onda @pascalisthepunkest @misslolasworld @aeryntheofficial @ah-callie @mrsparknuts @loki-098 @huliabitch @thinemineours @flapjacques @opheliaelysia @readsalot73 @pascalispedro

[sdottkrames]

You’ll Always Be Adored By the Things You [Save]

@comfortember prompt 12: Emotional support pet

Summary: Her name is Tess, and everybody adores her.

Notes: I honestly just love Tom and his love for Tess. They are the cutest! I’m thinking about making more with Tess, so if you like this, let me know and maybe I will! 😊

Also: Lucy and Rocky were the names of my dogs growing up. Lucy was a sassy, adorable Shih Tzu, and Rocky was the kindest, gentlest Boxer you’d ever meet. They both have since passed (they lived very long, happy lives) but I wanted to add them in this story somehow. I’m just a cheeseball. Also, Zendaya (MJ) Played a character named Rocki in a Disney show called Shake It Up, so it was a little nod to that as well.

Read on AO3: Here

“Tony, I’m really worried about him.”

May poked her head around the corner of their apartment, making sure Peter was still asleep. His breathing was too even for him to be faking, and she sighed in relief before continuing.

“He’s been off ever since the...the blip. I can tell. He’s been eating a lot less, and I looked at his grades the other day. Tony, that boy has never gotten below an A-, but he got a C+ on his last Physics test. And that’s not even including the fact that he was stabbed last night because his Peter Tingle isn’t working right.” Her voice was rising in pitch and volume, right in time with the panic that was welling up inside her. 

May and Tony had been having weekly conference calls about their resident spider since May had found out about it, and they’d quickly picked it back up once they had been undusted. Their normally lighthearted calls filled with mostly laughter had taken a more somber tone recently. 

Tony hummed on the other end of the phone. “I’ve been worried, too.”

Those words, though not necessarily helpful, made May feel less alone. She was grateful someone was helping her take care of her nephew because he was doing a terrible job of doing it himself, as evidenced by the stab wound on his left side. He’d come home weak and bleeding the previous night, and May had hurriedly patched him up, her training as a nurse the only thing keeping her panic in check.

“I honestly don’t know what to do, May. We tried letting him come to us and that didn’t work. I’ve got a list of great therapists-”

May cut him off. “He’ll never do that. I already tried that one, and he insisted that he didn’t want me paying money for him. I even pulled the whole “your mentor is a billionaire, and he would want you to get help” card, but he was pretty adamant.”

Tony sighed, and May felt it echo deep in her bones. They ended the call shortly after, no closer to a solution for Peter than before.

The next week on their call, Tony’s voice was considerably more lighthearted. She attributed it to the fact that Peter hadn’t been injured that week, but then he excitedly announced that had “the best idea!”

May’s eyebrows rose, even though she knew Tony couldn’t see them. “I’m listening.”

“Okay. How do you feel about dogs?”

“Oh,” May breathed.

“Yeah. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it earlier.”

“Me either. He’s been asking for a dog since he was, like, 5. The only problem is,” May said, biting her lip. “Our landlord doesn’t allow dogs.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Tony promised, and May nearly snorted at the thought of their stuffy, no-nonsense landlady getting a visit from Tony Stark. She pitied the woman.

***

“Ms., ah, Levitt, is it?” 

The lady looked up from her desk, and immediately blinked in shock. Tony internally rolled his eyes when the lady blushed and started trying to fix her hair, the look on her face one he’d seen on way too many women in his earlier years.

No chance, lady, I’m married. He thought, but flashed her a kind smile, anyway. “Are you the landlady of this apartment building?”

“I am. Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Tony shook her offered hand, not holding on for a second longer than necessary. “Likewise. I am here on behalf of the Parker family...apartment 96. I was thinking about getting Peter an emotional support animal. He blipped, and has been having trouble adjusting, and I heard cute, fluffy animals work wonders. But I understand you don’t allow those?”

Levitt’s smile hardened. “Yes, I’m afraid we have a non-negotiable no-pet policy.”

She obviously hated animals. And probably little children. Figures. Luckily, years watching Pepper hand stuffy businessmen their behinds had taught Tony a thing or two. He could handle this lady.

“Well, I took the liberty of reviewing things, and did you know that, by law, emotional support or therapy animals must be allowed in any building? That includes yours. Now, I understand that there is a fee associated with having a therapy animal, which I will cover, and of course proper documentation, which I have right here.” Tony produced the paperwork, signed by Dr. Cho, stating that Peter should be allowed a therapy animal of his choosing. “If there are any further problems, I’m sure my wife would be happy to speak to you. She and our lawyer will be handling any legal issues.”

Tony watched in satisfaction as Ms. Levitt’s face blanched, knowing she was beat. Nobody could go up against Pepper Potts-Stark and win. 

She breathed heavily through her nose once then plastered a smile back on her face, though it didn’t meet her eyes. “That won’t be necessary. We value the Parkers. The fee is an extra $125 a month. Once you have the animal, bring the proof of licensure and ESA status, and we should be all set.”

Tony had her put his card on file so the payment would come out of his account. This was his gift to Peter (and May. Though she wouldn't admit it, he knew that she also loved animals and would have bought one (or two) if they’d had the money) and then stood to leave.

“Have a nice day,” he said, giving Levitt a cheery wave before waltzing out the door. He had a kid to surprise.

***

“Tony, really, where are we going?”

“For the millionth time, I’m not going to tell you, so stop wasting your breath.” Peter huffed indignantly, and Tony shoved his arm playfully. “Patience is a virtue, underoos.”

“And pride is a sin, yet here we are,” Peter quipped.

“Yes, here we are,” Tony said, grinning as Happy pulled the car into a parking spot in front of Rocky’s Shelter and Supplies. Tony had spent hours researching adoption agencies around, wanting to find a really good one to support, and Rocky’s had been one of the best he’d seen. Plus, they had a great variety to choose from. (And no, he hadn’t been crying looking at all the animals, who told you that?)

Peter’s reaction was everything Tony had hoped for. The kids brown eyes got impossibly larger, and filled with tears.

“R-really?” He squeaked. “But our apartment doesn’t allow dogs.”

Tony grinned. “I threatened to sic Pepper on her.”

Then Peter was hugging Tony around the middle, murmuring an unbroken stream of thankyou’s. 

“I heard you’ve been wanting one for a while, and May and I figured having a furry companion might help with everything. You gotta promise-“

“That I’ll take care of it? Of course I will! I’ve been preparing for this my entire life! When I was 11, I made a PowerPoint presentation demonstrating proper care of a dog, just to show Ben and May I would take care of one. I wanted a dog soooo bad. I can’t believe I’m actually getting one.”

Tony chuckled at Peter’s rambling. “I’m glad you’re excited. But I was going to say you gotta promise that you’ll take better care of yourself, too.”

Peter nodded fast, his curls bouncing, which was endlessly endearing. “I promise!”

“Then lead the way.”

They spent time with a number of different dogs, taking their time to find just the right one. Tony could tell he was going to have to physically restrain Peter (And himself, if he was being totally honest) from buying every single dog in the shelter. The kid dragged him to every cage, exclaiming how cute each “pupper” (what even was this generation’s lingo?) was, and blinking back tears at nearly every one. 

Then Peter met Tess.

Tony had started believing in love at first sight when he’d seen Pepper in that purple dress she’d worn to a charity event years ago. Then he’d been absolutely sure of it when he’d held Morgan in his arms for the first time, the love he felt for her so strong and immediate and real that it had chased away the fear of becoming his dad that threatened to paralyze him. 

But feeling it and witnessing it was two different things.

He wondered if he’d looked like Peter when he’d laid eyes on the two most important and precious women in his life. The little gasp, the soft smile, the look of complete awe. Basically, the definition of the heart-eyes emojis.

“This one,” Peter breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “Can I meet her?”

The lady helping them, a sweet girl named Lucy, unlocked the cage and brought the beautiful grey pup over to the room for humans and dogs to meet, and as soon as Peter was close enough, she was all over him, her tail thumping with abandon.

“Yeah, I think we’ll take her,” Tony said over Peter’s delighted giggles.

***

Tess loved everybody, but it was no secret who her favorite was. No matter who she was with or what she was doing, as soon as Peter was in the room, she was right by his side. She was his shadow, following him around like a planet following the sun.

So Tony should’ve realized that something was wrong when she came trotting into his lab without Peter.

Granted, it wasn’t uncommon for her to come get pats from someone else when Peter wasn’t available, like when he was at school or on patrol or asleep. But Tony should’ve known that at 4 PM on a Thursday, Peter should have been doing none of those things. It was a lab day, Peter’s day off from Spider-Manning, and too early for the normally energetic kid to be asleep.

As it was, Tony was so focused on fixing Dum-E (who had spun too hard showing off for Peter the other day) that he just patted her head without looking. He nearly dropped his screwdriver when Tess gave a high pitched yip.

Tony finally looked up. “What’s the matter, girl. You gotta go out?”

Tess barked again, high pitched and insistent, her big eyes so expressive he could almost see what she was thinking.

“Peter,” he gasped, his stomach plummeting all the way down to his shoes. “Where is he, girl?”

Tessa tore out the door needing no further prompting, Tony right on her heels. She stopped outside Peter’s door whining anxiously, and Tony quickly opened it, dread filling him.

His first reaction was relief. There was no blood, at least not that he could see. Then his worry returned even stronger because Peter was laying on the ground not moving and there wasn't any blood. At least blood made it easier to identify the problem!

“Friday!” He choked out, rushing to Peter’s side. He was still breathing, but it sounded noisy and labored. He was also conscious, but Tony couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or not because there was so much fear in his eyes, and it broke Tony’s heart right in two.

“Dr. Cho is already on her way, sir. If I may, it appears Peter is having an allergic reaction, going into anaphylactic shock. You must keep him awake until the Dr gets here,” Friday answered.

Teas whined again, nudging Peter’s hand.

“Good girl, Tess. You’re such a good girl!” Tony said, patting her head then turning to Peter. “Well kid, if you didn’t want to do lab day today, you could’ve just said so. No need for all the theatrics; that’s kinda my department.”

Tony kept rambling, slapping Peter gently whenever he started to close his eyes, until Cho was rushing in. She quickly stabbed him with an epipen and started to prepare him to go to the infirmary, pausing when Tess growled, the first time she’d ever done that.

“Easy, Tessa-girl. She’s helping Peter. Let’s go with ‘em, yeah? You can keep watching our boy.”

They made their way to the infirmary, where Peter was being given medicine to combat whatever had caused him to react that way. Tony nearly doubled over laughing when he heard what it was, the stress making him slightly hysterical. It really wasn’t funny.

“Peppermint?” He asked Peter later, once Peter could talk and had been deemed out of the woods. Tess was curled up as close as she could to him, and Tony was sitting on the chair next to the bed.

“I just wanted a peppermint hot chocolate from Starbucks. I used to love those,” Peter pouted. “But apparently Peppermint is toxic to spiders. I guess I hadn’t had any peppermint since the change.”

“Well how about never do that again. My heart cannot take that stress.”

Tess whined in agreement.

***

Tony was quickly learning that Tess was a lot like Peter. Her ability to get everybody to love her, for one, and her penchant for cuddles.

Which is how Tony found himself one Friday night squished on the couch with a teenager tucked tightly into his side and a 30 pound dog laying across his lap while watching Bolt. They were both happily situated, Peter nearly purring as Tony ran his hands through his hair and Tess’ tail thumping gently against Tony’s leg. He pretended not to like it, but he was so comfortable, he quickly fell asleep.

He didn’t sleep very long.

Soon after his eyes closed, he woke up in a panic, his heart beating rapidly, a sense of panic overwhelming him. He couldn’t remember what the dream that woke him up had been about, which only made the sense of foreboding worse. He closed his eyes again, pretending to still be asleep as he quietly struggled to get his breathing under control.

Suddenly, a weight settled on top of him. He opened his eyes in surprise, and realized Tess had climbed into his lap, putting her head on his shoulder and her front paws on his chest. It was strangely comforting, her weight and warmth, but surprising nonetheless.

“Whatcha doing there, girl?” He chuckled.

“Pressure therapy,” Peter answered. “Something I taught her to do whenever I’m having an anxiety attack or sensory overload. It helps. She must’ve sensed you were panicking.” 

“Huh.” Tony shook his head in wonder.

“You alright?” Peter asked, tentatively.

“Yeah. Just a bad dream. I don’t even know what it was about, just left me feeling anxious.”

Peter nodded, and slid his hand into Tony’s. Boy and dog didn’t move a muscle until Tony’s heart was a normal rhythm again. Or...maybe a little while after that. They really did love snuggles. And Tony...yet another thing they had in common.

Luckily, he loved them both right back just as much.