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bakugohoex · 4 years

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can you please write a fic where youre aizawas' wife and you're pregnant with twins, and while he's in the middle of teaching at UA you go into labor and you call him, and he leaves in the middle of their class, (the class dosen't know he's married and obviously dosen't know he's about to become a father) and the class thinks that something's seriously wrong because they saw panic on his face for a slight second when he got the call, so they end up following him to the hospital only to see him sniling and holding two newborn babies that look just like him and the woman who is on the hospital bed (you) and theyre in shock when they find out that you're his wife and those are his kids, but what shocks them most is the big smile on his face when he was holding his babies 🥺 idk i thought it would be cute

“did he steal two babies?”

pairing: shouta aizawa x female reader

cw: language, fluff

word count: 3000+

a/n: i live for domestic one shots, i might write some more depending on how i’m feeling, hope you guys like this have a happy new years eve people, the stupid tags arent working so if you could reblog it it would mean a lot

summary: in which you’re aizawa’s secret wife, aizawa gets a call in the middle of class that you’re going into labor and eventually leaves, the class being noisy pricks follows him to a hospital, feeling worried they continue to follow until they see him holding two babies with a smile at his new family

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Eight months, eight full fucking months of carrying Aizawa’s little spawns. Having spent your last term of pregnancy on bed rest, it had been the worst term ever, you would rather have taken the puking up last nights dinner then staying in bed. Even Aizawa had gotten annoyed with how frustrated you had got, you craved how he could get up and leave for work. You hadn’t gone into work since your maternity leave started and you were annoyed, being a pro hero it had been worse.

As soon as you told the agency you were pregnant, you were desk bound, unable to go on patrols. It was fucking annoying and you hated every second of it, and all Aizawa could do was smirk at your frustration. “I’m due any day now, just leave work and stay with me.” You plead grabbing the material from his neck, you wanted him to hold you. You already felt gross staying in bed 24/7 but now you didn’t have your husband beside you 24/7.

“Kitten, this is my last day, I’ll spend the rest of the pregnancy with you.” You were grouchy letting go of him and turning your head to face away for him. “Y/n.”

He tried to gain your attention but ignored him, “you should’ve gotten pregnant as well you’d understand.”

He raised an eyebrow, shaking his head as he crept his arms around your body, his hand resting on the baby bump. You shuffled closer to his body, before turning your head to see him softly rubbing back and forth across the bump.

“Be patient, my love.” It was a whisper which brought you comfort.

“If you’re not home by 4pm then I’m locking you out of the house.” You threaten.

He looks down at you with your fiery eyes, “sure you are.” He kisses the top of your head; you pout wanting a proper kiss. He looks at how perfect you looked with his babies, when you both found out you were having twins, the small apartment you had called home since dating. Had gone and a house in the country close enough to UA and still for you to do pro hero work was where the both of you had situated.

Your relationship have been very secretive, a small wedding ceremony which had been perfect with your family and friends. Of course people had noticed you had gone MIA but one day you’d come out and tell the world how you and Aizawa were an inseparable family.

He moved to capture your lips, grabbing his face you wanted to just drag him back to bed. But he quickly moved out of your grip, “patience Y/n.”

“Shouta.” You whine like a child would.

“Seems like ill be raising three babies now.” He mocked putting the scarf around his yellow goggles.

“I hope you break your goggles.” You huff again, he doesn’t speak only kissing your temple after the small peck he had given to your lips.

He starts to walk out the bedroom, your wedding photo situated on the cabinet. You were perfect back then and now with his kids inside of you, you became somehow even more perfect. He had never thought that the woman he had met all those years ago, who had showed of her quirk to the whole world would be the one he fell in love with.

He looked back at you, you were grumpy due to hormones but once the babies were out you knew you’d go back to being yourself (and both of you could fuck properly, but that was just a bonus.)

“Make sure to walk around the house.” He warns.

It was your turn to raise an eyebrow, “and what if I don’t, will you come home early?” Your extra clinginess melted his insides, he knew how bored your loud self was and being cooped up inside had took a toll on you.

“I’ll come home early.” The sound of your squeal lifted his spirits, it was adorable, and he loved how easily your mood changed. Your face was full, and you had something to look forward too as he left the room.

The day for Aizawa had been smooth sailing, having asked to leave at 2pm and being able to, he had been with the students whilst they were training. He could imagine teaching his kids everything to do with this world, he couldn’t wait for his own leave, to spend time with his future babies but also with his loving wife.

The sound of Bakugo shouting was something else he had gotten used to; how could a 16-year-old boy be louder than the babies he had heard on those stupid pregnancy videos you made him watch. You had shown him a woman giving birth and to say it was the weirdest thing he’s ever seen; he’d happily watch stuff go inside of you but the other way round was another issue.

He stood watching over them, they had gotten a lot stronger in the months and the events that had occurred. It was another reason for the secrecy, having to hide your relationship to prevent disaster from happening. He watched the time tick away; another two more hours and he could leave and spend the rest of the trimester with you.

The sound of running caught his ears, he looked up and saw Principle Nezu walking towards him. “Agh Aizawa, we got a call from your wife’s mother.”

He hadn’t checked his phone, but if your mother had been calling it must’ve been something serious, the class had noticed the principle and had gotten quiet even Bakugo who wanted to know why the principle was here.

“Finally, you answered, she’s going into labour.” He heard on the other liner, he was in shock, his phone dropping to the side.

“Sh…She what?” It was early, of course you both knew about early pregnancies but this he had just spoken you a couple hours ago and now here you were about to go into labour.

“In labour, her water broke whilst I came to see her.” He could hear you screaming on the other side, how you must’ve been in pain, he knew you had been dilated a couple days ago but this, this was sooner than he had expected.

Nezu got the hint that something had happened and so had the class, a flash of worry across Aizawa’s face. “We’ll send the students back to the dorms.” He was calm and Aizawa quickly rushed out of the gym, leaving nothing else to say. He needed to make it to the hospital as quick as he could, in an instant he called your mother.

“Is she okay?” He had ran outside going to his car to quickly rush to the hospital.

He heard screaming which he assumed was you, “she’s grouchy…”

Before he could hear the rest of what your mother said, he heard you shout, “if that’s my idiot of a husband tell him to get to the fucking hospital.” It was a wail and he regretted not taking the day off.

“Y/n.” Her mother scowled, “we’re at the hospital, I’ll text you the room.” Is all her mother said before hanging up. Aizawa was stressed to say the least but what he hadn’t seen through the chaos was class 1A following him.

The class had seen the worry and panic before he jolted out of the room, “you all are dismissed for the day.” Nezu spoke before leaving.

“What do you think happened?” Momo questioned worried.

“He seemed in a hurry; it was probably something important.” Kirishima retorted back.

The class watched him on the phone the question of ‘is she okay?’ being heard. “Who do you think he’s talking about?” Mina asked.

“Why do you lot care so much?” Bakugo angrily said pissed that training had been cut early.

“He’s our teacher, what if something bad happened Kacchan.” Midoriya answered but it just fuelled Bakugo’s anger.

“We should follow him.” Denki suggested. “It might be serious and if people need help, we can help.”

They nodded, all assuming it had something to do with hero work, seeing Aizawa in his car, they started to follow him on foot, “we should’ve taken one of the buses.” Bakugo scowled following.

“We cant drive.” Kirishima muttered back.

Bakugo huffed following them all on the long walk, it was easy enough to keep following due to the mass traffic occurring. Aizawa having got the room number, he didn’t care for his surroundings, his eyes fixated on the road.

He finally saw the sign for the hospital and breathed out hoping you hadn’t gotten into labour yet. “Why is he at a hospital?” Ururaka questioned, “do you think someone got hurt?”

“Maybe we should go back.” Momo said not wanting to intrude on something that could have no villainous intent.

“Shut up extra’s, we’re already here.” Bakugo muttered walking to the entrance, they all followed the angry boy who glared at the children coming out of that ward.

“When did you care about the injured?” Kirishima questioned the blond.

“I don’t, you dragged me with you so now we’re staying.” For one thing the boy was persistent.

Across the hospital, Aizawa had ran to the room and saw your eyes filled with fury, your mother holding your hand as he could see how much pain you were in. “Look what the cat dragged in.” You scowled in pain.

“You can take over now.” Is all her mother said, going outside and waiting. He took her place and in an instance your hands had grabbed his.

“You must be the husband, I’ll be helping your wife, can you wear these?” The doctor spoke passing the blue overall type to keep his clothes covered, Aizawa obliged still holding your hand. “Mrs Aizawa you’re about 9cm dilated once you get to 10cm I’m going to tell you to push, okay?”

You were breathless and felt dreary, it would’ve been fine if it wasn’t for the fact you were having twins. You knew you’d go through even more pain then normal and in that moment felt scared.

“Hey kitten, look at me, you’ll do amazing.” Aizawa tried to be encouraging but even he was scared for all three of you.

“It hurts.” You tried to hide the tears, but it mixed in with the sweat.

“I know kitten, but you can grab onto me as hard as you want.” He smiles moving the strands of hair away from your sweaty forehead.

“10cm’s.” One of the nurses spoke out, the doctor nodded before looking at the angry you and calm husband.

“Mrs Aizawa you need to start pushing.” The pain was excruciating, you tried to push your grip on Aizawa’s hands becoming tighter. It was the worst pain you’d gone through and you’d been stabbed before.

Aizawa gave words of encouragement but all you wanted to do was tell him to shut up, tears cascaded down your face whilst pushing. “I see a head.” The doctor spoke, “keep pushing.”

You pushed a long with what the nurses had told you, in time to make sure you weren’t just randomly pushing. Aizawa was the first to see it, first to see the baby come out, it was quiet before wailing out loud, it was his turn to cry. The baby being placed on your chest before the doctor continued, “one more push, let’s get the other one out.”

You felt the first baby on your ski grabbing your neck as you kept on pushing, “I don’t want too.” You cried out but seeing Aizawa and how he looked at the baby on your chest you knew you needed too.

“Come on kitten, one more push.” He spoke a loud, you suppresses the tears before feeling another hard push come and the head of another baby erupt out of you. The doctor but the second baby on your chest, both their crying having stopped.

They stayed on you, you let go of Aizawas hand as the doctor told him he could cut the umbilical cord, he happily obliged before looking at the two babies that you both had created. They were smaller then normal and there eyes were tightly shut clinging onto their new mother.

“We need to weigh and clean them.” The doctor spoke as two nurses took the babies ready to put tags on them, the oldest had been a boy and the youngest a girl. You missed there touch and hold wanting to hold them again but watching them being taken out.

“We did it.” You spoke sleepily as you felt yourself being cleaned up and ready to be moved into another room.

“Yeah, we did.” Aizawa spoke going in to kiss your temple, “we’re parents.”

Tears brimmed his eyes; this normal dry flat facial features had become happier and all he could think about was how you looked with his two children. How he had gotten a family that he had never expected to have had.

Being moved to a different room, Aizawa followed sitting on the chair beside you. You saw the two babies come back to you both, in an instance they were placed back into your arms. “You can hold them?”

You had seen Aizawa’s hesitance to even touch the babies, but he knew how to do it and with ease they both were situated in his arms. You could hear your mother outside, she seemed to be talking to some people, but you ignored it watching at how Aizawa’s eyes welled up at the two babies.

“Where are my grandchildren?” Your mother spoke a loud before having heart eyes at how Aizawa was holding your babies.

“Mum, please be quieter.”

“Hey, I had to handle your screams, let me be happy, they look adorable with their father.” She spoke moving to the bed.

“They really do.” You both watched him look at the two children, a tear falling from his face.

Your mother turned back to you and she smiled at you, “I’m proud of you.” You give a nod holding her hand before she speaks, “have you two got any na…”

Before she could continue you hear the door open with the doctor coming in, “it seems you two have more visitors.”

You were both confused on the matter, nobody really knew you had gone into pregnancy except your parents and his and your father was still at work whilst his parents were out of town. It was unexpected but your eyes widen when you see the group of 16-year olds.

“They were wondering around the hospital.” The doctor speaks, Aizawa hadn’t noticed his students, but you and your mother had.

The kids were in shock at seeing a pro hero in a hospital bed but there eyes went to Aizawa’s he had been looking at his babies, unaware of his surroundings.

Nobody spoke instead just watching Aizawa interact with the two new-born babies, a smile placed on his normal flat self. “Did he steal two babies?” You hear one of them whisper, you instantly begin to speak after that.

“Shouta.” You whisper.

“Yeah.” He was so out of dazed but once he turns to face them all, he’s in shock as well.

“I’ll leave you to handle this.” Your mother leaves not wanting to have to explain this scenario.

Aizawa was still in shock, you reach out for one of the babies, he passes you the youngest, who starts to grab at your fingers. He sits holding the boy, before the class start cascading you both in questions.

“Are they yours?”, “How do you know Pro Hero Y/n?”, “Who is she to you?”

Aizawa looks at them and then at his family, you nod a sign that he could tell them everything, “This is my wife, and these are our new kids.”

It was a simple but effective, the class in shock that there homeroom teacher who seemed to be detached had you the loving pro hero as a wife, but even more now had two kids.

“Congratulations.” They all spoke a loud. It was rehearsed and you could tell that it all came out due to shock.

“What are you doing here anyway, I thought we said go back to the dorms.” Aizawa scowled.

“Baby, it’s fine, it’s good they found out anyway, since you wont be teaching them for a bit.” You calmed the man down.

He shakes his head at how easily you calmed him down, “you’re an amazing pro hero.” Midoriya spoke a loud, you thanked him before they didn’t know what else to say.

“I’ll go call Nezu, he can get you back to UA.” Aizawa muttered handing you the other child as he left the room.

“You married Aizawa.” Mina spoke a loud everybody looked at her, “what? We were all thinking it?”

You laugh looking at them all, “yes I did.”

“And you slept with him.” Mina continued with ever more eyes growing wider.

You continued to laugh, “that is how I got pregnant.”

“What are their names?” Ururaka asked coming towards the two kids.

You sat upright, letting them have a closer look, they all came forward even Bakugo who saw children as devils spawn. They were fresh out and anew, so pure and innocent as they tugged onto your hair.

“We haven’t decided yet.” You said looking at the two kids, you notice Aizawa at the door looking at the class as they surrounded you and the babies. The way they were quieter than they had ever been around two new-borns, they spent time asking questions and looking at the two babies. Before being dragged back to UA, all smiling happily at having spent the afternoon with two new-borns.

“They look like you.” You mutter sleepily, the two babies being put to sleep on the other sides of the room. “We made them.”

“I love you.” He whispers kissing you softly, you kiss back, happily at the new family you had and Aizawa finally realised what his happiness was. You and your two babies were all he ever needed now.

i’d really appreciate if you guys could leave a like, reblog or comment, thanks x

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xxwritemeastoryxx · 4 years

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First of all congrats on 1.5K!!! 💜 For the gif requests could could you do this one with Elijah and just overall fluffy

Wedding Bells

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Word count: 850

Warnings: None? Like it's all fluff. Probably horrible fluff but it's fluff nonetheless.

Author's note: Welcome to another installment of Fluff week. Has everyone recovered from Valentines day yesterday? Are we feeling fluffed out? Or are yall ready for more? I want to apologize in advance that this one might not be as great as others are. I wrote this while dealing with a writers block. And like I have been, I'm killing to birds with one stone with this one. @iirocioii submitted this for my 1500 follower celebration. I am also using this for the square Wedding Day on my Blogiversary Bingo. I do hope that you guys enjoy this either way!

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things!

Elijah Mikaelson has been many things over the course of a thousand years. A brother, a protector, and a friend. He's been loyal, deemed the noble one, and is a man of his word. Threatening, dangerous and even a killer when needed to be. But there was one thing that Elijah had hardly ever been. And that was nervous.

The feeling itself had only presented itself to him a number of times throughout his existence. But each time it had, centuries had gone by, making the feeling in his gut foreign once more. Sure he had been worried several times, but Elijah Mikaelson was hardly ever nervous. This time, it had been intensified that the calm demeanor he had on the outside was slowly cracking.

Elijah stood there at the altar, with his brother by his side, as he tried not to leave his spot and rush the double doors that were across the room. He hadn't seen Y/N in person in at least half a week thanks to his younger sister. Rebekah took her role as Maid of Honor seriously and ensured he didn’t see her before the wedding.

Phone calls and messages were all that were shared right up until the last minute when Klaus had told him it was time. And now that it had been time, the minutes that ticked by no longer felt like seconds in his life, but hours. And the patience to see his beloved was running thin.

It wasn’t long after that his ears had picked up her footsteps from beyond the door. A small smile pulled at his lips at the sound and even as he heard her heart pick up in pace. Knowing Y/N the nerves were getting to her in that moment.

On the other side of the door, Y/N’s fingers had been tapping against the bouquet of flowers she held. The nervous tick loud in her ears even though the music played around her. And if it hadn’t been for the Vampire standing next to her, she probably would have already bolted past the doors.

The tapping sound, followed by his sister scolding Y/N had caused Elijah’s smile to grow. At least he hadn’t been the only one who had been feeling nervous about the next several minutes.

This simple moment in time was something neither of them had ever expected to happen. His lifetime on this earth had proved time and time again how the women he’d given his heart to had been lost to the actions of his family. He never wanted that for Y/N, but she made it known she was there and she wasn’t going anywhere.

Being a witch, Y/N had her advantages. It was harder to be used as a pawn against the Mikaelsons when she could handle herself. It was only after they argued about her safety did Y/N make clear that she wouldn’t leave his side until he convinced her he didn’t love her or he personally killed her. Elijah couldn’t do either.

And here they were a year later. And as the music changed to signal the beginning of Y/N’s arrival, Elijah had been glad that she had been as stubborn as she was. He couldn’t see himself doing this with anyone else.

Even as he heard her footsteps approaching, he hadn’t turned just yet. He knew she wasn’t in sight just yet. That once she rounded that corner and he’d turn and take her in. And as he saw Klaus’s reaction change, he knew she was there.

And with a turn his eyes finally landed on her for the first time in a week. The first thing he noticed right away was the way she smiled at him when his eyes landed on her. Her eyes light up at the awed expression he had on his face as he took her in.

The way his mouth dropped slightly to the way his eyes seemed to be taking her in the moment he turned. Her dress and accessories only highlighted her beauty. And while he believed she had looked breathtaking in the dress, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her face.

Even as she came to a stop in front of him, he never once had taken his eyes off of her. He didn’t even notice the way her magic played in the air, allowing small bursts of light to dance around the two of them. His hand lifted for her to take and he watched as she grinned. This was it.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Elijah asked with a small tug of his lips.

“After we leave here, you’re stuck with me, always and forever.” Her words caused him to chuckle as he led her up the few steps of the makeshift altar. And as they turned towards each other and Vincent began speaking, there was one thing that was certain.

If Y/N had never come stumbling into his life, he never would have known true happiness as he had, standing there with her.

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acciomalfoy · 4 years

Text

What a beautiful wedding (Fred Weasley x Reader)

Summary: While attending Bill and Fleur’s reception, certain secrets are forced to be revealed.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” I whispered in awe as I watched Fleur, the absolute goddess, walk down the aisle. She was breathtaking, and if she wasn’t about to get married maybe I could’ve convinced her to marry me. Fred nudged me.

“Come on, L/n. Don’t tell me you’re the type to go soft over a wedding.” I ignored him in favour of smiling at Fleur, who beamed back.

Fred was on one side of me with George on the other, and bridesmaids and groomsmen were scattered across in front of the guests, while Fleur eventually reached the front. Charlie hastily pulled out her ring and presented it to Bill, who looked like he was on the verge of tears. I would have been too, with a bride like that.

“Be honest. Do you think I could seduce Fleur and convince her to elope with me?” I whispered, and George coughed to disguise his laughter.

“I think you could do anything.” Fred whispered back, and the vows began.

“With this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way into darkness. With this ring I ask you to be mine.” At this point I was seriously beginning to question my sexuality. That was, until I saw the smile on Fred’s face. Then Bill said his vows.

“It was a million tiny little things that, when you added them all up, they meant we were truly supposed to be together, and I knew it. I knew it the very first time I touched you. It was like coming home, only to no home I’d ever known. I was just taking your hand to help you out of a carriage and I knew. It was the most pure form of magic that I’ve ever known.” Everyone, every single witch and wizard in attendance cooed, the witches tearing up and the wizards focussing on doing just the opposite.

“You may now kiss the witch.” The officiant said, and Bill did just that. We began cheering and screaming, and there wasn’t a couple quite as beautiful as this one.

The bridesmaids and groomsmen followed the newlyweds in a seperate carriage, and as I was squished between Ginny and George, I realised that life possibly couldn’t get any better. Ginny kept looking meaningfully between George and I, making me laugh harder and harder each time. She couldn’t have gotten it more wrong.

“I see you flirting.” She whispered in my ear, and I sniggered, patting George on the head.

“I don’t think so, Gin.” She narrowed her eyes and looked pointedly away, and that was just fine by me. Soon enough we reached the reception, Fred falling into step beside me.

“So, my dear Y/n. Were you ever planning on telling me that you want to snog my brothers tonsils out?” I shrieked with laughter, and Fred scowled.

“I’d sooner play tonsil hockey with Malfoy!” I cried out, and George punched my shoulder.

“Bloody tosser.” He mumbled, but his smile afterwards showed me there was no hard feelings.

When we walked into the tent the sheer size of it shocked me; but then again, there were quite a lot of guests coming to reception that weren’t at the ceremony. Shortly everyone had arrived, and after introducing the bride and groom we took out seats. It was almost instantaneous - as soon as everyone was seated small pieces of paper appeared in front of each person. It seemed to be a checklist.

Find someone who’s patronus is an otter.

Find someone who’s painted their fingernails green.

Find someone who’s older than eighty.

Find someone who took more than four minutes to be sorted into their school house.

Find someone who was retrieved in the triwizards tournament.

Convince someone to confess to their soulmate and the spell they created.

I almost dropped the paper when I saw the last one. A soulmate spell? Those were incredibly tricky to cast, let alone invent.

“Fred! What’d you get?” We compared lists, and he laughed at mine.

“Look, one of yours has already been ticked off!” He said, and I got a horrible flashback to the tri-wizards tournament. Lucky Cedric had saved me relatively quickly, since my claustrophobia had already begun to set in.

“I wonder where Ced’s sitting.” I pondered, and George made a face.

“Why? You don’t like him, do you?” He asked, and I shrugged.

“No, not really. He’s fucking gorgeous, you’d have to be blind to not notice that, but I think he’s gay.” I whispered the last part, just in case the older brunette was somewhere behind me.

“I have to say, I agree.” Fred said gravely, and George rolled his eyes.

“Sometimes I think you’re gay, you dickhead.” Fred clutched his heart and I laughed at the twins - they really were the best.

“Anyway, Bill said that each list is charmed to cater to the person. So the answers to your list are the people you have the most in common with. Apparently you can’t leave until you’ve checked everything off AND you’ve checked what you can for other people. Take Hermione, for instance. She’s obviously the only one with an otter, so she can’t leave until she talks to everyone with that challenge.”

“I think I need a drink.” Fred said, and I agreed.

The night didn’t exactly fly by. Those with difficult lists were all too aware of how long it was taking them, and the only challenge I had left was the last one. I was on the verge of tears, and a drunken Fred was too. I didn’t know what challenge he had left, but the issue still remained. We were stuck here. There was maybe twenty people left, and the groom was one of them.

“Don’t fucking talk to me. I’m ready to throttle my lovely wife for the idea.” Bill warned as I approached him, and I groaned.

“Bill, I just want to go to bed! I’m begging you!” Bill only shook his head.

“I have absolutely zero power over it. I think a divorce is on the cards.” I brightened up at that, until I realised I would be stuck at the reception for the rest of life and wouldn’t be able to elope with the bride.

“What’s yours anyway?” I finally asked, and Bill glared at me.

“Watch someone fall in love. I know. Seriously, even if one person falls in love I have to fucking find them just before they do.” I had a good laugh at that. Bill seemed to be in a slightly worse position than I was, even though I was still fucked. I decided to take action, and stood on a chair before clinking a glass.

“Attention, ladies and gentlemen. If you or someone you know has invented a soulmate tracker spell then please, I beg you, hit me the fuck up and we can have a talk.” I stepped down and almost stumbled. Maybe I shouldn’t have done those fire-whisky shots. When in Rome, however. Mental note: you absolutely cannot keep up with Charlie Weasley when it comes to alcohol. I made my way over to Bill, who had placed an incredibly drunk Fred into a chair and was patting his head. It would have been nice if it wasn’t just weird.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” I said breezily, and Fred grabbed my hand.

“Of course you’re not, sweet cheeks.” Godric Gryffindor, I tried not to blush. I knew he was only saying it because he was drunk, and because he didn’t have a filter, but it still made me smile.

“Control your brother, Bill. Oh! Cedric’s still here!” I let go of Fred’s hand and tried to walk away, but to my dismay Fred yanked me backwards and pulled me onto his lap.

“Look’s like he’s your problem now.” Bill said. “I’ll go see how Cedric’s doing, shall I?” Bill was off without another word, and Fred pulled me even closer.

“Why do you like Cedric so much?” He murmured into my ear, and I involuntarily shivered.

“He’s my best friend, you oaf. Now let me go!” I struggled against his grip, but I just couldn’t escape.

“I thought I was your best friend.” He said, and I gave up trying.

“You are. I can have more than best friend, you realise that right?” Fred shook his head.

“No you can’t. I’m not letting you go until you say I’m your bestest friend ever.” He clutched me tighter than ever, and I tried in vain to get Bill’s attention.

“You’re a child. An actual child, Fred.” When there was no response, I sighed. “Fine. You’re my bestest friend ever.” I said, and Fred cheered, letting go of me. I stood up quickly, and Bill came back with Cedric in tow.

“Look who’s left. How are ya, Fred?” Cedric sat besides Fred, and I leaned on Bill’s shoulder.

“Fucking hell, I might fall asleep standing up.” I murmured, and Bill patted my head in a similar manner to what he had done to Fred.

“I’ll join you. Who do you reckon’s the most likely person to fall in love out of everyone in this room?” Bill asked, and I snorted.

“It’s got to be your grandma, doesn’t it?“ Bill scoffed and rolled his eyes at my laughter.

“Har har. You’re so funny, Y/n. I might just die of laughter.” He said, and I let my gaze wander around the room. I wondered who was going to fall in love tonight.

“Ced! What do you have left?” I asked, and Cedric looked up.

“I’ve got fall in love. I know, and there’s no way it’s with Grandma Weasley, I can tell you that.” He said, and I laughed. A lot. I clutched my stomach as I laughed, and really, it wasn’t even that funny. It was just the thought of Grandma Weasley walking down the aisle to meet Cedric took me out completely. With a soft pop, I watched Cedric and Bill disappear.

“What just happened?” Fred asked slowly, and I wasn’t in the state of mind to know.

“They popped. They’re going to bed now, maybe we should too. We can sleep on the floor.” I sat down on the floor and it was horribly uncomfortable.

“What do you have left?” I asked with a yawn, and Fred sighed heavily.

“I’ve done my challenges.” He said, and I remembered he was the key to someone else’s puzzle.

“That sucks then. Maybe you should try and talk to people and figure out what it is.” I said, and he looked at me sadly.

“I know what it is.” The silence stretched out for a long time.

“Well?” I asked, and he laughed without a trace of humour.

“You really don’t know?” He questioned, and I shook my head.

“Unfortunately my dear, I’m the answer to yours.” I blinked slowly. My crush and best friend of five years had invented a soulmate spell and hadn’t thought to tell me.

“Fred, come on. Just confess to her and we can leave this prison.” I pleaded with him, but the man was being unreasonable.

“Absolutely not. We can live here for the rest of our lives.” Fred smiled award winningly, and I found that I couldn’t smile back.

“At least tell me who she is. Maybe I can try and see if she likes you.” I fiddled with the hem of my dress, and it was hard to look Fred in the eye knowing he belonged to someone else.

“I don’t think so, pretty girl. I don’t think she will be too thrilled to see who she’s mated to.” Fred confessed, and I rolled my eyes.

“Any girl with a heartbeat would kill to be soulmates with you, Fred. Why can’t you see that?”

“Any girl?” He whispered.

“Any girl.” I confirmed. Fred took a deep breath.

“You’re my soulmate.” Fred said eventually, and before I could blink we were standing in the burrow.

I looked at Fred, his brown eyes ever beautiful, and made a split-second decision. I flung myself into his arms, and he caught me with ease.

“You’re a tosser,” I murmured into his ear. “-You should have told me as soon as you knew.” I hugged him tightly, and his grip on me tightened.

“I didn’t know how you’d react.” He confessed, and I pulled my head off his shoulder. Godric, he was beautiful.

“Still.” I leaned in and our lips met, moving in perfect sync. His hair was softer than what I had always thought it would be, and it was perfect.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #george weasley #bill weasley #fleur delacour #ginny weasley

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lilbabycee · 4 years

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tidal // steve rogers 🌊

↳ summary: tony doesn’t trust his kid and steve has to play mediator, although those duties don’t come without a reward

↳ relationship: dad’s best friend!steve rogers x stark!reader

↳ request: steve defending his soft girl when she starts crying when someone yelled at her...maybe she thanks him by putting her mouth to good use @donutloverxo + what about dad’sbestfriend!steve x reader?...I need me some Steve please!! (anon)

↳ word count: 5.4k (this has no business being this long)

↳ warnings: angst, smut, dirty talk, slight degradation, some light fluff kinda

↳ author’s note: i do love a stark!reader so this was so much fun for me - enjoy my loves! x

The relationship that you have with your father is complicated. It reminds you acutely of the foamy sea that you used to tentatively wade in and simply stare at with a wide-eyed, childlike fascination when your parents took you to the Maldives or Seychelles or Ivory Coast, each summer a different place and a different tide. There’s a sense of predictability to it, a routine you have in a language that is understandable to nobody but the two of you. He pushes and you pull, coordinating your movements in a choreographed dance so as to safely row your canoe filled to the brim with trust and love through the rocky seas of life.

He’s made a mark on you that will always be a permanent imprint on your soul much like the way that water stains the surface of the sand but it’s not as if you perceive that as something negative. You attribute the best parts of yourself to your mother and father and although their DNA isn’t housed inside your body, you’re more Tony’s child than he could have ever asked for. He hears so much of him in the tone of your voice and sees Pepper whenever you cross your arms over your chest and pin him with a look he knows too well - her influence is all over your mannerisms - and the both of them in the charming brightness of your smile when you let yourself laugh freely.

The moment he saw you, barely hours old and sleeping deeply - something that he found out that you would carry with you throughout your years - he’d thought you were cute (all babies are cute and the hundreds of other babies he’d seen in the past few weeks were also cute). But when you’d instinctively gripped Pepper’s finger tightly in your impossibly tiny fist and blinked awake sleepily, he’d fallen in love with your pretty eyes first, the way that you stared through him like you already knew him and it was then that he knew you were his as much as he was yours.

Of course, things weren’t- aren’t always as picture-perfect as they seem. He knows that there are days when you haunt his nightmares, dreams where he can’t protect you plaguing his conscience and causing him to crowd you with what he thinks is love. Rather, it’s an overbearing and often patronizing kind of attention that feels like a thousand sharp needles piercing through your skin. You’re very in touch with your emotions, a quality about you that Tony is sure that you must’ve learned from your mother, while he has the tendency to avoid sentimentality like it’s a disease and that’s where those arguments start, the ones that flare up and spread like forest fires.

In fact, you’re having one of them now. Tony knew how this was going to end before it even began but he can’t help but always engage because he’s as stubborn as he raised you to be. His jaw is set and his nostrils flaring as he stares at you - you’re his progeny, his baby, half of his heart who is standing in that way that reminds him of his wife with crystals in your eyes that make him wonder if you ever wear that diamond necklace he bought you last year.

“You never take me seriously,” you accuse, narrowing your eyes at him which causes a fat teardrop to spill over and run down your cheek. His eyes soften briefly at the sight of your emotional state before he looks away, the painful tugging at his heart trying to pull him towards you. He won’t give in to it: that’ll mean you win. “See - you can’t even look at me, Dad-”

“Sweetheart, I take you plenty seriously,” Tony gnaws on the end of the pen in his mouth, still sitting in front of the holograms of all of the data he’s been trying to process for the past few hours. His feet are propped up on the table, casually crossed at the ankles and shoulders completely relaxed, leaning back in his chair and balancing precariously one of the wheels, sitting in the exact same way that he always told you not to. He taps out a rhythmic beat against his leg with his fingers, eyes darting around the room as he pretends to be interested in everything but you.

His entire posture radiates the feeling that he doesn’t give a shit about you or what you have to say and it makes your heart sink to your stomach despite the fact that you know this man. You know that he’s just putting on a front and he’s really listening because he was the one who drilled into your head that you always have something to say that’s worth listening to. Yet you cannot for the life of you accept that this man in front of you is acting so coldly when his own daughter is trying to tell him how she feels.

The scoff that comes out of your mouth is involuntary and Tony can’t fight the twitch of his lips because it sounds so much like him, but he only lets it linger for half a second, not allowing you to see how affected he is. Both him and Pepper were under the impression that once they had kids, Tony would finally take the steps towards being willing to share more of himself with the people around him. And he did, for a while. But once you hit those teenage years, he was forced to come to terms with the fact that you wouldn’t be his baby forever - you’d grow up and think your own thoughts and breathe your own air in an environment that he hasn’t polluted with his own ideals.

His heart beat out of his chest every time he thought about it and he had to face the facts: he was scared. And so he went on the defensive, coddling you and trying to shield you from the harsh realities of the world that he had to face from such a young age. Unfortunately for the both of you, you didn’t appreciate being spoon-fed by your parents your whole life: you have a sense of maturity and independence that Tony is terrified of and it manifested itself in rebellion, a phase in your adolescence hat had almost gotten cost you your life in more situations than he cared to admit.

“I’m not kidding, Dad,” you reply, your head feeling as if it’s under construction because the unbearably loud banging on the inside of your brain is driving you crazy because he’s deflecting and you know it. A river of tears slide their way down to your chin and you don’t even bother to wipe them. “And you keep making jokes like this isn’t serious-”

“I haven’t been making jokes,” Tony points out calmly, playing around with a bunch of numbers that don’t mean anything to you and distractedly manoeuvering some stupid data table that is somehow more interesting than his own child.

As much as you try, you genuinely can’t help it when you stomp your foot, the loud noise breaking through Tony’s nonchalance and causing him to arch an eyebrow at you.

“This isn’t some temper tantrum, Dad,” you tell him, the strength in your voice breaking down and causing it to crack. Your hands come up to clutch your head tightly in a futile attempt to bring yourself back to Earth, tired of the way that your emotions throw your brain into orbit. Your feet are on the ground but it doesn’t feel like it, your rage burning your skin and setting a bonfire in the depths of your body. “You fight me on everything - first it was college then it was working for S.I then it was becoming an Avenger… you think I’m still some little kid-”

“Because you’ve proven time after time that you can’t fend for yourself,” Tony cocks his head as your eyes lock, daring you to challenge him on his statement because the two of you know how much validity it holds.

“That was one time!-”

Tony sighs, shaking his head in what you assume is disappointment and while in any other scenario your heart would’ve sunk, this time it stays where it’s been for the past ten minutes, perishing in the flames licking the sides of your stomach. He gathers some of his papers and tucks the pen in his mouth behind his ear before he starts to make his way to the door, leaving you to stare at his back as his hand drops on the handle and he addresses you again. “One time that you could’ve gotten killed, Y/N, so we’re not doing this today-”

“You know what, Tony?”

You’ve never called him that before - not even when you’re in large crowds and everyone seems to be yelling Dad! - and you know it’s vindictive and a step too far but it’s exhausting being treated like a helpless child. This has the desired effect, freezing him in his tracks and as he turns on his heel, you know that you may have crossed a line but you can’t bring yourself to care because your fury has consumed your whole body and the heat is boiling the blood running through your veins.

“What did you just call me?”

“Anthony,” you inform him matter-of-factly, hands on your hips while the hardness of his eyes halts your racing blood flow, the iciness freezing your bones while hot rage seeps out of every single one of his pores so palpably that you can almost see the steam spilling out of his ears. “You can fuck right off until you decide that I can be trusted enough to make decisions for myself and you know what else? You can-”

“Hey, hey, what’s going on in here?”

You bite back your next words as soon as that rich timbre caresses your ears and the rigid posture of your body begins to slowly melt at the sound. You don’t even have to look behind you to know that it’s your dad’s best friend - ever the hero - coming to diffuse the ticking time bomb that is this argument between you and your father.

“This isn’t your battle to fight, Rogers,” Tony doesn’t peel his eyes off of you at all, not even sparing his friend a glance.

And as much as you don’t like Tony at the moment, you can’t help but agree with him.

“Steve, he’s right,” you tear your eyes away from your dad, turning around so that you can glance over at the golden man whose presence alone has wrapped you in a comforting safety blanket that already makes you want to stand down.

“No, neither of you are,” his blond hair is pushed back away from his face and you’re momentarily distracted by the hard lines of his jaw and the thick beard that covers them. He’s speaking in that same low voice that he uses to rally the Avengers when he’s clad in red, white, and blue, and you have to discreetly squeeze your thighs together at the sound.

The rational part of your brain knows that this is not the time to be ogling your dad’s best friend but you can’t help the way that your heart starts beating double time when he enters a room and how his warm gaze sets your entire body alight, not unlike the way that your unbridled anger is making you feel right now; the only difference is that Steve triggers a deep desire for something unknown tucked away so secretly that it only awakened when you met him.

But you know he’d never do that to Tony - shit, you don’t know if he’s still holding a candle for a love once lost all those years ago and frankly, you don’t want to risk embarrassing yourself by feeling the poison sting of rejection dealt from the sickeningly sweet lips of America’s apple pie. The lethal mix of sugar and malice would only rot your heart and you don’t know that you could survive the decay.

“In fact, both of you are acting like children,” he booms, his hands landing on his hips while he shakes his head disbelievingly at your familial dispute. Steve opens his mouth as if he’s about to continue, but Tony simply holds a hand up and it almost immediately shushes the supersoldier.

“No need, Capiscle,” Tony cocks his head to the side almost mockingly, his eyes still glued resolutely on your wet face. “I just wanna say this: if you are going to be so ungrateful of everything that your mother and I have sacrificed for you, then you can get the fuck out of my house. You have no idea what we’ve had to go through just so that you can live a safe, healthy lifestyle in which you don’t have to want for anything. The fact that you have the audacity to speak to me like that is a testament to how much we’ve failed as parents because you are the fruit of all of our labor: a spoiled little brat with no conception of the real world because everything revolves around you, doesn’t it princess?”

He spits the endearment out and you can only assume that it is because it has left as bitter a taste in his mouth as it has yours. Throughout his heated rant, your hands started shaking and at first, you couldn’t figure out why but you soon realized that it’s because Tony’s never yelled at you like that before. He barely even raises his voice at you because he’s never wanted to be anything like Howard but today, it seems as if he could no longer contain all of the pent up frustration that he’s had with you that has been building for years.

And because of this, you’ve been rendered speechless with no visible emotion on your face save from the seemingly endless stream of tears that spill from your glassy eyes. You don’t know what hurts more: his words or the fact that he’s still staring at you like a stranger.

“Tony, that’s enough,” Steve intervenes when the silence between the three of you stretches on for what feels like an eternity. He positions his body so that he’s blocking you from your father’s cold stare. “I’m not gonna let you talk to her like that-”

“Oh, come on, Cap,” Tony scoffs and you don’t have to be able to see him to know that he’s folded his arms over his chest. “You don’t even know what-”

“And I don’t need to know,” the broad man in front of you interrupts him loudly and you can do nothing but watch the altercation happen because even if you tried, you can’t pick your feet up off the floor. “Whatever she’s done or said to you doesn’t warrant you speaking to her like that. You’ve fought her at every corner, what do you expect? For her to just lie down and take it? She’s your daughter: you should know as well as I do that she’s as hard-headed as you. You need to take a step back and stop being a backseat driver - she’s an adult now and can make her own choices, Tony.”

And with that, Steve circles an arm around you and lifts you up into his arms, his waist trapped between your legs and your arms gripping his neck. A moment passes when Steve breezes past Tony where your gazes meet and the usual sweetness of his hazelnut eyes has turned bitter with guilt and resentment. You avert your stare as quickly as you can to bury your face in Steve’s muscled shoulder and as your cheek rests on it, you’re reminded all too vividly of the way that Bucky or Sam or Steve (or your dad) used to carry you to bed when you had fallen asleep between the pages of your textbook or face down next to a cold bowl of whatever Pepper had cooked for you that night.

Really, you’re almost convinced that you must’ve dozed off during the short trip from Tony’s lab to your bedroom because when you finally snap back to attention, you’re still in Steve’s arms but he’s standing still in front of your bed. And neither of you say anything for some time, letting the moment breathe while Steve soothes you silently, rubbing a hand up and down the length of your spine as quiet sobs wrack your shaking body.

“Hey, hey,” he hushes you, eventually sliding you down his body and placing you on the bed. You’re sure that your face still reflects your previous mental state but you feel significantly better now, the hive of bees that were slamming at the insides of your heart have tired both you and themselves out and are now resting. You look up at Steve with wide eyes, wet lashes brushing your skin lightly as his baby blues drill into yours so deeply that you’re sure that he must be able to see inside your head by now. “I’m not gonna ask if you’re okay because the answer seems kind of obvious, but I will ask if you need anything?”

You hesitate before giving him an answer, torn between confessing those powerful feelings for him that you’ve tried so hard to repress and letting him go. Instead, you grab one of his hands between both of yours, tugging on it so that he kneels in front of you.

“You didn’t have to do that for me back there,” your eyes flick up to his quickly and you can’t help it when you start to play with his fingers, consciously having to stop your mind from wandering to unsavory places. “I-I know you and my dad are, like, best friends, so I never would’ve asked you to put your friendship at risk and stand up for me like that… it was, uh- it was really sweet of you, Steve, so thank you-”

Steve jerks his head back and for a tense second, your heart drops because you’re sure that you’ve offended him but then he says:

“Y/N, you don’t have to thank me- not at all, I mean- it was the human thing to do,” Steve insists, forcefully grasping your chin in his large hand to make him look at you. The disbelief that sparkles in his eyes lights up your soul and makes a shy smile spread across your lips.

He leans in to plant a chaste kiss on your cheek like he usually does, but you decide there and then that you really are tired of having your dad take the reigns from you every day. You want to be able to confidently grab life by its metaphorical balls and take a leap of faith off of what is admittedly a very steep cliff. So you grip his face between your hands and redirect his lips to your own.

He’s completely unresponsive for several seconds, causing a scorching hot wave of embarrassment to flood your face - a part of you wants to hold out hope and pray that maybe he’s just shocked by your bold move but you’ve learned not to cling onto unrealistic expectations so you move back, eyes squeezed shut because you can already taste the sourness of rejection on your tongue.

But he knocks all of the breath out of your body when he climbs on top of you and crashes his lips back on yours, cradling your face between his wide palms as he slides his tongue into your mouth. It’s messy and raw as your teeth clash with his almost violently but the feeling of his soft lips on yours soothes that ache, their warmth curing the hurt in your heart. He swallows any breath you have left in your lungs as your lips move in tandem with his.

When you pull away because you think you’re about to suffocate, Steve presses his lips down the column of your neck, sucking a bruise right underneath your ear and playfully biting your earlobe. The rough sensation of his thick beard on your sensitive skin makes you giggle breathlessly and your chest heaves as his hands move smoothly down to your waist, hooking his thumbs in the waistband on your shorts.

But then his hands stop moving and you look at him with confusion written all over your face. He lowers his head to your abdomen, resting his forehead on your stomach and your hand instinctively weaves through the golden strands of his hair.

“Steve?-”

“You want this, sweetheart?” he kisses your stomach and moves right in between your legs, looking up at you as his thumbs still toy with the stretchy material of your black shorts.

“Of course-”

And you don’t get to finish your sentence because you gasp as Steve whips off your shorts with unprecedented speed. He takes your panties right with them, throwing them somewhere to the side - you don’t care to notice where because Steve’s eyes are more black than blue and his gaze is locked on your core.

This is when you get an idea.

When you take your t-shirt off, you’re only left in the black bralette that you normally wear around the house, so you whip that off too without any preamble. Steve’s eyes are so focused on the bounce of your breasts that it gives you the opportunity to muster up all of the energy you can, locking your legs around Steve’s waist (your eyes can’t help but travel to the obvious bulge in his blue jeans) and flip him over so that you’re sitting right on top of his erection.

“Wh-”

You shush him, pulling at the bottom of his shirt so that he gets the message to take it off. He does as he’s told but narrows his eyes at you. You almost don’t notice because you’re staring at the glorious expanse of his sculpted upper body. You’ve always thought that he looked like a Greek statue and right now, the way that the sunlight streaming through your window bounces off of his smooth skin and brings out the green in his eyes only emphasizes the fact that he’s a true work of art, a masterpiece in his own right.

Pushing yourself up so that you’re nose to nose with the supersoldier on his back underneath you, you lean down just enough so that your lips ghost over his when you speak.

“I’m supposed to be thanking you,” you press your lips against his momentarily, watching the way that his eyelashes flutter when you slowly slide your hand down his powerful chest, over his muscled stomach and down to his jeans-clad crotch to boldly palm his dick.

“Honey, you don’t have to-”

You cut him off with another quick kiss, moving down his body with the grace of a trained dancer (you can thank your mom for over ten years of ballet) so that you can unbuckle the black belt at his narrow waist. Steve props himself up on his forearms, staring down at you with hooded eyes and your eyes keenly follow the swipe of his tongue over his cotton candy lips.

You take your time pulling his zipper down, noticing how his eyes follow the movement of your hands as you push his jeans down his thick thighs. Your mouth is close to watering at the sight of his white Calvins which are very obviously tented in the front and you snap the elastic band of his boxer briefs playfully before pulling them over his erection.

It’s impossible to stop the way that your eyes grow comically large at the size of his cock, something at the back of your mind wondering whether or not you’ll be able to fully take him down your throat. He’s heavy in the both of your hands, the tip flushed red and leaking pre-cum.

But it’s the cocky little smirk on Steve’s face that steels your resolve.

“What’s wrong, baby? Too big for you?” he teases you in a surprisingly steady voice, inhaling again to continue his jeering, but his head falls back and his breath audibly stutters because you flatten your tongue and lick a broad stripe up the underside of his dick.

“You were saying?” you taunt right back, a smile of your own gracing your face. He doesn’t have a reply to that, instead moving his hand down to grip the back of your neck tightly, guiding you back down to his cock.

The tip of your tongue swirls around the head of his length before you take the bulbous tip between your lips, sucking lightly and enjoying the way that his blunt fingernails are stabbing into the skin of your neck. You don’t tease him for much longer, one hand on the base of his manhood while you relax your throat and attempt to take all of him in your mouth. Your fight your gag reflex tooth and nail, reveling in the quiet sighs and moans from the man above you.

What you can’t swallow you work with your hand, your other hand coming up to toy with his balls and roll them between your fingers and palm. He controls the speed at which you bob up and down his cock and you keep watching the array of emotions on his face, feeling the power and control that you have over him surge through your body.

“God, doll,” he groans, his lower lip between his perfect teeth. “You’re such a good girl, takin’ all of me like that.”

His words spur you on and you really push your boundaries by taking him all the way down, so close that your nose is being tickled by the dark blond hairs at the base of his cock. What you’re not expecting is the way that Steve applies pressure to the back of your neck that’s just enough so that you can’t move. Your eyes sting as he keeps your head down, making you swallow and choke as small tears leak from your eyes. You’re forced to breathe through your nose as Steve groans when your gag reflex kicks in, your throat constricting around the heavy weight of his dick.

“Such a good little slut, huh?” he smirks, running the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone. “You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, baby, suckin’ your dad’s friend off like a little fuckin’ whore.”

You can’t help the way that a loud moan falls from your lips, though it’s almost entirely muted by the thick cock in your mouth.

“Oh, you like that?” Steve’s confidence is only making you wetter. He eases up on your neck, allowing you to withdraw about an inch before he pushes you back down. “You like being called a slut, pretty girl?”

You nod as best as you can under the circumstances, fighting back another moan.

“That’s good, honey, because you’re gonna be my little cockslut from now on, hmm?”

And finally, he pulls you off of him completely, reveling in the way that your eyes are glossy with tears and your lungs gulp down huge breaths as thin strings of saliva hang from your lips.

“Messy girl,” Steve reprimands you condescendingly, but his voice sounds strained and he looks like he could cum just from drinking in your disheveled state. “You’re gorgeous, doll.”

You can’t stop the smile that grows on your face at the praise, and Steve cups your face gently and leans in to give you a sweet kiss.

“You gonna let me cum in your mouth, sweetheart?” he murmurs against your lips, nudging your nose with his.

“Yes, sir,” you tease playfully, not wasting any more time and wrapping your lips around his dick once again, running the tip of your tongue against the prominent vein down the side while you bob your head up and down. You’re more determined than ever to push him over the edge, wanting to be the one who has complete control over his pleasure.

“That’s it, just like that- shit, baby, I’m gonna cum,” he warns you after he takes your face between both of his hands and fucks your mouth, your jaw relaxed as he uses you to chase his orgasm, eyes closed and head hanging back as he loses himself in the throes of desire.

You bask in the sense of satisfaction that you get from the way that his cock twitches in your mouth and the shout that he gives when the evidence of his release floods your mouth. You happily let it slide down your throat, sucking on his tip lightly as you do. The tangy taste lingers on your tongue and as you pull off of him with a pop, you have to wipe around your mouth because you’re sure that he’s made a complete mess of your face.

“Holy fuck, darlin’,” he heaves, pulling you up to rest against his chest but not before you take the time to admire how beautiful he is. A light pink flush that’s started at his cheeks has traveled down his neck and bloomed on his chest - you love the way that it’s burning the tips of his ears. With your chest pressed against his, he ghosts his fingers up and down your back while his lips press against your shoulder.

“Your dad’s gonna kill me… and I didn’t even get you off, baby,” he mutters, only a second away from pouting and it makes you grin.

“He won’t because he’s not gonna find out… and I didn’t want you to,” you reply simply, lightly circling one of his nipples with the tip of your nail. “Besides, you have plenty of time to do that later.”

Steve readjusts himself so that his back is leaning against the headboard and you’re perched in his lap, straddling his thighs. His brows are knitting together and a frustrated frown mars his pretty face.

“No, I want to,” he insists, warm hands landing on your hips and rocking them back and forth so that your clit catches on the muscles of his legs. You bite your lip so as to suppress a moan. “It wouldn’t be-”

“Y/N, babe, are you in there?”

The two of you still as a knock followed by Tony’s soft voice bleeds through the door.

“Shit,” you curse quietly, scrambling off of Steve and grabbing the nearest article of clothing that you can find.

“I know you don’t wanna talk to me right now, but I don’t wanna leave things like this so I’m comin’ in, sweetie-”

“Dad, no!”

But it’s too late, the door opening just enough to reveal your father’s face whose whiskey eyes immediately land on yours. Thankfully, you were able to pull on Steve’s shirt and your shorts, but you can’t say the same for the six-foot-something supersoldier who has skillfully rolled underneath your bed, still naked as the day he was born.

“What’s going on in here, hon?” Tony quirks an eyebrow at you as he pops his head around the door, narrowing his eyes suspiciously as his eyes scan the room.

“Nothing,” you say breathlessly, running a hand over your face as you silently pray that your dad won’t catch his friend hiding beneath your bed with no clothes on.

“Okay?” he draws out the word, obviously confused as your eyes meet his. “I just wanted to say so-”

“We’ll talk about it later, Dad,” you try to smile and move towards him so that you shoo him away from your room.

“You sure?”

“Positive,” you affirm, putting your hand on top of the one he has wrapped around the side of the door and squeezing it reassuringly.

“If you say so,” Tony lets go of the door, spinning on his heel and starting to stroll down the hall. You let go of the breath that you weren’t aware you were holding. “And give Bucky back his shirt!”

A laugh bubbles up in your chest as your heart warms watching your dad throw a wink at you over his shoulder, knowing that the choppy seas have stilled and the water’s calm once again, the tide returning to its regular routine. You shut the door with a click before turning back to see Steve sitting casually with his back resting against the side of your bed.

“So, uh,” a cheeky smile graces his face. “Same time tomorrow or?”

tagged: @literaturefeen @evnscvll @donutloverxo @stargazingfangirl18

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers blurb #steve rogers blurbs #steve rogers headcanons #steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagines #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fanfiction #steve x reader #steve x you #stark!reader

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trillian-anders · 5 years

Text

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 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.

taglist // @littlechillies @hellizhelusive2 @notbexmader @marvelouspottering @whitequeenasitbgan @Thegraylaway @readermia @i-believe-in-unicorns-and-you @princess-evans-addict @perplexed3001 @Diedrashouseofpain @hailmary-yramliah @sleepycvpid @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @starlywars @gifsbysimplysonia @rocknbasil @imnotelasticheart @wannabegonnie @d1sconnect3d @heyguyz13 @unimomajo @this-is-serenaa @steviemae @bemysugarbean @truefangirlheart @babiiface95 @mydarlingharry @elzzin @sweetheart-syndrome @behindthesehazeleyes27 @bassclarinety @orenjineki @southerngracela @songforhema @mjey12 @thatgaldonna @annedub @patzammit @bloatedandlonly @bookish-shristi @saturnki @jennmurawski13 @geeksareunique @the-soulofdevil

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #chris evans #knives out

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yellowocaballero · 4 years

Text

Hunt!Tim: Five Times He Murdered Someone And One Time He Loved them <3

Just kidding. This is a fic set in my Roleswap AU, acting as a character study over the course of the series into...whatever the fuck was going on with that guy. I spent so much time and energy actually figuring out his arc and character that when I finished Solitaire I hadn’t said everything I wanted to say, so that’s why this exists. It’s...not funny at all. Tim takes himself far too seriously. I’m very sorry, there are almost no jokes in this. It just doesn’t work.

Content warning for story typical issues; but more explicit depiction of suicidal ideation, kidnapping and physical assault, just in general a very fucked up little dude, and gendered violence that is more explicitly discussed as a possible precursor to further violence. Rest under the cut.

“I’m going to fucking kill them!”

“Well,” Sasha said, tapping away relentlessly on her phone as she sat primly on his couch. During work hours she was always doing something mysterious on her laptop, and after work it was on her phone. She had once alluded to being the moderator of an improbable number of forums. She liked the power. “We could probably make that happen. It’s the Magnus Institute, it’s suspicious if nobody's dying. But four people at once may not be prudent.”

“I don’t care!” Tim yelled. He paced his living room in tight lines, turning sharply on his heel at the end of the room. It felt like he was bursting with pent-up energy and rage, sending his heartbeat thumping in his ears like a war drum. “They’re obstructing justice, withholding evidence from an investigation, probably acting as an accomplice -”

“I’m going to fucking kill them!”

Sasha’s head snapped up, eyes glinting at him behind the big glasses that she always hid behind. “So you do think they were involved in Gertrude’s death?”

“Who cares. They did something, they’re obviously guilty of whatever. Every one of them have rap sheets.” Everyone but that blonde woman, which seemed a little counter-intuitive. “We just have to find something.”

Sasha hesitated, just momentarily, and she carefully put her phone down. “You’re angry, Tim. It’s affecting your judgement. Remember when we talked about that? Deep breaths. Come on, in one and out two. ”

Tim grimaced, but Sasha was right. He stopped pacing, and at Sasha’s encouraging look he resentfully took a few deep breaths. It did make him feel better. His heart wasn’t thumping in his ears anymore. She was so good at calming him down. She was just so wonderful in every way.

Thinking about how great Sasha was effective in clearing his head, but it just highlighted how terrible those women were in comparison. No respect. It was disgusting.

“Thanks,” Tim said gruffly, eliciting a beautiful smile. He collapsed on the couch next to her, disgusted and frustrated. “We’re never going to solve this Robinson case so long as those women are in the way. I won’t tolerate any obstacles in getting justice.”

“I know, and that’s what’s brave about you,” Sasha soothed, clasping his shoulder gently. Her thumb worked into his shoulder, gentle and soothing. “But we have to do it quietly. We don’t just need them out of the way, we need information. I’ll work on the technological side. You can dig up an entire life online, trust me. But if they know any of the secrets about the Institute and the Archives, we have to press them. That’s your strength, Tim. You can get anything out of anyone, because you never give up.”

Tim turned his head and smiled weakly at her. “And your strength is that you’re always there for me.” Her eyebrow ticked, but Tim hardly noticed. “I’ll keep pressing. They can’t stonewall me forever. I have their boss’ address, I’ll just show up there.”

“He’s going to ask for a warrant -”

“Oh, who gives a shit, nobody cares.” Tim snorted. “He’s a pussy if he’s hiding behind those women, anyway.” At Sasha’s carefully arched eyebrow, Tim quickly added, “Coward, I meant coward.”

“So you do remember our conversation about being PC,” Sasha said, making Tim snort. Please. Those sensitivity training the department was always forcing on them was a joke. Tim laughed with the other guys about it afterwards. He didn’t know why Sasha was complaining; she laughed just as mockingly as the rest of them. But she just readjusted her glasses now, a sign she was a little nervous. “Tim, about what you said just before we left -”

“What about it?” Tim said sharply.

Sasha was silent for a minute, before adjusting her glasses again. “Nothing. Just - be careful, okay? People who get too close to the Magnus Institute end up dead.”

If only they would. But Tim grinned at her, bright and sharp, and Sasha hesitantly smiled back too. Tim’s conviction, his bravery, always seemed to make her feel better. Sasha thought too much. She rarely second guessed herself - that was why Tim liked her - but sometimes she just thought herself into twists. She needed someone like him to cut that Gordian Knot. “Don’t worry, Sash. The good guys always prevail.”

Tim would kill them. All he needed was a reason.

ii.

Tim had nightmares, now.

Not full ones. Strange, fragmented dreams that were quickly forgotten after he woke up. Most of the time. But not always. And they were so strangely vivid - as if he was really living that moment over and over again.

It was of that construction site. And of Danny, watching those murders and the corpses with a sick, fascinated smile. And of Tim, defenseless and powerless and trembling and weak, watching it all happen.

Sometimes there would be a man. Just once or twice. The man, who would always be wearing really stupid pyjamas that contrasted wildly with how attractive he was, would frown at Tim.

‘Hey’, Sims said, ‘aren’t you that prick?’.

And Tim would wake up, heart beating fast, thumping in his ears, afraid in exactly that same poisonous metallic way that he hadn’t felt since he was a child.

Tim was going to kill that monster.

****

On a Monday afternoon, Tim sat in the driver’s seat of his car, checking his gun.

Gun, check. Rope, check. Shovel, check. Lighter and gasoline, check. Axe with belt, check, just in case things went really south. Gag, check. Tim had no idea how many secret powers that thing had, he wasn’t taking any chances.

Monday was the only night that they all went home alone. It took two frustrating weeks of stake-outs to realize that. Since he had cornered that bitch Melanie she even walked home with Daisy, who apparently lived close by. It was worth it, though. She was finally feeding him useful information, even though Tim knew that she thought she was giving irrelevant information about what they really wanted. He gave most of it straight to Sasha, who was salivating over all of the puzzle pieces Melanie was casually dumping on them as if they were meaningless. Whatever. That was Sasha’s job.

She had been worried about him lately. Probably. Tim hadn’t really noticed. He was focused on the case. Tim was a perfectionist like that.

Finally, at 5:20, Tim saw the monster - Jon, whatever, he wasn’t scared of him - round the corner. He was a little hard to distinguish in the darkness, but that was why Tim had left the headlights on.

His heart was thumping, roaring in his ears. Tim was giddy with excitement and anticipation and thirst. Catching them wasn’t the best part, but this would feel so good. He had been vividly imagining the look of fear on the thing’s face for the past month, ever since he assaulted Tim. He just couldn’t decide how he wanted to kill him - he brought his nightstick just in case he wanted to bash his face in, but fire was practical and incredibly painful.

Showtime, Tim thought, as he opened his car door and stepped out. After Tim took care of this, he and Sasha would be safe. That was the important thing. He was protecting Sasha from that thing. That was why he did it, all of it.

Jon startled a little when he saw him, but his face was backlit from the headlights and his features were probably obscured. It wasn’t until Tim stepped forward, easily and casually, that Jon began the slight speedwalk of a pedestrian encountering a persistent panhandler on the street.

“Stop right there.”

Jon froze. Not as stupid as he looks, then. Still pretty stupid.

Tim walked forward until he was standing at Jon’s back, already silently drawing out his handcuffs with one hand.

“Detective Stoker,” Jon said, and Tim almost respected the way his voice didn’t shake. “I wish this was more of a surprise.”

Normally Tim appreciated a good intimidating monologue, but he could be more efficient right now. Besides, there was time for that later. Jon turned his head backwards slightly, trying to see his face - perfect - and Tim waited until he could see his expression before he jammed the barrel of his gun on Jon’s throat.

There it was. The expression that few people besides Tim had ever seen, that secret face of man that each person felt so few times in their lives if they felt it at all. The face of a man who knew he was about to die.

It was Tim’s little secret.

“Why -”

Tim bashed it over the head with the barrel of the gun, and it dropped on the gun like a lanky puppet with its strings cut. No use letting it finish a question.

Handcuffs, rope, trunk. Carefully just under the speed limit, barrelling out of London into the cold and emotionless woods. Turning on the stereo - some mindless Amy Winehouse song. Tim found himself whistling along with it, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

It wasn’t that Tim liked killing people, or even things that looked and begged and cried like people. But it was just something you had to do. Tim shouldered that burden, so innocent people wouldn’t have to. As a police officer, he had sworn to be the wolf that protects the sheep. That was Tim - that loyal and heroic wolf.

The thrill was overwhelming. That was why people had sex in public - that excited thrill over possibly getting caught. Not that he would, and even if he did Tim basically had carte blanche to handle his cases how he wanted, but he could. His skin was prickling, his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Saliva was pooling in his mouth, which he wiped off with one hand. Adrenaline did weird things. When he looked at the rear mirror inside the car to check on Jo - the monster, he saw the light of the headlights glinting strangely against his eyes, but in another second it was gone.

Tim didn’t have a ‘spot’ because that was fucking idiotic, but all of his dumping places had basically the same characteristics. You had to drive a while to get something really private. It took an hour, but they got to Chiltern hills eventually, and Tim was forced to squint at Google Maps to find the GPS coordinates he had planned out. It felt a little ridiculous to use Google Maps to find a burial spot for somebody but - well, life was weird.

When he stopped, he carefully took out the gag, the axe, the shovel, his own hunting knife, and dumped them in the spot he had picked out. He held the gag and holstered the hunting knife before carefully popping open the trunk.

Jo - the monster was awake. Which was fortunate; there was no fight when they were unconscious. He stared up at Tim with big brown eyes, all innocent and pleading, and Tim rolled his eyes before bending down to securely jam the gag in his mouth before grabbing him by his tied hands and dragging him out. The thing made a bunch of sad noises, and from the sounds of it he had wrenched a shoulder, but that wouldn’t be an issue in a few minutes.

The thing’s legs had clearly fallen asleep, and he stumbled onto the ground the minute Tim let go of him. He kept his eyes on Tim almost frantically, as if he could brainwash him by his eyes alone - could he? Could he? His eyes were fucking freaky.

Jesus. What if he could. Fuck, Tim barely knew anything about his freaky powers. But if he could brainwash via eye contact, couldn’t he -

No. Tim shook himself. That was the fear talking. Which shouldn’t exist. The fear should be gone. He had the thing bound and gagged at his feet, terrified out of its life, he couldn’t possibly still be scared of it. Fucking stupid. He was just cautious. That was caution. Tim was a cautious person.

Time for his favorite part, then.

Tim grinned lazily down at the thing, letting his white teeth flash in the lit headlights of the car. He hadn’t been able to sleep last night, writing all of this out in his mind. “Not so great on the other side, huh?”

The monster’s eyes widened.

Tim dragged him away from the car, not bothering to be gentle. He kicked and pushed on the ground, and although he was bony as hell the guy was tall and desperate, and Tim was forced to kick him down on the ground and draw his gun. He hadn’t wanted to draw the gun - they never fought and kicked and snarled and bit with the gun - but he wasn’t taking any chances here.

“I want you to know,” Tim said, friendly and warm, “that I’m doing this because I made a promise. On my badge and on my life, I protect the innocent from predators. I defend society from threats. There’s a corruption in the world, a sick and rotting infection, and it’s my job to tear it out. But I get no joy from this, okay?” He didn’t know why it was important that the monster knew that. It wasn’t like he was going to hold a grudge. The monster tried to sit up, but Tim kicked him again until he hit the ground again. Tim hated how he was shorter than him when they both were standing. He wanted to look down on him for once.

The monster was always looking down on him. With his little girl gang and his bestest buddies. With that - that moral superiority. He thought he was so smart and popular. Just because he could rip someone’s deepest secrets out of someone, he thought he was better. Just because he knew Tim’s worst fear, he thought that he had power over Tim.

Nobody did. Nobody had power over Tim. Not anymore.

“But you,” Tim hissed, “you, out of everyone I’ve ever killed - I’m going to enjoy you. You’ve crept into the lives of all those humans. You even got fucking Sasha telling me you’re not all bad. Is that what you do? Convince everybody around you that you’re a good person, when you’re a piece of shit inside?” His hand was trembling on his gun - that wasn’t in the script. Why was that happening? “Well, guess what. No matter how great you think you are, you will always be a monster.”

The handle of Tim’s gun was coated in sweat, making his trembling hand slide. Why? The gasoline and lighter were standing by his feet, ready to burn the body. His heart was thumping in his chest, not from anticipation and thrill - why? Why? Why?

“Tim, no!”

Tim, so focused on what he was doing, jerked so hard he almost fired the gun. He whipped around to the source of the voice, and found to his shock a familiar car and a familiar woman standing by it, face set in a fierce determination.

It was Sasha. Somehow, the sight of her was deeply wrong to Tim. She shouldn’t be here. Sasha should never see this. She knew, she had helped - always the finger pointing in the direction to unleash Tim - but she shouldn’t see it. He knew it wasn’t real to her, what he did.

“Sash,” Tim said weakly, hand drooping.

Jon screamed from behind his gag. He might have been calling for help.

“Put the gun down,” Sasha said coldly. She was just dressed in jeans and a messy t-shirt, as if she had come here in a great hurry. How had she kno - okay, Sasha knew everything, it was no surprise.

“Why? Sasha, what are you doing here?” Tim cried, in genuine confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that Jon is innocent of everything!” Sasha yelled, and Tim almost flinched back. “He didn’t kill Gertrude, he doesn’t know anything about what’s going on! Trust me, Jon and his team have nothing to do with any of this!”

“He’s a fucking demon, Sash,” Tim said incredulously. How could she take his side? How? “Don’t you remember what he did to me? How can you forgive that?”

“You’re not a saint either!” Sasha screamed - the first time Tim had ever heard her scream at him. He couldn’t believe this was happening. How had he lost control of the situation so badly? “If you kill him you will break his team.”

As if a single coworker nobody dying will upset anybody. “And how long until he attacks or kills his team?” Tim asked furiously. “They’re the biggest bitches I’ve ever met, but they’re human. Monsters hurt humans, Sasha. It’s in their nature. How long until he hurts someone else? How long until he hurts you?”

“If you kill him,” Sasha said, quiet and strangled and hurt, “I will never forgive you.”

Nobody had power over him - nobody, perhaps, save Sasha. She held his heart in his hands, ready at a moment’s cue to crush it or rip it out of him. He couldn’t bear her disapproving face, her quiet disappointment. If she didn’t love him, if she took that away - he wouldn’t have anything. Nothing would be left. He had to protect that love, protect her.

“Sasha,” Tim said weakly, “out of everybody, I thought you would understand.”

“I do. I’m the only one who will ever understand. That’s why you have to trust me.”

Maye that was the problem. Tim did. She was the only person he had ever trusted.

Tim flicked the safety, and dropped the gun.

Just to make himself feel better, he bent his leg back to kick Jon, but - but, for some reason, he didn’t. It just seemed so tiresome. What was the point? What was the point of any of this?

The point had always been to protect humans from the monsters. To protect Sasha. But Sasha didn’t want his help. What did he have now?

“Take him back to his house,” Tim said dully. He glared fiercely at Jon, whose face was falling in relief. “If you tell the police about this, nobody will believe you and nobody will care. If you tell anybody else about this, I’ll find you again and beat you half to death. Got it?”

Jon nodded fervently.

After that, it was all a blur. Sasha helped him up, took him to her car, and he saw her cut through his restraints once he was safely inside. Tim just gathered up his materials and dumped them in the trunk of his car, sliding into the driver’s seat and gunning the engine.

He drove home in a depressed haze, feeling worthless, feeling powerless, feeling exactly like Jon always made him feel.

His hands clenched on the steering wheel. If Jon didn’t know shit about what was going on - and Tim believed that, guy was fucking stupid - then who did? If Jon hadn’t turned into a monster on purpose, then who had turned him into a monster?

Elias Bouchard always gave Tim a bad feeling.

He’d collect some evidence. Give it a few weeks, then confront him. Bouchard would bend and crack. Then Tim would be free. Free of the Magnus Institute, free of how it made him feel.

He roared towards home, unsatisfied and angry, still afraid.

iii.

“Can you pass the rice?”

Tim silently passed Mom the bowl, staring intently at his own plate and silently shovelling potatoes in his mouth. Dad was doing his usual thing and just kind of squinting at his plate and chewing like a cow with cud. Danny was, from the outside, eating food like a normal person. Tim knew that he was vibrating with anticipation.

“So,” Mom continued, faux-brightly, “it’s been a while since you boys came home. Too good for your old folks, huh?”

The passive aggressive route - deal with the criticism, but if you bit back then it was ‘just a joke’. Favored tactic of Ha-eun Stoker.

“Sorry, Mom,” Danny said, one arm thrown over the back of his chair, utterly unrepentant, “work’s been hell lately. Big case came in, and if I want to be promoted to junior partner…”

Sure enough, Mom brightened right up. “Really! Tell us all about your case, Danny!”

Then they were off. Tim zoned out, blankly spooning gamja jorim into his mouth as Danny endlessly rattled off about his accomplishments and Mom cooed and aah’d relentlessly. Dad just chewed, occasionally grunting in satisfaction and approval.

Wow, the coveted paternal approval. Way to make them all jump through hoops for it. Tim rolled his eyes.

Unfortunately, he was caught. Mom turned her piercing gaze on him, smiling pleasantly with perfect teeth. Of course they were perfect; she had work done. All of the other women in the neighborhood do it, Tim, we should fit in. Oh, this necklace is just so in style, I saw Ms. Wallace down the street wearing it. Fucking lemming.

“What about you, Tim?” Mom asked. “How’s work going? Normally you’d be telling us all about your big arrests.”

Ah. The reason why Tim had done everything possible to avoid family dinner. They had this once a month, the only time they could all be assed to talk to each other, and Tim had jumped through hoops to try and escape.

Danny didn’t let him. This was way too entertaining to him.

He knew. Tim didn’t know how, but that was irrelevant. Danny always knew. He couldn’t lie and make up some case. Tim took a careful sip of his dak gomtang, stalling.

Finally, he said, “I took a new job, actually.”

Dad looked up from his plate. Mom’s jaw dropped.

“But you loved your job,” Mom said, for all appearances broken-hearted. “What happened?”

Danny leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, grinning. “Yeah, brother. You loved that job, you’d never quit. What happened?”

“My work partner was caught and forced to sign an employment contract by a middle management stoner, blackmailing me into working with her so I wouldn’t get arrested by the police for my dozen murders.”

Everybody stared at him. Tim sipped some water.

“That isn’t very funny, Timothy,” Mom said.

God, these people were so serious. In the stupidest second of his entire stupid life, he missed the Archive team just a little bit. At least they had a sense of humor. He’d never known those bitches to take anything seriously. But even when they were literally engaging in cult-level shunning of him and Sasha, they were always together. What was with homos and that gay found family shit?

“Kidding. I don’t know, Mom, I was just going stir-crazy. Being a copper just felt like such a dead-end job.”

“But you said you were on track for Lieutenant,” Mom gasped. “How could you throw that away?”

“I don’t know, Mom,” Danny said, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “I don’t think Tim would quit his job voluntarily.”

Mom’s jaw dropped. “You were fired?”

Tim was too dead inside for this. “Sure. I’m a librarian now. It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Mom positively screeched. “What am I supposed to tell Mrs. Walker now? That my son’s not on track to Lieutenant, that he was fired? I’ve never been so ashamed of you. You’re going to make me a laughingstock, Tim. In all my life, you’ve never once cared about how your actions affected me. Let me tell you right now that this is disgraceful. You’re a grown man, and you’re still acting like a child who blah blah blah. Tim’s a disappointment and we hate him blah blah. How could I have raised such a lazy yammer yammer yammer. I only pay attention to you when I’m yelling at you and I’m totally in the right because Rachel Granger said that yada yada -”

“Well, this was fun,” Tim said pleasantly, wiping his mouth with a napkin before balling it and tossing on the table. He put his chopsticks down and stood up, dusting off his hands. “Great to see all of you again, so much fun, but I have a cat to go iron.”

But Dad was staring at him, even when Mom was fuming in rage. In Korean, he said, “You’re disrespecting your mother, Ji-hoon.”

“For god’s sake, Richard, we speak English in this house. His name’s Timothy,” Mom snapped. Danny rolled his eyes.

“Why not?” Tim asked in Korean, just to piss off Mom. Basira would have sneered at her respectability politics. Melanie would have lost her temper an hour - no, thirty years ago. Why were they stronger than Tim? “You don’t respect her.”

Almost silently, Danny whistled.

“Timothy,” Mother started, scandalized, “listen to your -”

“Why? What can she say to me, besides the same shit I’ve been hearing my entire life? She’s not saying anything interesting.” Tim smiled brightly at his family, flashing all of his teeth. “You know what? In comparison with my life lately, you three are pretty fucking boring. Bye.”

That was when his mother burst into tears, and his father started yelling at him at the top of his voice and thumping the table until the dishes rattled, and when Danny started laughing. If they did anything else, if Dad was about to get out of his chair and smack him, if Mom was going to disown him, Tim didn’t wait around to see it. He grabbed his bomber jacket and stalked out the door, letting it fall behind him.

He breathed heavily on the pretty little sidewalk in front of their pretty little house. The pretty little roses in the pretty little garden bloomed perfectly, and their thorns were all cut off. Down the street pretty little houses made of ticky tacky loomed, and they were all within HOA compliance in their gated little community. Nobody in. Nobody out.

When he was fifteen, Tim hated it because his parents were always trying to impose normalacy on him and he had never fucking measured up. When he was a young adult, he had hated it because he had fancied himself a gritty, street-wise cop who grappled with the dregs of society and always came out victorious. The perfect little families here thought that their gates could protect them from the cold and hard outside world - but the monsters in the world lived and breeded in their backyards, and they were too busy trimming their lawns to notice.

He should go home. It was late, and he had his ridiculous, evil, gloriously imperfect job tomorrow. God, Melanie would hate this place. She would sneer at him for ever having lived here, chalking it up with his infinite list of sins. All you pigs are the same, she would nag, privileged and sheltered. Bitch. Why was she always right?

But Tim just couldn’t work up the energy to drive all the way home. His heart felt scooped out with a grapefruit spoon. Instead he stumbled into the little alley next to the house, where the garbage trucks and the alley cats roamed, and he collapsed into a little patch of scrubby grass. This had been his favorite place to sulk as a child. Or hide from Danny. Danny always found him, of course, but it was the principle of the matter -

“Man, I can’t believe I got that show for free. You should have charged, Ji-hoon.”

“Fuck off, Danny,” Tim said, tone dull with how rote the phrase was.

When he glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Danny was dappled in night. The only light was from the streetlights, and the lights of their porch. In the dim lighting, Danny was lit by a bright aura but his features were hidden in the dark. Like an angel, Danny shone, and like a devil, Tim hid in the shadows. Hidden in the corner, like a powerless child.

“It’s a compliment! Normally you’re the most boring, predictable bitch alive. Wind your key and watch you go. But not even I could have predicted the shit you pulled today. Fantastic.” Danny grinned, a slash of the mouth. “You’re dead disowned, buddy. You crossed a line. They’ll never forgive you.”

“Fuck off, Danny.”

“I’m looking forward to being an only child,” Danny mused. “Mom and Dad were always so obsessed with you, it’ll be nice to have them all to myself. When I make junior partner, do you think Dad will clap me on the back? Give me a hug?” He affected a sad look, pulling his face into a mockery of tragedy. “I’m really going to miss you. You always lowered the bar for me.”

“Fuck off, Danny.”

Apparently that was one ‘fuck off’ too many, because Danny kicked Tim in the ribs. He always knew exactly where to hit - right in an old scar in the ribs, a bullet wound that he had never told him about. Tim wheezed, but he didn’t move. No point.

In a brief, strange flash of memory, Tim remembered bending his knee back to kick Jon in the stomach. Jon hadn’t flinched. Had there been no point?

“I know you spent your entire sad little childhood thinking I ruined your life. That’s bullshit and you know it. You didn’t need anyone else to ruin your life, Timbo. You’ve always been good enough at that yourself.” He pulled a faux-surprised face. Every expression Danny ever had was fake. Everything was a mask, plastic and fake. “Even your relationships, right? How’s that Mexican bird you got following you around? She still refusing to fuck you? I should pick her up, I bet she’s real easy -”

Tim saw red.

It was easy, in the end. Maybe too easy. He leapt up, in one easy and smooth motion, and tackled Danny to the ground. Tim had always been bigger but Danny had always been stronger, no matter how long Tim spent at the gym, but that didn’t matter now. Tim was faintly aware he was snarling as Danny hit the ground hard, head bouncing on the grass.

There was no time for him to recover. Tim punched him in the face, keeping him down, before punching him again. He felt bone break under his fist. A nose.

He didn’t remember anything after that. Everything fuzzed out a little, trapped in the swirling of his rage and the thump of his heartbeat. It wasn’t Martin’s anger, it wasn’t Sasha’s cold chase. It was just hatred.

It wasn’t that - that thing inside Tim, the thing he had spent years denying. It was just Tim. Or maybe Tim was that thing, and that thing was Tim.

He was faintly aware that somebody was grabbing him by the elbows, pulling him off. There was screaming. Wailing. He couldn’t really tell. Tim was dizzy, hands wet and sticky. Someone was crying - the nauseatingly familiar sound of his mother sobbing.

Just boys roughhousing, Tim wanted to say. That was a good line, snappy and sarcastic. Just boys being boys, the same line he had heard time after time after time when Danny coated his entire torso in bruises. Monsters, acting like monsters. Men, doing what men always do.

Tim left the scene. He wouldn’t be back. Never return to the scene of the crime, ha ha ha. He wouldn’t be welcome back. It should have felt crushing, isolating, terrifying.

But instead, Tim just felt free. As if a crushing weight had fallen off his shoulders, and he no longer felt suffocated by endless picking and prodding and pushing. It...he didn’t feel scared.

Tim walked down the street, taking the long way home, whistling happily. He hated himself a little bit less than usual tonight. Things were looking up.

iv.

Tim stared at Melanie as she slept.

It wasn’t hard. They kept the lights on, although after a few days Melanie had started to use a sleeping mask. She had recovered from what happened fairly quickly. She still let him keep his arm on her.

It tingled, just a little, where it touched her. She was warm and soft, breathing softly in a gentle rise and fall of her chest. Her face was slack with sleep. No nightmares. Melanie only looked gentle when she was asleep: any other time, her face was screwed up in intent thought or a mean comment or an exaggerated face made behind someone’s back.

It was the first time Tim had slept in the same bed as a woman without sleeping with her. At Sasha’s, he always slept on the couch. It was a little weird. It was really weird. He kept on telling himself to pull away, to rebuild that bridge that had been so effortless with Sasha, to act normal and stop being desperate and needy.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Every time he let go of her, he was alone. No matter how many people surrounded them, no matter how big the room or busy the sprawling London streets, when she was out of the room it felt as if she would never come back.

He hated the way he felt. It was disgusting, crawling in his gut and heart like rot. He hated himself for feeling it, he hated the world for doing it to him, and he hated Melanie for making him feel this way.

He didn’t know love could be this painful.

***

Did he love her?

Tim was fairly sure he couldn’t love anybody. Whatever he felt for Sasha, it couldn’t be love. It could only be a selfish, disgusting poison. Or maybe he really did love her, and love really was poison - if it was the kind of love Tim felt for other people, if it was all he could give.

But Tim knew Sasha, down to her soul. He knew her dark secrets, every skeleton in her closet. He knew what she was running from, why she had landed in England and never left, why she felt just as passionately for Tim’s crusade for justice as he did.

Justice. What a joke.

But Melanie wasn’t like that. She was rough and bitchy and meddling and willfully idiotic, but if you scratched that surface she was perfect. Kind, understanding, forgiving, patient, supportive - the kind of girl Tim had always wanted. Not that Sasha hadn’t been - but Sasha was somebody he should probably stay away from, for her own good.

Melanie had saved him. Melanie was trying to fix him, and she wouldn’t stop until she did. She wouldn’t give up - she never gave up on anything or anyone. Even Tim. Maybe, if it was her, Tim could be fixed.

He squinted at her in the soft lights keeping away the dark lingering in the small windows. Did he want to kiss her? He should, right? Any emotion this strong, anything that made him feel so vulnerable and desperate and insane had to come with wanting to be with her. Not that she could ever like him that way back…

The idea was oddly nice. Men and women couldn’t be friends. But maybe Tim and Melanie could - Melanie, who would never love him in that way, freeing Tim of the obligation to reciprocate.

He settled a little bit more, tucking her a little bit closer under him until he could no longer see her face. The idea was heady - that she was letting him do that, that she could be open and vulnerable in front of him too. That Tim had never really protected anybody, that Melanie was the first person to ever protect him, and that maybe he could pay that back.

Maybe she could fix him. Give him love that was pure instead of corrupted; selfless instead of selfish. Tim needed her.

He tried not to hate it.

***

That night, Tim had a dream that he was fucking Melanie in his old bed in his old flat. Danny was there, somehow, constantly mocking Tim on how badly he was doing, and every time Tim would yell at him to get out he would just laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh -

***

Melanie dragged him to work with her the next morning, as Tim chugged a shitton of coffee and considered braining himself with a hammer so he could forget the dream he had last night. He would literally prefer the construction site nightmares. He could barely meet her eyes, and lived in relentless paranoia that somehow she knew and was going to call him disgusting which would be fair and true and -

“Do you think the old man in Home Alone is a Jesus allegory?”

Tim blinked blearily at her, still chugging his coffee. They had gotten his car keys and car back from Sasha - she still had everything he ever owned, but he didn’t want to deal with that - but Melanie was driving, since Tim’s reaction time wasn’t that good anymore and he tended to zone out. They would take the tube and avoid London traffic except, well…

“I have no opinions on Home Alone,” Tim said blankly. He had been reading Thus Spoke Zarathustra on his phone. So far he had several points of disagreement, his largest was the man’s weird obsession with atheism. Granted, it was hard to be a nihilist and be religious, but Tim had insider information on the nature of the universe and he was working on a thesis - anyway. Anyway. “Why?”

“It’s a good movie, right? We should watch it for movie night tonight.”

“I thought you wanted to watch T2 today.”

“Aw, fuck, right.” Melanie slightly slapped the steering wheel. They didn’t move - traffic was really hell. “I am a slut for fictionalized violence. Isn’t Sarah Connor the most badass action hero ever?”

“She’s awesome,” Tim agreed warmly. “But Schwarzenneger in that movie is just peak. Have you ever seen Predator? It was his best role.”

Melanie snorted. “Predator was so boring. Just a lot of oiled up men flexing at each other.”

Typical. Tim rolled his eyes, propping an elbow below the window, but he found himself smiling anyway. “What do you want me to watch instead, Blue is the Warmest Color?”

“Laugh all you want, idiot. You’re getting the whole rota of required watching for gay people. First on the list is the Birdcage, then right after that Paris is Burning -”

Tim groaned theatrically, drowning her out, but all that did was hit him with the musk of his small, battered car. The smell of Melanie hit him like a truck - her Melon shampoo, her 24 hour deodorant, the dust of the Archives, something unique to her that he just couldn’t place.

To Tim’s horror, the scent pulled at that deep pit in his stomach. Don’t think about it. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t let them know - except for Sasha, who always knew. It made him want to do - stuff that he didn’t want to do. Not really. Tim didn’t want that. Whoever Tim was.

Counterintuitively, the hunger made it easier to keep that fake smile and forced manic energy when they got to the office. He wasn’t really up to it today - some days were easier than others - but that didn’t really matter when he had to aggressively convince everybody that he was fine. The alternative was everybody giving him sad and pitying looks, which was a thousand times worse than any infernal hell torture.

It wasn’t. But he still didn’t want to deal with it.

So he kicked the door open, yelled something meaningless about how the bitch was back, and let Basira ignore him and Martin roll his eyes and Sasha very pointedly ignore him. He noted that Daisy wasn’t in this morning - ever since their planning session, she had been dropping by more frequently to flirt obnoxiously with Basira, but she obviously couldn’t spend all of her time here if she wanted to keep up the pretense with Peter Lukas.

Which was...somewhat of a relief.

Tim collapsed in what used to be Daisy’s chair at her desk, which was for far more important reasons than just because he didn’t want to sit next to Sasha. The upside is that Melanie sat diagonal from him, across from Basira, who didn’t give a shit what he did if she wasn’t using him as a meaningless sounding board for her constant venting. It wasn’t all bad, if he didn’t look too hard at whatever the fuck Martin was doing at any given time.

So he swiveled in his chair as Melanie, Basira, and Sasha disappeared into the library. He stood up to go with her, but Melanie made a gesture that sent him sitting down again. Martin, who was writing something ornate in his journal, snickered.

Six months ago Tim would have snapped at him, but instead he just leaned back in his chair and squeezed his grip trainer. The grind never stopped. “Writing love poetry, buddy? In the Romantic tradition or the...fuck, I don’t know any other poets.”

Martin silently held up his journal. The only thing written was ‘murder kill murder’, repeatedly, up and down two pages.

Well. That was enough teasing Martin for one day. He really had no idea how Melanie was brave enough to get Martin to listen to listen to her - or, worse, why he did.

After an hour or so, spent reading Plato and disagreeing with a great deal, Jon slunk out of his office and blinked owlishly at both Tim and Martin, who had been politely minding their own business.

Tim realized - in the same way that, whenever he saw Jon, he was inescapably reminded that he knew what he looked like when he was about to die - that the room was filled with two guys who had tried repeatedly to kill him. Fuck, he was probably uncomfortable. Good job, Tim. Way to keep terrorizing people. But he really wasn’t capable of doing anything else, so it was hardly a surprise -

“Hullo, Martin. I’m picking up some food from the vending machine, do you want anything?”

Oh. They were going for ‘disturbingly banal’ today. Martin smiled shyly at Jon, who blushed in response. “Surprise me. Thanks, Jon.”

“Want any razor blades in the apples?”

“You know that’s a myth, Jon,” Martin said disapprovingly. Or maybe not.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“You are the sexiest guy I’ve ever met,” Martin whispered.

Then Jon flushed, and leaned casually in what he probably thought was a hot pose and unfortunately totally was against Martin’s desk, and Tim was subjected to their absolutely fucking atrocious flirting for the next ten minutes. At that point, Tim found his breaking point and left the Archives, the terror of being in semi-public outweighed by the terror of Jonmartin. That was what Basira and Melanie kept calling it. He really didn’t know what that meant, but whatever.

But after fifteen minutes of standing in front of the vending machine himself, quietly overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of choices and colors and flavors and sugar, he heard someone else approaching. He snapped his head to the left to see a gawky, hunched scarecrow slouch down the hall, raising a hand apologetically. That man put no effort into his appearance, how as he still that hot -

Maybe Jon and Martin were normal, Tim secretly wondered, and Tim just didn’t understand gay courting rituals. He had to find out, right? How do you flirt with guys? It wasn’t as if he could practice with the two guys in the office. Especially Martin. Tim had never really paid a lot of attention to him before he came back to life, writing him off as a beta male - which ended up being so hilariously incorrect it forced Tim to sit down and reconsider his entire framework of alpha and beta males. Melanie had given him a sticker.

“Uh. Hey.”

Tim stared at him blankly.

Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “How...are you?”

Tim blinked at him.

“Well. I would, er, enjoy using the vending machine.”

Oh. Obviously. Tim stepped aside, cheeks burning, and silently let Jon punch in the code for a Mars Bar (for Martin, probably) and a granola bar (because an alarm went off on his desk if he didn’t eat a snack at 3pm).

It wasn’t their first time being alone together since he came back, but as Tim had been more or less catatonic at that period in time he was inclined not to count that. Jon hadn’t seemed scared, anyway. Probably. Tim hadn’t paid much attention.

He should do this. He had to do it. It was all about making up for the shit he did, right? He had to face this. Then Jon would forgive him, not that he had to, and - and something vaguely good would happen. He would find that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and the hunger would go away, and the intrusive thoughts would be all gone. Melanie would give him another sticker. Or something.

“You can go for it, you know.”

Jon whipped his head around, shocked at Tim addressing him directly for the first time in a very long time. “What?”

Idiot. If this guy had been in a single fight in his life, he’d eat his hat. From what Jon had seen of his childhood friend, Georgie’s girlfriend who he hated for absolutely no reason, she had probably defended him from every bully. It was almost cute.

“You can get a good one in,” Tim repeated slowly. He turned his cheek. “Promise I won’t punch back or anything.”

“I - do you mean punch you?” The Mars Bar rattled down the machine, dropping heavily into the tray. “Why would I do that?”

Jesus, the guy was thick. “Do you remember when I kidnapped and tried to kill you, or is that just me?”

Jon blinked owlishly at him. “Lots of people try to kill me.”

“Don’t you want to?” Tim cried, a little bit higher and a little bit louder than he intended. “Come on, as if you’ve never wanted to do it? Wouldn’t it help? You got in a week of being a passive aggressive asshole, that isn’t enough. It doesn’t make up for anything. This would.”

“How would that fix anything?”

Tim’s breath hitched. But Jon was just staring, as if he could see right through him. Maybe he could. “What?”

“How would hurting you make me feel better?” Jon repeated slowly. “It won’t change what happened. Punching you wouldn’t change what you did to me. All it would do is make you feel better, as if that fixes it. It doesn’t. Is that how you solve all of your problems? That explains a lot.”

His breath was coming faster, hitching again. He couldn’t control it. “I’m trying to do you a favor, asshole.”

“No, you’re trying to make yourself feel better.” Jon smiled politely and, before Tim could jerk away, clapped him on the shoulder. “I forgave you a long time ago. Not because of you. But I just didn’t want it hanging over me. I gave myself closure and moved on. Sometimes bad things happen to us, and we have to get up the next day and go to work anyway. My friends helped. My family did too. I’m sorry you don’t have that, Tim. You’ll get closure one day.” Jon looked thoughtful for a second. “I mean, getting closure about being almost killed one time must be a lot easier than dealing with the fact that you killed fifteen people in your life? Twice that supernatural people, I think. You know you’re technically a serial killer? I won’t judge, this is a safe space, but I thought you ought to know.”

Somehow, inanely, all Tim could think of to say was, “It’s not serial killing if it’s part of your job.”

“Which is why I’m sure you took that job,” Jon said brightly. “Let’s get back to the office before Martin decides to amuse himself.”

For a second, just for a second - or two, or ten, or a minute - Tim vividly imagined himself ripping Jon’s throat out. Killing him properly this time, putting that look on his face again. It had felt so good, and - and it had made him feel so bad, but that felt good too, and he still didn’t know why, and he wanted to eat Jon so bad. Jon, who was innocent in everything, gentle and kind. Nothing like Tim. That was why everybody liked Jon and hated Tim.

From what he had heard, while Tim was going insane hyperfixating on the chase a few years ago, the girls had spent ages talking Jon down from a breakdown and steering him away from the same path that Tim had barrelled down. Who had done that for him? Sasha made a big show of keeping his head level, but she had used him just as ruthlessly as he had used her. She never had an investment in keeping him sane; just functional.

If somebody had done that for him, would he still be cruel?

They went back to the office, and Tim pretending that the hunger swirling in his gut was just self-hatred. But, then again, they really were the same thing.

When Melanie came out of the library with Basira and Sasha on her heels, talking quietly about some new scheme they were cooking up, Tim found himself reaching out to her. Melanie smiled and squeezed his hand, before gently heckling his choice in literature.

Some stupid part of him - maybe even a large part - thought that once he was clasping Melanie’s hand again, the hunger would quiet down. It had protected him underground, it felt as if it should protect him in the world above.

But it didn’t, and it didn’t solve anything, and Tim tried not to think about the fact that he was slowly unwinding, and that he didn’t want to see what was inside him when everything that was Tim Stoker fell away.

***

A short yet tumultuous time later, Tim was called into Jon’s office.

He hadn’t wanted to come to work. But the alternative of stewing at home - Melanie’s flat - was much worse, and Basira had reported that too many skip days made them all way too sick. Might as well come in. Melanie had spent the night at Georgie’s - like she had the past two days, what a fucking coincidence - so he didn’t have to worry about that awkwardness.

After too long memorizing the face after too many sleepless nights, Tim could imagine it vividly. Soft, uncreased, innocent of how hard the world could be. Tim couldn’t bear it. He had to ruin it. He just couldn’t bear it.

He was the first one in the office, so it was easy to see the poisonous death glare Basira shot him when she walked in. So Melanie had told them - of course she fucking told them, she hadn’t done anything wrong, she wasn’t obliged to lie. Daisy was hot on her heels, and she actually properly snarled at him before Basira pulled her back while somehow giving the full impression that she wanted to do the same thing.

He should probably go hide in the library before Martin came in. He couldn’t decide whether or not this was worse than the shunning. The shunning had driven him absolutely crazy, but at least he hadn’t been legitimately afraid that Martin would stab him and that nobody would stop him.

There was the faint sound of raised voices in the cowpen. Tim knew that they were arguing about him. He already knew what they would decide - wait for Melanie’s verdict. But are you sure she isn’t too close to this? No, she knows the fucker better than anybody else, she would judge if they needed to do anything. What are we going to tell Sasha? The truth, fucking obviously.

Sasha. Tim wanted her to be surprised. He knew she wouldn’t be. That hurt more.

After what felt like an infinite amount of time but he knew was only a few hours, pouring over Sasha’s collection of Vast and Spiral Statements, he heard the library door open. It was Jon, standing at the threshold, and all Tim could think was - oh, man, here we go.

It was a regular walk of shame into Jon’s office, and he couldn’t miss the way everybody’s heads snapped to look at him. Sasha, just as he thought, looked resigned. Melanie was frowning.

Jon’s office was the same as ever, not that Jon went in too frequently. The only strange thing about it was that Jon locked the door behind him. Tim didn’t know what that boded, but it wasn’t good.

Well, might as well take control of the situation. He collapsed on the chair in front of his desk and propped his boots on Jon’s desk, wishing he had a drink to obnoxiously sip. “Is this the part where you threaten me?” He affected a fake baritone, somehow still not even hitting Jon’s register. “ ‘Touch her again and you’ll answer to me’. ‘Stay away from her or you’ll face the consequences’. Come on, I’ve read a thousand creeps the same riot act. Get it over with.”

Jon sat down heavily in his office chair. The office had chipped in to buy him a new one as a birthday gift, much more comfortable than the old one. But he was leaning forward now, arms folded on the desk.

“Would that make you feel better?”

Great, this again. “Yeah, it evokes the emotionally absent father I was raised with,” Tim snarked. “If you aren’t going to say it, what am I in here for?”

He was afraid to know what he was in here for. Melanie had told him that if he did it again, she’d sic Jon on him. And Tim knew what it looked like when Jon was sicced on someone. This wasn’t it.

“Tim,” Jon said seriously, and he was somehow kind about it. “You know what this looks like, right?”

Something ugly and ashamed twisted in Tim’s gut. He fought the urge to sink in his seat. “Yeah.”

“You know why we’re worried now.”

“Yeah, I know.” Tim looked fixedly at the wall, unwilling to meet Jon’s eyes. “I - I’m not going to do it again. I swear. And - and it wasn’t like that. I promise. I’m not - I’m not a creep, okay? Ask Sasha. I’ve never - I’ve killed people, but that’s not nearly as bad as - I’m not going to do it again. It was a mistake.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Tim’s head snapped back to Jon, and before he could think about it he found himself half-rising from the chair. Jon’s cold stare had him sitting back down again, but his heart was thumping a drum in his chest. “Then what do you want?” Tim just barely restrained himself from yelling, knowing that the girls were probably listening at the door anyway. “What can I do to convince you that’d rather chop off my own hand than hurt her?”

“You can give your permission to let me ask you some questions.”

Tim faltered. “What? Just questions?”

“Uh.” Jon waved his hand in a circle in the air, as if that meant anything. “You know. Questions. I haven’t really done it since - since I think I did it to you? But I think I can do it on command now. I don’t like to.” His eyes sharpened, and for a second Tim could have sworn that they glimmered. “But I can’t take a chance. Not on this.”

It was like he was falling again, through that infinite void that was the last taste of freedom he had thought he would ever have. It was like he was suffocating again, a mile of dirt piled on his chest, banging incessantly at the lid of the coffin. Nobody saved him, until she did. He was distantly aware that he was barely holding back hyperventilating, but all Tim could feel was dissociated horror.

“You - you can’t. Jon, I - I won’t do it again, you can’t.”

Jon’s mouth twisted into a frown. “I won’t if you give me a flat no. I don’t like doing it.” That was a lie and they both fucking knew it. “But if you don’t, we can’t trust you again. We’d convince Melanie to let you stay with Martin. We wouldn’t leave you in the same room together. You’re not stable, Tim. It’s obvious. We thought it was harmless - or, at least, the only person you were hurting was yourself - but it’s not anymore. We’re all scared. I don’t want to hurt you just because we’re scared, but Melanie is the only one here who couldn’t really defend herself if you decided to do anything else to her.” He grimaced slightly. “Not that she admits it. She always puts herself between us and any enemy. But we have to pay that back. I know you understand.”

He did.

Hate burned in his stomach. What a hypocrite. Giving all of that big talk about choice and options. He knew that there was no option, not if they were going to rip him apart from the one person who he felt safe with.

The one person who wasn’t safe with him.

Tim deserved this. Even if it had been his worst fear a year ago - well, Tim had experienced much worse than that since then.

When you did shit to other people, you make up for it. You make sure that you can’t hurt anybody else again. Jon was right - gestures didn’t mean anything. He had to commit. He had to improve, be better. Otherwise he’d be sent straight back down to that place when he died, and there would be no saving him.

“Yeah,” Tim said, mouth dry, “you can do it. But - but no personal questions this time, okay? Just stick to the subject.”

“They seem to always end up a bit personal,” Jon said apologetically, “but I’ll try.”

Deep within Jon, inside of the unassuming and kind and gentle man, the subject of Tim’s nightmares rose. His eyes flashed green, then shined with a bright and sickly radioactive green. His hair strained against its bun and fuzzed at the end, but it didn’t break free.

“What’s your name, Tim?”

The worst part about the compelling, Tim had decided long ago, was that you didn’t feel brainwashed.

You felt exactly as if you were talking normally, that there was nothing strange about Jon or you. His words didn’t ring with a mysterious power. If you had entered it thinking you were talking of your own volition, you probably wouldn’t notice. But if you knew what was happening, the curtain was lifted, and you were deathly aware of the way the words were ripped out of you with fishhooks. It left Tim gasping, straining for air.

“Timothy Ji-hoon Stoker,” Tim said, and it was almost as if he wanted to. “My dad just calls me Ji-hoon though. So do my grandparents. My last name’s made up as fuck - I think Mom just saw a book at the airport and picked it out from the cover. Kind of ironic, considering everything.”

“Oh, really? Daisy says that she got Tonner because her English wasn’t great and she misheard someone at the airport asking her for a tenner - right, right.” Jon coughed. Wait, was the reason why Daisy barely talked when he first met her was because her English was bad? “On topic. Tim, do you want to attack Melanie again?”

“Of course not,” Tim burst out, and these words, at least, came easy. “I love her. I hate hurting her, I hate how I’m constantly fucking up and doing it anyway. I’m just violent and I don’t know how not to be violent. It’s the only way I deal with things, being violent, and I know it’s eating me up inside but I just can’t stop it. But if there’s one person who can help me stop, it’s Melanie. She’s going to fix me, I know it.”

The words were unbelievably humiliating, the kind of thing that Tim had never wanted to admit, but Jon’s expression didn’t change. Tim wanted to look away, to pretend that this was just an internal narration and that he wasn’t telling this his fucking coworker, but he found himself incapable. Their gazes locked, and Tim couldn’t pull away.

“Why did you do it?”

“Because I was scared, and I hate being scared so much. It’s what I always do, ever since I was a kid - I would get scared, and I would try to hurt something or someone about it. I did it to you, I was so scared of you that I obsessed about killing you and covered it up with some bullshit about justice or Sasha. It was just about me, it’s always been selfish. But - but- but -” The words were sticking in his throat, coagulating on the wound ripped open by Jon and his fishhooks. “But I hate her. I hate that I care, and I hate that I need her, and - and I don’t think I did it just because I was scared. I think I did it because I was scared, and I love her, and I hate her, and I’m beginning to think I have some kind of weird complex about women because of my mother’s overly dependent narcissistic personality and my father’s emotional detachment -”

“You just now figured that out?” Jon asked incredulously. “Sorry, you just now started realizing that your toxic masculinity controls your entire justification for your actions?”

“I’ve known for a while but I’ve been repressing it,” Tim said hurriedly, forced to answer that one despite Jon probably intending it as a rhetorical question.

Jon stared at him for a second silently, giving Tim time to catch his breath and try to control his breathing. He was one bad step away from a panic attack, and his hold was still clenched on this throat like a fist. Danny had done that to him one time, the son of a bitch, and he had never forgotten. Should he tell Jon that? Does he have to?

“Tim,” Jon said finally. He looked very uncomfortable, but also resolute. As if he didn’t want to ask, or maybe he just didn’t want to know, but he felt as if he had to. “Are you in love with Melanie?”

Tim opened his mouth to answer him, and found that he couldn’t.

The strange and evil magic didn’t like that. Whatever Tim wanted to say, if there was anything to say, it caught in his throat and made him gag. It choked him. He was well acquainted with the feeling, but it sent him into a panic anyway. His breath started shuddering and heaving, his vision swimming, and he kept on answering his mouth to answer because you have to answer but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t, he didn’t know how -

“Forget it! Forget it, Tim, don’t worry about it! Tim, what’s your favorite color? Tim, your favorite color! Answer me!”

“Grey!” Tim cried out. “Grey, it’s grey!”

He didn’t so much stand up from his chair as fall out of it. He didn’t so much let himself sit on the ground as found himself incapable of moving. He just breathed, waiting and waiting to spit up dirt and grime and rocks, but nothing happened. It was just a panic attack, because his hell was within him, and there was no escape.

No escape. There was no escape. Not from what he’d done in his past, not from how badly he’d hurt Melanie and Sasha, not from how he would inevitably hurt them in the future.

You had to cut out the evil things in this world. One bad apple spoils the bunch. When criminals are left to run wild, they corrupt and destroy society. Evil had to be eliminated. Evil people shouldn’t exist.

Evil people shouldn’t exist. It wasn’t a new thought for him. Neither was the thought after that. It was a thought he’d had for a very long time - before he even met Melanie, before he even admitted it.

“Tim, are you alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

After a few heart-wrenching seconds, Tim found himself calming down enough to answer. “You meant to. You just didn’t want to. I made you do this.” One bad apple spoils the bunch. “Is - is that enough? I can answer more -”

“No, that’s enough,” Jon said quickly. “It’s - it’s not my place to pass judgement on you, Tim. And your, uh, disturbed thinking. Melanie - anyway, we’ll work on it.” He smiled weakly, placatingly. “I’ve been there. The others helped. If it wasn’t for them, I’d be - I don’t know where I’d be, but I’d be a lot worse off. We can help you too. If you let us. I know it’s scary, but it’s worth it. I promise.”

“Right,” Tim said. “Can I go now?”

When he left Jon’s office, everybody was at their desks. He knew what the guilty expressions when they all pretended they hadn’t been eavesdropping, but they weren’t wearing them now. Maybe everybody had grown up a bit recently.

Tim slunk into the library, and for good measure locked it behind him. He pulled out a thick stack of books, a teetering pile of Statements. He needed to research. There was a decision he had to make, and he needed as much proof as possible and a well-laid plan. It wasn’t quite a hunt, but it was close. It wasn’t quite the apocalypse, but it was his own.

But, of course, it was a lie. Tim had made his decision a few minutes ago. He had made it a long time ago. He kept making it, every time. Everything else was just justification.

It wouldn’t fix anything - but it’d make him feel better.

#my writing #the magnus archives #tma #tma fanfic #hunt!tim #timothy stoker #melanie king #sasha james #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #this one's a roughie try not to read it if you're in a bad place right now #danny stoker #also keep in mind that tim absolutely one of the most unreliable narrators ive ever written if not the most #it was incredibly fun #anyway enjoy

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awienersoldier · 3 years

Text

Consequences Of a Macho Battle

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy; Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley

Warnings: infidelity, minor Ron bashing, mentions of sex

---

Hermione pushed the last bobby pin into her hair in yet another desperate attempt to keep her curls in place and somewhat put together looking. She narrowed her eyes at the reflection in the mirror in front of her, seriously doubting her success.

“Ready, Mione?” Ron leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom, blindly trying to fix his tie. She sighed and nodded, turning to him. Hermione swatted his hands from the tie and proceeded to untie it and do it up again. No matter how many times she showed him, he would never get it right. It was a small thing, but it piled up with dozens of other small things and she felt more like his mother than a fiancée.

A fiancée.

“Thank you. I would be lost without you.”

She pressed him a smile, squeezing herself past him at the door. She swallowed everything she wanted to say when he squeezed her arse as she walked by.

Hermione had no idea when and how this happened. They just drifted apart, and it seemed like she was the only one to notice it. Ron continued living in his delusion and blissful ignorance. And she was enabling him. She was staying with him out of habit, it was comfortable, and it was safe. But there was no fire, passion… She would need to dig deep into her memory to pull out the last time she felt butterflies with Ron.

The relationship became a chore and not even an enjoyable chore such as gardening. It was slowly killing her.

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh, slipping off her dressing gown. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She treated herself to a new lingerie set, while out a few days ago. The color was maybe a bit too on the nose, but it looked great against her skin tone. She was not sure what will make him happier – the color or the fabric, well, lack thereof. She forced herself to put her dress on. The clock was ticking, and she could spend hours upon hours thinking about all the ways her undergarments can come off.

“Allow me.”

Ron’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She met his stare in the mirror as he approached her, reaching for the zipper on her back. He slowly pulled the zipper up, his knuckles grazing her bareback. Hermione kept looking at him in the mirror. She questioned how can she be so cruel to lie to him every day and not bat an eye. And lie so effortlessly too, it came as second nature to her. She hated that revelation about herself. She was the Golden Girl; this wasn’t supposed to be her.

The man… No. The boy in the mirror would do every last thing for her and yet it wasn’t enough in her eyes. She came to the realization that she needed a man. She wanted a partner, not an overgrown child to look after. Acts of service were the larger part of her love language as she came to realize, but at no point did she fantasized about becoming second Molly Weasley.

Ron wrapped his arms around her waist, connecting his lips to her neck. Hermione let her head fall to the side. She was supposed to feel something at this very moment, but all she felt was a bottomless pit in her stomach, knowing she wanted that to be someone else.

“We will be late, Ron,” she forced out. Ron murmured something against her, leaving a wet trail of kisses up her neck, his hands wandering up her front, pulling the skirt of her dress up her thighs. “Ronald, I am serious. We don’t have time for this,” she slipped out of his arms, straightening out her dress.

Ron frowned at her. “We can be a little late. No party really starts till the Golden Trio is complete. C’mon Mione, loosen up,” he murmured, reaching for her to pull her closer.

Mione, loosen up became the red flag for the bull inside of her. “You are an ass, Weasley,” she shook her head, pushing his hands off of her waist. And you are not him. “Can you for once take no for an answer? I will not loosen up if you are constantly pushing my boundaries! I am so unbelievably tired of it!” Hermione’s chest was heaving, she took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. “I’ll be downstairs by the Floo and will be leaving in 5 minutes if you want to come with me. Otherwise, see you at the Gala.”

“Hermione! You are here, thank god!” Harry rushed towards her as soon as she set foot inside. He was on the run from all the social vultures. Landing a kiss on her cheek, stopping in his tracks when he went to greet Ron and noticed the empty space. “Where’s Ron?”

“Home. Having another of his hissy fits when things don’t go his way,” she breathed out, frustrated. “I am sure he will show up later,” Hermione muttered while she scanned the room. Seeing everyone but not the one and the only person she wanted to find right now.

“Is everything okay?” Harry asked furrowing his brows. “I am thick, Mione, but even I can see that something’s not right…”

She shook her head, stubbornly. “Everything is fine, of course.”

He raised a brow at her, Harry saw right through her. “You are my best friend along with Ron. I can see you are not… right. Both of you. Talk to me.”

“Harry, I am fine. If I ever need to talk, I know where to find you,” she conjured up the most relaxed smile she could.

“Cut the crap, please-”

“Champagne?”

Hermione eagerly grabbed two flutes. “For my fiancée,” she explained shortly to the waiter. “I don’t want to talk about it. Frankly, I don’t want to talk about Ron at all. Happy fifth anniversary of returning from the dead,” she offered and took a sip. Harry sighed, not letting her out of his sight.

“I don’t recognize you,” Harry shook his head.

Shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts, she would often wonder where she will be in a year, in three, in five or in ten years. Needless to say, that the reality and her imagination barely met. It was quite disappointing.

She was engaged to a guy she did not love. She said yes knowing she did not love him. She was sneaking behind everyone’s backs, rolling around in bed with another man. And despite their agreement that it will be just sex, no feelings involved, and no strings attached. She was finding herself falling head over heels for him. Hating herself in the process.

“That makes two of us… I am in a relationship with a boy instead of a man, I am engaged to someone whom I don’t love, and I don’t know how to get out without breaking more than one heart. Is this what you wanted to hear?” she chuckled darkly, throwing the rest of the champagne down her throat. The words came out easier than she anticipated. The anger from earlier still flowing through her veins.

Harry gaped at her, taken aback by how direct she was and partially how unaffected she sounded. He opened his mouth a couple of times to speak but closed it again. “Wow,” he finally said.

“Yeah, right… Wow,” she sighed.

“You have to tell him, Mione. It is unfair to both of you.” Harry seemed to take it better than she ever imagined.

“I know…”

Of course, she did know that. But she was Hermione Granger. She never failed at anything, and she still couldn’t admit even to herself that her relationship failed, let alone the rest of the world.

“Talk to him. I am sure he will understand… eventually,” Harry said. He was trying to convince himself of it too. He would be in the worst position. Best friend of both, caught in the crossfire of a relationship going extremely wrong.

Hermione shook her head. Ignorance was bliss, it really was. Maybe he would understand her falling out of love with him, perhaps not even really loving him. But he would not understand her cheating on him. And especially not with the dangerously dashing, tall, blond wizard who just met her eyes across the room.

A smug smirk immediately spreading across his face. He raised a glass in her direction and took a sip.

She, Hermione Granger; the Golden Girl, one-third of the Golden Trio, war heroine, fell in love with Draco Malfoy, rehabilitated Death Eater.

She was doomed.

---

“Potter! Enjoying yourself?” Draco suddenly appeared next to them. Briefly shaking Harry’s hand. “Granger,” he nodded in her direction. She felt like a stupid little schoolgirl, getting all giddy around a boy who didn’t love her back.

“Good to see you, D- Malfoy.”

Harry glanced at her, before looking at Draco. “Likewise. Do you have any news on the planned Ministry Quidditch tournament?” he asked, without skipping a beat or dwelling on her burning cheeks.

“I am afraid I don’t know much more than you do. Seems like the other departments are scared of our strong team or perhaps struggle to find their brooms,” he sneered. Harry chuckled contemplating the offered reasons.

It was odd seeing them talk casually. She knew from Ron that those two actually got along rather well and that annoyed him because Ron still couldn’t stand Draco. They never passed an opportunity to challenge each other to see who is the man. She often wondered why was Ron still allowing Draco to wind him up because the score was unquestionably to his detriment.

“I can see that,” Harry nodded. “Speaking of Quidditch, Ron mentioned you are quite the brutal beater…” Hermione snorted, she heard the story too and it went slightly differently. The two boys glanced at her.

Draco laughed shortly, still looking at her. “I have a hard time believing Weasley said just that. He would never admit I am better than him,” he mused, smirking at Hermione. She gulped. The cheeky bastard. In that department, he was so ahead of Ron, that Ron barely had a visual of him. That’s how ahead he was.

Just the thought made her restless, she stood with crossed legs, rubbing her thighs together. Him being this close and not being able to touch him or having his hands on her was borderline cruel.

“He more likely complained that I knocked his ass down of his pathetic dust sweeper, which he has the nerve to call a broom” he deduced, quirking a brow back at Harry, who chuckled in response, stopping himself as he probably shouldn’t be laughing at his own best friend.

“Oh perfect! Can I get a photo of you all together?” a photographer rushed up to them, on the verge of pissing his pants with excitement. “Where is Mr. Weasley? Oh, nevermind! Miss Granger, can I have you standing between the two gentlemen?”

Hermione could already hear Ron complain about this. She swallowed all her objections, making eye contact with Draco. Harry seemingly stopped existing to him the moment their eyes met. She stood between them, clutching her flute of champagne. Draco slipped his arm around her waist without hesitation, standing closer to her. His hand sprawled over the curve of her waist and a hip.

Future Ron’s complaints just got louder inside of her mind.

She tenses against his side. He leaned to her ear and whispered, “Relax.”

His hot breath on her skin made her shiver. She scolded herself for being so pathetic. But pretending that this man didn’t drive her absolutely crazy was a lost battle. The kick of him being this close in public, right in front of Harry brought another level of thrill, she probably never felt before and yet so desperately craved.

Harry awkwardly grabbed her around the shoulders, shortly side-eyeing her and Draco. As the cameraman went to take the photo, Draco’s hand moved towards the small of Hermione’s back, sliding over the roundness of her ass. That man was walking on thin ice, she forced herself to smile.

“Brilliant! Thank you!” he nodded briefly to them before he rushed off to hunt down someone else. Harry immediately took a step away from Hermione, reinstating some idea of personal space. Draco’s arm lingered for longer, running his fingers lightly up her spine before finally taking a step back too.

“Damn hyenas, am I right?” Harry laughed awkwardly. He looked at them suspiciously, especially narrowing his eyes on Hermione, who decided it was time to finish the second glass of champagne right now.

“Indeed… Actually, I came over to see if I could steal a dance from Miss Granger over here,” Draco asked nonchalantly, extending a hand towards her.

“Would be a pleasure, Mr. Malfoy,” she quipped back, keeping up the overly proper tone and gladly accepted his offered hand. Harry’s eyes were jumping between them as if he was following a Bludger. They left the bewildered Harry behind them, weaving through the crowd towards the dancefloor.

Finding their spot, he spun her before pulling her into his arms. “Are you okay?” Draco whispered as they effortlessly floated around the floor. “You look magnificent, by the way.”

“Thank you,” she said, feeling the heat return to her cheeks. “I- I don’t know how much longer I will be able to keep up with the lies.”

Draco stiffened. “Well… we knew our run will be short-lived,” he said, dryly.

“That’s not what I meant, Draco. I don’t want to end our thing… I want us to continue. I want to break up with Ron,” she explained. This was the worst time and place to discuss any of this, but she wanted to do it till she had the courage.

Draco cleared his throat, searching for words. “You are engaged, Granger.”

“Thank you for reminding me. I would have forgotten without you…” she hissed. “I know I am. But I don’t want to live in a lie,” she said in a hushed voice, slightly irritated by how unbothered Draco sounded.

“Wouldn’t it be smarter to end us?” he asked.

Hermione leaned back to look at his face. Draco’s jaw was clenched, and he was looking off into the distance. “There’s nothing wrong with us…”

“Neither is with Ronald.”

“How would you know? Do you live with us?”

“I know you, Hermione. And there are several things wrong with us in case you didn’t notice. I am an ex-Death Eater; you are the Golden Girl. We shouldn’t be together in any capacity. I will just drag you down…”

She laughed shortly. “Then you don’t know me. My relationship with Ron is dead. I don’t love him. For quite some time. I just don’t know how to get out…”

“Hermione, you got engaged a month ago…” he said, deadpanned.

“Told you, I don’t know how to get out…”

---

“Come with me,” Draco said as soon as the song ended, grabbing her hand, and pulling her with him. She turned around, looking for Harry but he wasn’t in the room anymore. Which was good. She noticed his suspicious looks, he felt something was off.

Hermione tried to keep up with long strides and ended up essentially running after him. They were in some private bathroom. Fancy private bathroom. There was no key in the lock, but Draco was holding the door shut with one hand, and with the other on her shoulder, he was pinning her against a wall.

“Granger…” he sighed, looking at her.

Hermione glanced up at him. “Malfoy.”

“Pull your head out of your ass. You don’t leave a man you love.”

“I don’t love him.”

“You see, exactly- Wait, what?” he furrowed his brows as he realized she did not agree with his previous statement. “Hermione, for the love of god…” He sounded so disappointed with her.

“Please, don’t pretend you care that much about my relationship. If you did, you wouldn’t have been fucking me for the past 6 months. You don’t give a fuck and that’s perfectly fine,” Hermione tried her best to keep her voice down, stabbing his chest with her pointed finger.

Draco stared at her for a moment. “That’s a lie…” he whispered, cupping her cheek. “I do care. I do care about you. So I am asking you to really think about it.”

Hermione leaned into his hand. Her heart was beating out of her chest. She was still staying with Ron because of the fear that Draco is with her just to get back on Ron. She feared Draco would leave her if she wasn’t with Ron anymore.

“I am still with Ron because… Because I am terrified you will stop seeing me,” she exhaled.

Draco’s eyes widened at her confession. Leaning against the door with his shoulder, he spoke softly as if scared of the answer he might get. “You think I- Do you think this is some convoluted plan of showing Weasley up? Do you think that lowly of me?”

Hermione gulped. “No, of course not. It’s fear. Fears are irrational… I- I just don’t want to lose you.”

“I won’t leave you, Granger.”

---

“There you are…” Harry grabbed her hand when he found her about an hour later. He pulled her with him to the balcony. After checking it was empty, he turned to her. “Are you seriously sleeping with Malfoy?”

Hermione shushed him. “Keep your voice down, would you? I don’t need everyone to know.”

“You should have thought about that beforehand then!” Harry snapped at her with a low voice. They clearly were everything but lowkey if he figured it out from one interaction. Harry finding out was actually her biggest fear. She couldn’t predict his reaction. He could swing both ways. He was Ron’s best friend, and she would understand Harry siding with him, but he was also her best friend… “How long?”

Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I didn’t exactly plan this. It just happened and then it kept going. It just snowballed and… Around 6 months.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Ron does not deserve this…”

“And I do? Please, don’t pretend that you had no idea what he is doing. I am not stupid, Harry,” Hermione scoffed lightly. “I lost count of his affairs. I taped and glued my broken heart over and over, only for him to break it again. One day I had enough…”

Harry clenched his jaw but eventually nodded. Clearly, his loyalty towards Ron was stronger than to her, but she knew she could trust him not to say anything.

“Do you love him? Malfoy…” Harry asked. Hermione nodded, mouthing silent I do. “Does he love you?”

“I don’t know… I never told him either. But at this point I am willing to take the gamble,” Hermione admitted.

---

Hermione flooed back to their apartment shortly after midnight. She stood in the living room briefly, listening to the sounds of the apartment. It was quiet. Ron was either out somewhere or asleep.

She tossed her clutch on the kitchen table, taking a deep breath as she looked around. This was home for the past 4 years. They moved here after she threw a tantrum over staying in the Burrow and Molly constantly being on her ass. She gave him an ultimatum – her or his mother. For whatever reason he chose her. Molly had a hard time adjusting but eventually came around to the idea of them having their own space. Not that it put her off of Hermione’s scent, but at least it wasn’t 24 /7.

She did not doubt that Ron loved her, in his own twisted little way. But she wasn’t everything he needed nor wanted.

Ron needed to be admired, worshipped. Hermione couldn’t do that. Not only she wasn’t that type of a person, but she knew him for way too long and way too well for that.

Ron was looking for Molly to his Arthur – he wanted a warm, homely partner, who would patiently wait for him to get home with a warm dinner and a kind word. Hermione wanted a career and was more than happy with a half-assed lukewarm dinner if it meant her life was moving in the right direction.

Draco was more of a partner than Ron ever was.

He was observant and picked up on things Ron wouldn’t even register. For her birthday he took her to Australia to see her parents – her Obliviation spell before the war was too strong and couldn’t be lifted, but at least she was able to talk to her parents as friends. He took her several times since too. Ron probably did not even know what happened to them, he never cared to ask.

Hermione and Draco were very much alike in many aspects – driven, determined, stubborn. They cheered each other on. He never questioned why she wanted to achieve something, but rather tried to help her figure out how to do it.

They fit in together effortlessly as two puzzle pieces. It felt right. They were on the same wave and Hermione loved how easy it actually was to maintain a relationship. With Ron, it was a constant uphill battle. With Draco? They were cruising.

And then there was something else Hermione discovered with Draco. She loved sex.

And this was something Ron couldn’t give to her, being stuck in his little ideas of what relationship is inside or outside their bedroom. Their sex life was more boring than of most married couples with 30 years together behind their belts. She usually just waited for him to be done and roll off of her.

Ron was her first for almost everything so for a moment Hermione thought that it is just the way things are. But Draco made sex exciting and enjoyable; just thought of his hands or lips on her body made her weak at the knees. Contrary to any preconceived ideas – he wasn’t a selfish lover.

“Back already?” Ron’s voice sounded from behind just when she was in the middle of making herself a toast to take the edge off of all the champagne.

“Yes. Think I had enough of alcohol at the Ministry’s expense,” she shrugged, briefly looking over her shoulder at him. “What are you doing up? I assumed you were asleep.”

“Wanted to make sure my fiancée got home safe,” Ron muttered.

Hermione turned around as she took a bite of her toast with a generous spread of strawberry jam over it. “That comes in clutch as I really want to talk to you about something…”

It wasn’t the best time, but she had to pull off the bandage now as long as she had the courage to do so. And before she had the opportunity to overthink Ron’s reaction.

Ron nodded, taking a deep breath. “If it’s about earlier. I am sorry, I was really out of line…”

“It is not… At least not exclusively. I was thinking about it for the longest time,” she started, fiddling with a loose thread on her dress with her free hand. “I want-”

“A baby?”

“-to break up.”

“What?”

“Absolutely not.”

They looked at each in complete silence for what seemed the whole eternity. The latest exchange was just the purest demonstration of how disconnected their relationship was. They arrived at polar opposites of conclusions, working with nearly identical information.

“Why?” Ron finally spoke and to his credit, he looked quite taken aback.

Hermione sighed; it was time to come clean. “I can’t keep doing this. I am tired, Ron. I really am. I am tired of getting home wondering if I will find you our bed with someone else or not.”

“I can change. I will stop-”

She shook her head. “No, Ron, you won’t. I cannot give you what you want, and I realized that at some point. And that’s okay…”

“I love you, Mione. You are everything I ever wanted…”

“I am not. Ron, let’s face the truth. You are looking for a version of your mom. Someone to be home, take care of you, and a ludicrous amount of children. I am not it; I don’t want to be…”

“Tell me what you want,” Ron refused to give up, inching towards her. Hermione stepped out of the reach of his grasp.

“I want you to respect my boundaries for starters,” Hermione said. Ron took a stunned step back. “I cannot and do not want to stay with someone just because it’s convenient. I can’t stay with you because every time you touch me-” her voice trailed off; she couldn’t believe she was about to admit to everything. “Because every time you touch me, I feel physically sick. Knowing that I am laying where Lavender laid, where Pansy slept… I cannot stay with you because every time you touch me, I wish it was Draco. I don’t love you. I am sorry.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as the weight of all the months of secrecy fell off of her shoulders. Ron stared at her in stunned silence. It was deafening. She could hear her own heartbeat, her breathing suddenly seemed too loud.

“What?” Ron finally forced out; his stare still fixated on her. He seemed more shocked by hearing Draco’s name than by the fact she was also cheating on him. “Out of everyone it just had to be Malfoy, huh?”

“Ron, trust me, it is not something that either of us planned… It just happened.”

The ginger wizard scoffed as he paced around their kitchen table, running fingers through his hair. “Don’t expect me to believe that.”

Hermione sighed. “Not everyone is doing things just to spite you, Ron. I am sorry, I really am. But… maybe this is for the best.”

Ron stopped and turned to her, wide-eyed. “For the best?”

“Yes, clearly we don’t work as a couple. We barely talk, we look for sex elsewhere… We are not meant to be,” she breathed out. Hermione did not expect Ron to object so much to the idea of breaking up. He surely must have been frustrated as much as she was. He was supposed to welcome it.

Ron defeatedly sat in the dining chair, squeezing the bridge of his nose, before he found the strength to look at her again. “So Malfoy… Is it just about sex?”

“Ron…”

“I think the least I deserve is some answers.”

Hermione bit her lower lip. “I think I’ve hurt you enough…”

“I want to know, Hermione,” he slammed a hand onto the table, startling her. The anger was slowly bubbling up towards the surface. “I really struggle to imagine that someone so frigid and uptight as you is leaving because of sex.”

Her chin dropped a little at his words, they were laced with venom. “Oh that’s rich coming from you,” she laughed as she snapped out of the shock. “But yes, it started off as purely about sex. Turns out I just need the right partner to enjoy sex. And the best thing? He lasts more than 5 minutes.”

“Get out,” he shot up from the chair, the color of his skin nearly matching his hair. “Get out now. You can come to collect your things when I am not here.”

---

Hermione apparated into Kensington, not far from Draco’s apartment with nothing but just her clutch from earlier that evening. She hoped that Draco would be home already. She shivered, it was May in London, and she was wearing nothing but a strappy silk dress and rather ridiculous heels. She walked up to the main door of his building and knocked on the receptionist’s window, pressing him a smile. The old man knew her. She was here quite often.

“Ah Miss Granger, bit late for a visit, isn’t it?” he asked as he buzzed her in. Yes, Draco Malfoy was living in a muggle building in a muggle neighborhood.

“Bit of an emergency. Is Draco- Mr. Malfoy back?” He nodded as he stepped out of her way, letting her further into the building. “Thank you! Have a lovely rest of the night!” Hermione smiled at him again, waiting for the elevator.

She had no idea what she was doing here, and but she did not know where else to go. It was quite presumptuous of her to show up at his place, and just expect he will let her stay. They never talked about any form of spending prolonged time periods together, let alone moving in together.

Hermione hovered by his door for a few minutes before she found the courage to knock, listening to the sounds coming from inside of the apartment.

“Hermione?” Draco questioned as if he couldn’t believe she was standing right in front of him. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Can I stay?”

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #fanfiction #drabble

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marshmellowedhues · 3 years

Text

The Couples' Discount

The thing is, Annabeth knows Percy.

Annabeth knows Percy from middle school, where he would shyly ask her for a spare pencil every day, his big green eyes flitting from the floor to her face and back to the floor, and his face as red as a tomato.

Annabeth knows Percy from high school junior year, where every lab session involved Percy running late into class from swim team practice, a ball of inexhaustible energy: his legs continuously bouncing under the table as he leaned over to ask her what the atomic mass of carbon was for the third time that day.

Annabeth also knows Percy from across the hall at a freshman party in college, where her friend Jason and his friend Piper first locked eyes with each other and subsequently became inseparable.

Suffice to say, Annabeth is familiar with who Percy is. She just doesn’t think this level of familiarity is enough for her to engage in a conversation with him for five minutes, let alone share waffles with him for one hour.

Yet Percy is standing right in front of her, hands gripping the straps of his backpack as he waits for her response.

“You want us to go to Sveltes’ for waffles?” Annabeth’s right hand comes up to massage her temples as her laptop rests on her left arm.

“Blue ice cream waffles, Annabeth,” Percy emphasises. “Please?”

Anyone who knows Percy knows how much he likes his food blue - blue shakes, blue cakes, blue toppings and blue ice cream… Annabeth once saw his eyes light up when their high school Chemistry teacher told them they were making blue copper sulfate crystals. If Annabeth hadn’t kept an eye on Percy, she was pretty sure Percy would have tried his luck and eaten the crystals.

Annabeth steels herself and avoids Percy’s wide baby seal eyes (no, they’re not adorable at all, shut up) before replying, “No.”

Annabeth turns on her heels and walks down the courtyard as Percy chases after her, whisper-yelling, “But if they think we’re a couple, we can get the couples’ discount!”

Annabeth stops short, and Percy almost bumps into her from the momentum.

“What?”

Percy laughs shakily, before biting his lips, the blush surging from the base of his neck to his cheeks. There goes the tomato, Annabeth thinks with an odd sense of satisfaction. Percy opens his mouth and blurts out his words at the speed of a freight train.

“Yesterday was Valentines’ Day, and Sveltes’ has this wicked two-for-one ice cream waffles deal for couples which ends today, so the only way I can get these waffles is if you agree to…” Percy trails off, his lips pursed.

“Agree to what?”

Percy lifts his shoulders in a half-shrug as his face lifts with a timid half-smile. “Be my girlfriend for one hour?”

“Absolutely not. Can’t you ask anyone else? Piper?”

“Piper works there. Besides, Jason will kill me.”

Annabeth huffs. “Reyna?”

“Reyna will kill me.”

Annabeth snaps her fingers. “Hazel.”

Percy glances back at her, horrified. “I am not going in there looking like a pedophile.”

“We’re seventeen, Percy,” Annabeth grits out.

“She’s fourteen!”

Annabeth throws her hands up. “It’s a three-year difference.”

“That’s still illegal!”

“For what? Getting waffles?”

Annabeth glares at Percy for a few seconds, before Percy sighs in defeat.

“I just really want those waffles, Annabeth.” Percy mutters, training his eyes on the floor.

It makes total sense if she just walks away right now. He asked for something she doesn’t really want to give, and her homework awaits in her dorm. Though that isn’t due till next week, and today is only Tuesday… but she has stuff to do. Kind of.

Annabeth doesn’t know what went through her mind - given her final decision, probably nothing sane - but she hears herself say, “Fine. I’m free after classes at four.”

Percy looks up at her, his green eyes unfairly bright and filled with such a child-like hopefulness she almost felt the urge to slap him and stomp off in both embarrassment and confusion. He grabs both her hands in excitement. “Thank you so much, Annabeth. You will not regret this. I’ll treat you to that strawberry milkshake you like.”

“How do you know I like strawberry milkshake?”

For a moment, Percy’s eyes widens before he rushes out, “You told me sophomore year, okay, see you later, Annabeth!”

He turns and runs down the courtyard, leaving Annabeth to over analyse her very perplexing thoughts alone.

Despite Percy’s reassurances, Annabeth finds herself regretting her decision as Percy pulls the door of the cafe open for her. Annabeth steps in cautiously, cursing herself as she finds the place filled with couples. Maybe if she covered her face by resting her hand against the crown of her head, she could get away this entire hour without making eye contact with anyone she knew.

Luckily for them, they find a seat fairly quickly, and Annabeth busies herself with looking at the menu. She thinks there is a possibility they can just eat their waffles and leave without anyone noticing them, when a bright, excited voice calls out, “Percy!”

Before she could hide her face, Piper, decked in her Sveltes’ waitress uniform, walks towards them, her braided brown locks framing her face as her kaleidoscopic eyes shine in elation.

“And Annabeth’s here too,” Piper grins, then turns to Percy. “I thought you’d never work up the nerve to ask her out!”

Percy’s eyes widen comically. If Annabeth hadn’t felt her heart jump, she would have laughed at how quickly his neck turned red, along with his ears.

“To get the discount.” He blurts out, nodding meaningfully at Annabeth. She tilts her head to the side and raises one of her eyebrows challengingly, settling into a smirk. Percy’s face turns a darker shade of red as both his hands reach out to cup the back of his neck.

“Right, to get the discount,” Piper scoffs. “If that were the case, why did you call me last night--”

“I want the two blue ice-cream waffles and a strawberry milkshake with whipped cream and cinnamon in a large venti cup, please, now!” Percy almost yells.

Annabeth was about to shush him when she heard him recite her usual order. Piper nods and rolls her eyes, muttering something about “that ungrateful little idiot who asked me what he should wear today”.

“You know my order?” Annabeth asks as Percy breathes a sigh of relief. His head snaps up as he stutters, “I-I have a good memory.”

“Do you remember the atomic mass of carbon?”

He scoffs. “Of course, it’s 16.”

“That’s oxygen.”

Percy winces as Annabeth smirks. “So, you’ve been planning this for awhile, haven’t you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Chase,” Percy shoots back. “I really just couldn’t find anyone else.”

Percy launches into a commentary about how waffles are just the best thing the world has ever created, don’t you agree? That quickly turned into an explanation of why he liked blue food so much.

“I placed last for my first swimming competition and my terrible stepfather laughed at me and said I was useless and it would be impossible for me to ever get an Olympic medal,” He shares with an easy smile, hands fiddling the napkin on the table. “So my mother baked a blue cake and told me nothing was impossible as long as I tried my best. A few years later, she divorced my stepfather and we never looked back.”

“That’s very inspirational.”

“I know, I should become a motivational speaker.” Percy replies sardonically.

Annabeth snorts. Conversations with Percy have always been easy, even during high school. Lab sessions were always filled with bad Percy jokes, the kind that out of anyone else’s mouth would have made her cringe and roll her eyes, but she found hilarious when Percy said it.

The good thing about Percy is, he never took himself or anyone else too seriously. He was genuine and self-deprecating, and never really dwelled on one problem for too long. But when he was really passionate about something, he could go on and on about it, and Annabeth finds that he makes even the most confusing marine biology concepts sound understandable.

It wouldn’t be the worst thing on earth to hear him talk about marine biology everyday, Annabeth thinks.

Percy stops short in his ramblings, and a nervous hand comes up to palm his neck. A nervous tick, Annabeth thinks. Cute. Then she feels like plunging her head into the confectionary’s refrigerator because what in the world was that about?

She jolts back to reality when Percy chuckles. “I think I’m talking too much about my major. How about yours? How’s architecture going?”

“Marine biology’s interesting, especially when you explain it.” Annabeth reassures him. “Right now, we’re covering Greco-Roman architecture, and it’s the best thing in the world.”

Percy grins and nods at her to continue. So she launches into an explanation of Doric and Ionic columns and gushes a bit too enthusiastically about the wonders of the Roman aqueducts. Percy listens attentively and asks questions appropriately, and Annabeth thinks that it would be easy to go on more waffle dates with him in the future.

The waffles and milkshake arrive before she can entertain that terrifying thought. Percy oohs and ahhs at the blue ice cream waffles and she laughs at the number of photos he takes of his waffles.

Annabeth is digging into her waffles when a low, hearty voice asks, “Percy?”

Percy’s face brightens as a tall, burly boy stops at their table. “Beckendorf, what are you doing here?”

“Getting waffles with his girlfriend,” Another sweeter voice replies teasingly. “And who’s this, Percy?”

Annabeth glances up to see a petite girl in a pastel pink summer dress with her hands tucked around the arm of a muscular boy in a football jersey and shorts. The girl looks vaguely familiar, and judging by the way her eyes narrow at Annabeth in recognition, they definitely know each other.

“Aren’t you from my psych class? Annabeth, right?” The girl asks.

Annabeth panics slightly, racking her brain for a name. “Silena Beauregard?”

“Yep, and this is my boyfriend.” Silena smiles. “I didn’t know you guys were a thing.”

Annabeth starts, “We’re n--”

“Yeah, we, um, you know,” Percy fumbles with a smile. “We are a thing.”

Annabeth frowns at Percy, who glances at her with pleading eyes.

“How did you guys meet?” The boyfriend - Beckendorf, Annabeth recalls Percy saying - asks.

Before Annabeth could glare at Percy, he replies, “Oh, we actually grew up together, attended the same middle and high school. And as it turns out, the same college too.”

Percy grins as Annabeth forces out a short laugh. Silena cooes at them and turns to Beckendorf, “That is so sweet. When did you guys fall in love?”

Percy chokes on his cup of water, a sure blush forming at his neck. Annabeth maintains her smile as her mind runs a mile a minute while Percy stutters out, “Uh, um, you know, like normal people --”

“Two months ago,” Annabeth interjects. Percy looks back at her, confused. “We were having a double date with our friends,” Annabeth shrugs convincingly. “He was really easy to talk to, and I thought he was really sweet.”

Percy gazes at her, bewildered and with a little bit of wonderment in his eyes that she didn’t understand. What she said was true, Piper and Jason had forced them to a double date, simply because, in their words, they were “the two luckiest people with two of the loneliest friends”.

Annabeth and Percy had protested, but she had to admit that the night had been much more bearable with both of them commenting on the ostentatious fashion choices of some of the diners. Without him, Annabeth would have been stuck watching Jason and Piper hold hands from across the table and gaze into each others’ eyes every few seconds.

Silena grins. “And how about you, Percy?”

Percy blinks and bits his lip. “She makes me happy.” His eyes flit nervously from Annabeth’s face back to the couple.

Percy laughs subduedly as Annabeth clenches her jaw. This was getting too real too fast. Percy’s unexpectedly sweet confession threw her off guard and a strange silence descended upon them.

Silena breaks it, “Well, I’ve never seen you this way before, Percy. It’s a cute look on you.”

Beckendorf nudges her and signals to his watch. She sighs. “Sorry, we have to go now, but we’re actually having a small sorority party this week,” Silena turns to look at Annabeth. “We would love it if both of you could join us.”

“We’ll try our best,” Annabeth replies.

Silena and Beckendorf share a smile, before turning to leave the cafe.

When the couple were out of earshot, Annabeth hissed at Percy, “What was that all about? You could have just told them we weren’t a couple.”

“In case there were Sveltes’ waitresses nearby,” Percy says in a matter-of-fact manner. “If they catch us, this whole meal isn't going to be worth it.”

Before she could protest that very obvious excuse, he stuffs a large chunk of waffles into his mouth and points to his mouth. Annabeth narrows her eyes at him, and for some reason, Percy glances down at his food with a shy, lopsided grin.

After the meal, Percy respectfully insists on walking her back to her dorm on the account of her agreeing to get waffles with him.

And when that didn’t work out, he brought out the big guns. “Annabeth, please, what would my mother say if I let you walk home at this time of the night?”

She snorts. “You would be the type to be a mommy’s boy.”

Percy’s eyes crinkle. “I take pride in being a mommy’s boy.”

The easygoing banter starts again, and Annabeth occasionally catches Percy glancing at her for too long, each time his soft smile causing a lump in her throat and a distinct feeling of warmth on her cheeks.

It isn’t until they are nearing her dorm building when Percy starts talking less, his feet awkwardly shuffling.

“So,” he looks down as he lightly kicks the fallen leaves in front of him. “I had a great time today.”

She smirks. “Okay, I’m leaving.”

“Annabeth,” Percy blurts out, his hands coming up to stop her from leaving, before he thought better and pulled back, hands coming to rest near his body as he fiddled restlessly with his fingers.

She turns back around to face him. “I… I wanted to say that…” Percy closes his mouth, then opens it again, but no sound comes out.

He laughs nervously. Although she knows what he’s trying to do, this knowledge does nothing to quell the warm feeling in her stomach.

“I mean, since middle school, I kind of…” Percy raises his eyebrows meaningfully. “No, I…”

Annabeth almost wants to help him when his eyes catch hers.

“... So, I know this really nice pancakes place just down the street, I might need your help again because I think there’s a couples’ discount there too--”

“Percy, just ask me out.” Annabeth interrupts, exasperated.

“I want to do this properly.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles at him. “Great, we’ll be here all night then.”

#first fic #fluff #definitely fluff #i hope it's cute and brings some joy #the word svelte just came into my mind don't ask me why #pjo #annabeth chase #percy jackson #percabeth

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yekistraight · 4 years

Note

Hey, could you explain what being a feminist means? I’ve heard all these terms before, and there’s this huge stigma around it. So do you think there’s a way you could clarify at least what your beliefs are, and what you believe it to be? I’m simply trying to study stuff and see what it’s become or is. Thank you.

Sorry I wrote so much i just wanted to make it comprehensive:

General definition of feminist is someone who believes in the socio-economic equality of the sexes. In the beginning this was a straightforward ideology to follow. Women needed to be equal to men. It’s only fair, there’s no reason not to be. But sharing power is not something the ruling majority particularly enjoys so there’s been some bumps in the road. Decades and decades of bumps.

The feminists of the past started this push a long time ago with one message: “we want to be taken seriously, we are humans too and we need rights that benefit us and protect us from you[men]” and they were right. Sex based crimes against women were happening at an alarming rate. So much so that it had become part of some cultures and traditions, meaning it would be defended and men would be protected while women basically died, physically and socially. Women lived in fear and helplessness, being sold a dream of subservience promoted by religion and ego in exchange for protection from men. What about the women that still, despite the odds, wanted to choose a different path? Well, they were brave enough to step out of line and others followed. They exist throughout history, inspiring other women will their bravery and confidence, proving that it was possible to have the power and authority that men had. Now imagine giving every woman that access to power? They’d have everything right? Well feminism didn’t start like that (it was racially exclusive actually) but fortunately the ideologies spread out through cities, across oceans and into continents where women wanted, no, NEEDED such power; the power to change their destinies that had been set upon them by another mere human being.

So feminism is like a sisterhood, where we’re only related by a common goal to protect each other while trying to defeat our common enemy. Here’s where the simplistic ideology begins to mutate based on strategy and cultural progression.

Feminism is a sisterhood, but not a monolith. There’s been different waves (eras) of feminism where each sisterhood used different tactics to achieve their goals for equality. Its like making a new checklist after the old one gets checked off. However there’s been one item that still needs a lot of work before ticking off and that’s dismantling gender roles. Gender roles are the root cause of every.single.thing. Toxic masculinity, performative femininity. Gender roles were created to control humans and keep them in their place. For a feminist to push her way into male dominated spaces, she must first acknowledge that gender roles have been constructed to work against her and break through it. So take note, everything is the way it is because of gender roles.

In this era, the sisterhood has been split into two major groups, two warring tribes if you will: libfems and radfems.

Liberal Feminists accept everyone. They use the tactic of assimilation, where they water down feminist ideologies to make it inclusive for everyone. They follow the lead of oppressed minorities who reclaimed slurs and instead reclaim methods tused to oppress women that past waves of feminists fought to dismantle. Remember what I said about gender roles? These women are bringing it back and think they’re reclaiming it. How do you reclaim something that hasn’t been dismantled yet?The only power they’re concerned with is the feeling of superiority that comes from thinking bowing down to the patriarchy is their idea. Their feminism tackles issues like rape, victim blaming and misogyny, things that affect them personally, while taking on the burden of other marginalised groups as their own, pushing their own goals to the backseat while feeling a self-righteous high. Basically, they’re activists who have lost the plot but would keep pushing blindly than admit it. The second group was born from libfems that wanted more than a feel good pat on the back from the patriarchy for not being too interfering.

Radical feminists are still following the original objective of their predecessors. They still have their eyes open to sex-based oppression and are aware there’s still a lot of work to be done. They don’t put the opposite sex’s needs above their own or let other group’s ideologies influence theirs and because of this, other groups as well as libfems have dubbed them as enemies to progress. Ironic isn’t it? The group that still fights for sexual equality has been silenced by none other than their own. Of course hatred for this group of feminists didn’t come out of nowhere. Radfems and their female-only values are presumed to hurt trans women, as trans women are biologically male and don’t have the same sex based experiences as biological women. Trans activists took these as transphobic fighting words and ostracised radfems, silencing them and their ideologies, claiming that everything they fought for was an attack against the trans community. Conservative americans also share some radfem values, basically the one on keeping the movement focused on female only issues, and because the right is notoriously bigoted (ironic because conservatives are the ones who uphold the gender roles feminists fight against so a conservative feminist is paradoxical) this is enough to tell people that radfems can’t be trusted. That they’re all racist, transphobic white supremacists. Because all groups that share similar ideologies are bad. The public, not wanting to be on the Unpopular Opinion side of history, shifted away and further pushed radfems into the background while libfems and their blind acceptance values were hailed as the patron saints of feminism.

So what feminism was and what it is now are vastly different. It started as a movement in different countries with different goals, then it graduated and took on more serious topics. It was like a game where every level gets tougher to prepare you for that last boss, the one who holds all the power you need to physically change your reality.

Today in the year 2021, young girls are being told that it’s feminist to enjoy selling their bodies for money. That it’s the same as working in a mine (a common comparative statement). That it’s feminist to look as womanly as the gender roles men created dictate. That it’s feminist to watch porn and be happy your romantic partner watches it to; this means you’re sexually liberated. Grown women go to Tiktok full of minors in the style of pimps to show off stacks of money they’ve made from pleasing men. They say “i did it because i wanted to and so should you”. Minors are all over twitter trying to lure men with financial dominatrix tags. They can’t wait till they become legal to start selling their nude bodies to men. They were told it would make them feel powerful. People who are skeptical are shamed into silence, because the popular crowd is always in control and no one wants to be the odd one out.

Now compare that to women who spend time researching horrifying news of sexual violence still happening today. Women still having to sell themselves to survive in 2021 is a clear indicator that we’re still not taken seriously. Sex buying, pimping and displaying women as commodities is the reason little girls are being stolen off the streets and shipped off to a disgusting dreg who think he’s owed sexual satisfaction.

Radfems want to end child sex trafficking, sex slavery, wedding night virginity checks, honour killings, femicide, sewing up little girls vaginas to avoid them exploring their sexuality before their wedding night and bring attention to way more hardcore shit being run by top dogs who are cooperating with the old powers that influence the governments.

Whose side do you think the media will be on? Whose side is worth not risking ruffling feathers?

Feminism has become many things now. You can choose the one that reminds you of the cruelty of man or the one that creates a comfortable fantasy of false empowerment while women’s violence continues. Both get stigmatised anyway.

If it wasn’t obvious already, I’m a radical feminist.

I’m an autistic radfem living in a backwards country where the lgbt community can’t thrive so there’s no pride parades, no trans movement, nothing that can be publicised anyway. I can’t create a fantasy where everything works because nothing works. Women are dying around me everyday for being female, my best friend is trapped with an abusive father who hates her for being a female firstborn (something babies get killed for), I’m not worthy of basic respect without a husband, a poor woman from a muslim state gets death threats from her fellow muslims for wearing a backless top while a rich married one gets praised and women can’t apply for anything important without a man’s permission.

Now why on earth would i want to pamper the gender that made and uphold those laws? The battle here is still greatly a battle of the sexes. Despite this stale level of progress, our movement, like many others have allies. Male allies are great, allies are great, we need them to push buttons yes but also remember they can never fully understand what we feel. All they can do is try their best to help and in return we give them acknowledgement and support; so no we’re not supposed to be misandrists or transphobes. We just hate anyone who uplifts what we and our ancestors have been fighting to destroy.

That’s all

#radfems do interact #radical feminism #feminism #terf

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amylillian22 · 4 years

Text

It Ain’t Pretty (Part 2) - Chris Evans Imagine

Word Count: 1,358

Warning: soft angst (Is that a thing?)

Part 1

[My Chris Evans Master List]

Two Months Later

Y/N walked up Chris' front steps and hesitated before knocking on the door. She heard him laughing from the other side of the door as Dodger barked like crazy. For a brief second, she smiled remembering how fond and pure their relationship was. She missed it. Her smile vanished when she heard another dog barking second before Chris opened the door.

"Y/N," Chris whispered, his smile immediately vanishing at the sight of her. He was completely taken by surprise. He wasn't expecting her to show up, especially after their last argument outside her door two months ago.

"Chris, I can't find my keys," a girl shouted from inside his house.

"Umm, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had company," Y/N shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I'll come back another time or if you want, you can swing by my house," she rambled too quickly.

"No," Chris shook his head. "It's okay. Come in."

"I rather not. I really need to talk to you," she paused and bit her bottom lip. Chris realized it must be serious as she was doing all her nervous ticks. Shifting back and forth, her hands in her front pockets, and biting her lip.

"Found them!" The girl shouted. Within seconds she was walking towards Chris with her dog on a leash. Y/N tried not to get jealous, especially since it was the beautiful Aly Raisman. "Mylo and I had a great time. Hopefully they can have another doggy play date," she smiled at him.

"Of course," Chris smiled at Aly. "By the way, Aly, this is Y/N. Y/N, Aly and Mylo are new to the neighborhood," he explained. He knew he didn't need to explain himself to Y/N, but judging by the seriousness in Y/N's tone about wanting to talk to him, he wanted to.

"Hi!" Aly offered her hand to Y/N. "Do you have a dog too?"

Y/N gave her a warily smile as a small pang of hurt shot through her heart. She never had a dog. Dodger was the closest thing to her dog as she was with Chris the day he adopted him.

"No, I don't, but I'm sure I'll see you around."

"I hope so. Any friend of Chris and Dodger is a friend of mine and Mylo's," Aly smiled. "I'll see you guys later. Come on, Mylo. Let's walk home." Aly waved one more time before her and Mylo walked down the sidewalk.

"Please, come in," Chris gestured as he opened the door wider for her to come in.

Although he invited her inside, she still felt weird walking in the house. She saw Dodger on the living room floor, completely exhausted from his play date. However, he immediately jolted up and ran towards her, barking happily and wagging his tail excitedly. They hadn't seen each other since the break up and her heart swelled knowing he missed her just as much as she missed him.

"Hey, bubba," she cooed as she scratched behind his ears and accepted his kisses all over her face.

"Can I get you a glass of wine? I opened one earlier with Aly and I still have a lot left over. I know how much you love white wine," the corner of his lips turned up, giving her a small smirk.

"Umm, no. I can't drink, but thank you," she said.

Chris sat on the sofa, padding the seat next him. She sat down and took a deep breath. Dodger laid down next to her, resting his head on her lap. She massaged his head with her fingertips.

"I can't take the suspense anymore, Y/N, talk to me," Chris broke the silence.

"I need to tell you something, but before I do, I have a question I need you to answer."

Chris eyed her carefully. "Umm, okay. Shoot."

"I need you to promise me to answer truthfully, no matter if it ain't pretty," she pressed on.

Now Chris was more concerned than before. "Of course, now can you tell me what's going on. I'm already thinking the worst."

"Why did you break up with me?" She asked, her eyes locking with his. She saw something in his ocean blue eyes that she hadn't seen before. Fear.

"Y/N..." he lingered. He looked away from her, scared to tell her the truth knowing it would hurt her just as much as it killed him to break up with her.

She carefully reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Please," she whispered.

He looked deep in her eyes and his heart broke. He knew she deserved the truth, especially after knowing how hard their breakup was on her. His eyes welled up as he held her hand tight. "I love you, Y/N, and I always will," he started. "But the night before-" he paused, unable to say the word. She squeezed his hand, hoping it would give him the courage to continue. "Was probably one of the best nights I had."

"I remember. We made love all night and talked about our future in between," she nodded in agreement. "But something changed that night. I know because I saw it in your eyes. I'm pretty sure that's why you broke up with me, but I need you to confirm it."

He nodded. "I want kids. You don't. I have never compared you to any of my past relationships, especially since I knew deep in my heart you were the one for me. But, I know well enough to know when one wants kids and the other doesn't, the relationship is never gonna work. There would be so much resentment and possibly misery if one of us sacrificed for the sake of the other one. No matter how much we love each other."

Y/N eyes welled up and whispered, "I knew it. All this time, I had a feeling that's why you dumped me, but a part of me didn't want to believe that, Chris."

"I'm sorry," he sniffled. "I love you, Y/N, I do, but I want kids. I want a big family. I want them running around the house while I'm playing hide and seek with them. I want to teach them how to play football in the backyard. I want to sing with them during bath time and read them a bedtime story every night. I want to be a dad."

Y/N's eyes were filled with tears as he spoke, knowing how much he wanted to be a dad and to have everything that came with it. "Chris," she whispered. "I love you too, and I always will. I didn't want kids-"

"Don't," he whispered. "Please don't consider the idea of wanting to have kids because of me. I don't want you to resent me."

"It's too late," she whispered. "I'm pregnant. Three months. Our little bean was conceived that night."

"You're pregnant?" He asked in complete shock.

"Yes."

"Are you keeping it?" He whispered, too scared to know the answer.

"I'm not gonna lie. I thought about it, but," her eyes welled up as she let go of his hand and placed it on top of her small growing tummy. "I couldn't go through with it. I couldn't do it to you. And, I couldn't do it to myself. I heard the heartbeat and I saw our little bean, and I fell in love. I'm so in love with our child, Chris, and I haven't even met it yet."

Chris chuckled as his eyes filled with happy tears. He leaned in and hugged her, embracing her with so much love and tenderness with the happy news. He peppered her neck with soft kisses before he moved to kiss her cheek. He cupped her cheeks, looking deep into her eyes. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yeah," she chuckled with tears in her eyes. "I'm scared as hell. I don't know how to be a mom. I might be terrible at it, but-"

"You'll be fantastic," he reassured her.

"So, what's next?" She asked, leaning her forehead against his.

"We're going to be a family," he smiled as he leaned in to kiss her.

#chris evans imagines #chris evans fanfiction #Chris Evans fluff #Chris Evans x reader #chris evans imagine #Chris Evans master list

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coleyholts · 3 years

Text

The ER and the Operation

First off-Sorry I haven’t posted in a while. For obvious reasons, this post took a lot of time to put into words that were relatable.

Trigger Warning: Infant Injury. This is by far the worst part of the entire ordeal. I want the reader to know that none of this is exaggerated whatsoever, and it may be difficult to read. What happened in the ER and trauma center that day has truly changed me.

The glass doors parted in front of me to reveal a line of people waiting to get checked in. This was the first time I cried. They all quickly waved me up ahead of them once they saw that I had an obviously unconscious, super pale, vomit covered infant in my arms.

The helplessness set in when I was required to sign in like everyone else. It’s not like I expect special treatment, but my baby was dying and no one seemed to understand the urgency of the EMERGENCY. There were no nurses coming out to receive a trauma patient. There was no alarm. I stood there, alone, with my rapidly worsening baby, sobbing and screaming for help while dripping in her breakfast and lunch. At this point, she would wake up and pass out again in a vicious cycle. Over and over, I watched her light dim for what felt like an eternity. After what I would rationally estimate to be about seven minutes (48,369,526 years to a scared parent), they finally called us back.

Everyone was taking their time. I wondered if they thought I was being dramatic. Were they rolling their eyes and blaming my emotion on “New Parent Syndrome?” They were. I felt it.

It wasn’t until they FINALLY decided to run vitals that they discovered what I was trying to stress since I had entered the hospital. My daughter had something way more serious going on than any of us expected. We walked (very briskly) down the hall to get a better look at what was actually happening in her head. The tech and nurse cloaked me in protective gear so that I could stay with her. I gently stroked her toes (also known as de peets) as she woke up, cried in pain, and fell back into her trauma-induced sleep while they got all of the imagery they needed.

We were brought back to our room and had a brief moment alone. I held her so tight while I kissed her face and alternated holding her feet and hands. They were so cold. A nurse rushed up to our door, looked at me and said, “make sure to keep her as upright as possible.”

That’s when I knew there was a bleed in my baby’s head.

A team of nurses came in and told me that they were going to start an IV, which actually made me feel relieved to know she would be feeling better soon. This is when Daniel arrived, and being that he is the epitome of girl dad attitude, he understandably doesn’t like to watch her get stuck. He stuck his head in the room and immediately backed out when they tried to start the line. Unfortunately, we found out very quickly that she had no blood in her limbs whatsoever.

They stuck her over and over again just to find air bubbles, which means they were unable to administer any intravenous medication to replace fluids, relieve pain, stop her from fading in and out of consciousness, or do anything to prevent the blood pooling in Natasha’s skull. They decided that her condition was serious enough that she needed a line no matter what it took, which I agreed, which meant that they were going to use a legitimate power tool to drill into her shins to run a line into her bones. I consented and sobbed, knowing the pain my baby had already endured that day was going to be the start of much more, if she survived.

While this was going down, Daniel was right outside the door, unaware of the issues we were running into, he heard a nurse at the nurses’ station ordering a helicopter for an infant, and that the “family wasn’t aware yet.” My husband is a strong, supportive man that is a fixer. If he cannot fix a problem, he expresses himself with (verbal) anger. He comes into the room and says very abruptly to the nurse, “You’re flying her out?! Why?!” to which the male nurse responded, “because there's something seriously wrong and it needs to be fixed.” I saw him escalating with anxiety so I assured him that they were just having a little trouble getting the line in and he returned to the hallway to start the wait for the doctor who was going to tell us what the hell was actually happening to our baby.

When she arrived, the doctor came in with Daniel. She told us that Natasha had fractured her skull, and along with potential brain damage and hemorrhage, we were also concerned about blood loss, as her supply was pooling in her head. The only way to save her life was to get her to INOVA Children’s Hospital for an emergency surgery, on a helicopter that I was not allowed to accompany her on.

Alone with my baby and the nurses, I was so upset. My sweet girl was in so much pain. I made eye contact with a nurse and while sobbing, begged her to please administer anything whatsoever to ease the headache and all of the needle sticks-not to mention the drill. For the first time, someone heard me. She RAN into the hall and managed to bring back Versed, which can be administered nasally to relax muscles and calm the patient. I am given the same drug when I get my back injections, so I was relieved. It also prevents the patient from remembering everything, when administered in proper dosage. It helped Natasha’s discomfort immediately. They gave her the numbing shots in her legs, and while she was dozing and truly unaware of my presence, I stepped into the hallway.

This was the first time since the CT scan that she wasn’t in my arms. This time was different. We knew the severity of the injury and she was being cared for by the entire trauma team of 7+ people. I took one step out of the room, one step to the left, and planted my butt on the wall and hands on my knees for stability while I hung my head in complete disbelief. How could this happen? I opened my eyes and saw my clothing, dripping in her vomit. I can still smell the banana berry baby food she ate without hesitation two hours earlier. I screamed and sobbed as my muscles locked up in my legs and chest, then I felt someone put their hands on me.

I was literally picked up and supported while I shakily stood, completely losing my mind over the guilt and hatred I felt for myself. The drilling began and I let out a sound I didn’t know I could make, while I was held tighter than I’d ever been. I pulled back, just for a second, to look into the eyes of my soulmate and all I could say was, “I’m so sorry.” Daniel pulled me back in, kissed my face, wiped my tears (which really didn’t do anything considering they just kept coming, but the gesture was so kind), and proceeded to tell me that it wasn’t my fault, and that he loves me and he loves that I am his daughter’s mother. In that moment, his anger subsided and he moved to a different headspace. That small exchange is burned into my heart forever and I have never been so incredibly thankful to be his wife.

They helicopter team arrived and they were still unable to get a steady line going. According to their transport regulations, a patient transported by air has to be hooked up to an IV as well as intubated. Time was ticking and my baby was visibly fading. While still in the hallway, we were met by some medical coordinator who was trying to arrange a ride for us while she was in the air. I don’t know how he was able, but after insisting over and over, they let us go. They finally put an IV in my baby’s forehead; there was no other way. They were discreet and covered it but I know what an IV mark looks like after the fact. They could not get her intubated and save her so that (very brave) helicopter team took a huge risk that ultimately got her to INOVA by deciding to take her anyway. WE kissed her goodbye while sobbing and told her how much we loved her. The thought of her dying in flight weighed on us heavily, so we took off as soon as they wheeled her out.

The ride there was crazy. I had no thoughts and all the thoughts going through my head. My heart was nauseous. I set a quick group text to my immediate family. We saw the helicopter fly over us and it was a sigh of relief-knowing we were FLYING down the highway but she would be there faster.

We pulled up to the ER/Trauma Center. I got out and ran in. All I could get out was “Natasha” until they asked my relation and I somehow got out, “my baby...” They valeted the car so Daniel could be with us. They were rushing to get her into surgery. They brought us into the trauma room (families usually aren’t permitted there but there was no time) and pulled up some waiver and permission forms. They briefly explained the surgery, we signed, then it was GO TIME.

We stepped out of the room as the table with my baby strapped to it-full of wires and tubes-flew out of the trauma room. The anesthesiologist made brief eye contact with me, halted the team, and said, “Let her kiss her baby.” He knew she could easily not make it through this surgery. Daniel kissed her and loved her for a few seconds and backed away with teary eyes. I laid my forehead against her cheek. I sobbed and screamed. I kissed her over and over as my tears soaked us. I told her I was so so sorry and that I loved her so much. I wished it was me.

They took her away then. The team saw my raw sorrow. I got a very quick but kind pat on the back and they took off.

We were met by a social worker who brought us to a private room where we could chat and have some water. Of course, we were asked all the suspected child abuse questions, but they got the idea pretty quickly that this was a freak accident.

After the interview, we were brought to a huge waiting room that must have been filled with 100+ seats. We found a spot and the social worker left us. We sat for a moment, touching hands. They we both had to cry, then stand, then pace... The wait took forever, even more so not knowing if she was even going to live.

My brother, Jason works out that way and asked us if we needed anything right at that moment. I was wearing a paper shirt provided by a nurse, so we gave him a small list and he stopped by. He and Daniel stepped out for some fresh air while I sat breathing deeply and trying not to worry myself into another panic episode. Then, an actual angel emerged from the hospital doors.

Dr. Leon Moores, a pediatric neurosurgeon at Pediatric Specialists of Virginia performed the emergency surgery. I called for Daniel as Dr. Moores hugged me so tightly. I didn’t know if this was a good or bad hug yet.

Daniel and Jason walked (ran) back in and sat with us to hear the outcome. He told us that he was able to remove a blood clot the size of his fist from Natsha’s skull and that her vitals were wonderful. So she had 100% survived the surgery. Next was about brain damage, and by some miracle, her brain remained unharmed. Dr. Moores saved my baby.

While they were getting her settled into the PICU, Jason took us to Target to get some clothes and snacks. We had no idea how long this journey was going to be. We got back to the hospital, gave gigantic hugs, and went up to see our baby as she woke up.

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whatcouldgowrong-ohthat · 4 years

Text

Between the Ink and Papers Ch. 5

Summary: Steve and Peggy have been divorced for a year and Sarah is still starting to find her groove in it. However, it becomes a lot easier when she and Typhanie realize it might be time for her dad to start dating again.

Pairings: tattooartist!dad!Steve x Reader, Typhanie x Sarah, Peggy x Logan, Bucky x Natasha

Word Count: 2095 words

Warnings: Snarky Steve! And a bit of angst? Because there’s a fight...it happens...But I don’t know if I would count it as angst??

Between the Ink and Papers Masterlist - Masterlist to Other Works

Previous Chapter

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Three parents and one counselor. The tension was…exhausting. And they’d only been here a minute. Oh, what Y/N would give to kick all three of them out. “So…” She looked from the married couple to the single dad. “Since this is Mr. Roger’s first meeting, who wants to play catch up?” Y/N opened her drawer, pulling out a file.

More silence.

Y/N glanced from one parent to the other. Her fingers ran over the papers. How was it these three adults managed to act less mature than the students she worked with?

“Okay.” She closed the file. “We’re not doing this.”

Peggy frowned. “Ms. Y/L/N – “

“No. I need honesty from all three of you. Clearly Mr. Rogers wasn’t informed of our meetings and I don’t appreciate the lies.” She grabbed her mug, running her thumb over the lip. Leaning back in her chair, she reminded them, “I’m not on any parents’ side in this matter. I am here helping Sarah. Remember? The girl who didn’t talk for two months.” She looked at Peggy and Logan. “The one who ran away when she found out you two were dating. I’m here to help her. Okay?”

Steve barely managed to contain his smile, glancing from her to his ex-wife. As much as he enjoyed seeing Y/N call her out, he was curious about Sarah. “How’s she doing?” He sat back in his chair, intertwining his hands.

“She’s making a lot of headway. Her grades have improved and teachers say she’s interacting in class again. The thing I really want to focus on is the anger. I’m still working on getting her to journal, but I think that if she starts writing down her emotions, then it will help her learn to process those feelings.”

Steve frowned, adjusting in his seat. He looked at Peggy and Logan. What was she talking about? He’d seen moments when Sarah had reacted, sure, but he wouldn’t say she had any sort of anger problem. “What’s she talking about?”

“Sarah still hasn’t warmed up to me being in the picture.”

Steve snorted, a wry smile curving his lips. “A year and still nothing. That just might be because she doesn’t like you, Logan.”

“Can we please not do this, you two?”

“Why not?” Steve shrugged. “You left me for him. And I kept your secret. It’s not my fault that Sarah seems to think it’s still a bad idea.”

Logan hated how all of this went down. He and Steve used to be friends. Good friends. And he wanted to get back to that, but it seemed impossible. “Steve, c’mon. Can’t we just fix this?“

“How would you recommend doing that?” Steve laughed. This was unbelievable that Logan thought it was such an easy fix. “Seriously, I’m curious.”

“Hey.” Y/N waved a hand, determined to get their attention. “Hello? This…” She gestured to the three. “This isn’t my expertise. And honestly? Seeing this? A lot of things make so much more sense.”

Peggy frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“She isn’t an idiot. She can see how you three behave and she mirrors it.” Y/N sighed. “If you want her to stop focusing on the negatives in this situation, you three have to learn how to see eye to eye.”

What Y/N had to say stayed with Steve even as he left the school. How much of a brave face had his daughter been putting up? Why did he feel so in the dark?

“Hey, man, you alright?”

Steve blinked. He realized he had zoned out and that Sam had been trying to get his attention. “Sorry.” He ran a hand over his face, trying to push past those negative thoughts. He had to get out of his head. If he didn’t, talking to Sarah about it would be a disaster.

“Where’s your head at?”

Steve looked towards Sam. He was grilling, getting ready for their monthly barbeque where everyone got together. It was one of their favorite events.

And yet Steve wasn’t excited.

He glanced at his beer, taking a much needed drink. “I found out that Peggy and Logan have been meeting with Sarah’s counselor.” Another drink. “Apparently it’s been going on for a while.”

Sam paused. He couldn’t believe he heard that right. “And you never went?”

“I didn’t know about it. Peg never told me.”

With that, Sam reached for his own beer. He shook his head. “Damn.”

“Yeah. So now I’m learning my kid has anger issues and it’s because she sees the tension between all three of us.”

Sam chuckled. “She’s always been passionate, Steve. Anger isn’t exactly surprising.”

“I never see her like that, Sam. She’s my wild child, sure, but I’ve never had a reason to think she’s angry.”

He nodded. Steve was a good dad. To hear he was missing a chunk of his kid’s life…Sam couldn’t imagine the guilt he was feeling. “She’s swimming right now, doesn’t she? Head over there. You can talk then instead of having her meet everyone here.”

“You don’t mind if I skip helping you this time around?”

Sam snorted. “What help were you? Staring off into space and risking my ribs burning?” He took another swig, his smile almost splitting his face in two. “Get out of here. She’s your kid, Rogers. I know how much you love her. She needs to know too.”

Steve grabbed his jacket. “Thanks, Sammy.’

“Yeah, yeah.” He watched Steve leave just as Typhanie poked her head outside. “Hey, kid. Wanna help out?”

Her nose scrunched as she looked at the grill. She hated that thing. “I’ll stick with picking the music.”

He chuckled as he listened to the back door close. Pouting to himself, he started to dramatically sing, “I’m all alone…There’s no one here beside me…”

The smell of chlorine was overwhelming. Enough to make a person’s head spin and then some. But Steve wasn’t paying it any mind. He listened to the rush of water. Kids were laughing, heading to the showers. Steve moved out of their way. He was careful walking on the drenched floor, stepping into the indoor swimming pool. He was just in time too, catching a glimpse of Sarah’s reverse twist off the diving board.

The door closed behind him just as she met the water. She took off like a speeding bullet. Unable to look away, Steve took a seat on the bleachers. His thigh brushed her backpack, knocking it over. It hit the metal with a loud thud and he winced.

“Fuck,” he hissed. Gathering it up, he noticed the journal Y/N had mentioned. It was opened, today’s date scribbled in the corner and no passage. He closed his eyes, tucking it into her backpack before zipping it shut. She really was struggling.

He looked back to the water. She’d already reached the end of the pool, twisting and turning to finish the lap. Always so strong. Steve was amazed by her abilities.

However, when she finished the lap and took her goggles off, she was shocked to see him there. “Dad?” She lifted herself out of the pool, immediately grabbing her towel. Her eyes shifted to the clock hanging on the wall. “I’m not supposed to be out of here for like…twenty more minutes. Everything okay?”

Steve chuckled. She was always so curious. Always had to understand everything. But then his amusement fell short. Was it because she was naturally inquisitive? Or was it because of what he and Peggy had put her through?

“I thought I could pick you up this time.”

Sarah snorted. “You realize we’re walking either way, right?” She started using the towel to dry her hair. When he raised a brow at her attitude, she winced. “Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you.”

Steve shook his head. “It’s fine. I get it. Um…actually – “

She raised a brow, mirroring the look he had just given her. “So there was a reason.”

“I saw your counselor at school today.”

Sarah nodded. “Cool.”

Steve watched her carefully. She seemed so…fine. Was she really so good at hiding it? “Did you know your mom and Logan were meeting with her?”

“Yup.”

Steve clenched his jaw. She knew. She knew and she didn’t say anything. She didn’t offer for him to go. Nothing. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sarah shrugged. “I thought you knew. Besides, you’re not the parent struggling here. I guess I just didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“Sarah, it is a big deal. You’re my kid. I want to know what’s going on in your life.”

“You know I’ve been going to therapy. Hell, if it was that big of a deal, you could have gone at any time. You didn’t need to wait until you got invited.”

“That’s not the point, Sarah. I didn’t even know the fucking meetings existed.”

Sarah grabbed her backpack, looking down at him as he desperately looked at her. “If they didn’t, would we be having this conversation?”

Steve faltered. Did he hear that right? “What are you talking about?”

“If Mom and Logan weren’t meeting with Miss Y/L/N, would we be having this conversation? Would you even care?”

“Of course I would! I care about you. I always have. You’re my kid.”

Sarah groaned. Her jaw ticked, shoulders tensing. Taking a slow, determined breath, she clarified, “I didn’t say that. I know you care and I know you love me. I’m asking if you would care about what Miss Y/L/N has to say. Would you have taken the initiative to start those meetings yourself?”

Oh. Steve had never looked at it like that.

Glancing at his fists, he shook his head. “No. You’ve always seemed…fine.”

“Yeah. Because I am. I’m not great and I’m not bad. I’m fucking fine.”

“Sarah, don’t talk to me like that. I’m still your dad.”

“Then believe me.” Sarah scoffed. “We’re only having this conversation because it looks like Mom got one up on you.”

“That’s not true.”

“No? Then what is it? Why? Because I don’t understand.”

“Because you’re angry!” His voice bellowed, bouncing off the walls as he rose to his feet. He wasn’t trying to scare her. He was just frustrated. Still, she took a step back. And he hated that. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I…I’m sorry.”

Sarah shrugged. “It’s okay.”

With a soft sigh, Steve elaborated. “Your counselor says you have this anger inside you…and I had no idea. You’re keeping things from me.”

“Or it just doesn’t exist when I’m with you!” She hadn’t meant to snap, but damn it. Everything was hitting her at once. All her emotions. Everything she got to ignore when she stayed with her dad, she was having to face it now. Sarah threw her bag into the bleachers, jumping only from how loud it was. “Fuck! I – “

“Language, Sarah.”

She scowled. Her shoulders set, she slowed her speech. That attitude of hers was slipping through, as if she were having to talk down to someone. “I had no reason to be angry around you.”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Then stop belittling me.” Sarah glared at him. Tears were in her eyes and Steve felt his heart crack. He couldn’t remember the last time he was the cause of her tears. Not because of a conversation. He reached for her, but she took a step back. “I love staying with you.” She knew Y/N would be happy at least. She was letting it all out. Using her words. “I hate that I can only visit every other week. I hate Logan. I hate his entire existence. There are some days that I wish he would die. That’s how I feel every day I’m at Mom’s. But because you’re a tattoo artist who doesn’t make enough income for two fucking bedrooms, I’m stuck there. I’m stuck living a miserable life that I hate!”

Silence.

It was so painful. So ugly. He had never…never heard her speak like that. Not to him.

“Sarah…”

She grabbed her backpack, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I’m getting a shower.”

“Sarah – “

He reached for her, but Sarah jerked away from him, clinging to both towel and backpack. “Just go.” She wiped her nose on her arm, ignoring the burn of chlorine in her nostrils. “I’ll meet you at Sam’s.”

Steve watched her storm off, tears threatening to spill. He closed his eyes, hating the way the door slammed between them.

Fuck.

He should’ve stayed at Sam’s. He should’ve…He should’ve done that differently.

How am I going to fix this?

---

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#steve x reader #steve x y/n #steve rogers #marvel #marvel au #mcu #dad!steve x reader #tattooartist!steve x reader #tattooartist!steve #mcu au #sarah rogers #typhanie wilson #sarah rogers x typhanie wilson

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oh-for-fic-sake · 5 years

Text

Day At The Races

You find yourself competing with Bruce on the track.

Masterlist

Warnings: Innuendo's, Swearing

A/n have some fluff, hope you enjoyxx

(Not my gif)

Day At The Races

Taglist @125bluemachine125

You took a deep breath as Bruce parked the car in the school parking lot there was tonnes of people walking around all making there way to the field where the days festivities were being held. You leaned back looking at him smiling lightly

"Sweets its fine there isn't any press here its families only." he pulled up a hand placing a kiss to it then your wrist and arm tugging you close trailing kisses along your arm until he placed a kiss on your cheek making you giggle when he nuzzled you rubbing his light scruff on your cheek.

"Hey no beard burn!"

"First time I've heard that seriously tho today will be fine"

"I know but its the first time we've been out since going public.... people are going to watch and judge especially after the other articles..." he sighed running his thumb across your hand he understood he really did the media had blown up about your relationship as expected but some had gone beyond, many had nice things to say but a few had been critical saying that you was the billionaires answer to a midlife crisis and that you'd be out of the picture, soon enough others followed making articles base solely around your age gap calling you a gold digger a whore without saying the word Bruce as promised had his legal team taking them to court on your behalf for slander. Hell one had made you cry as it was so nasty saying vile things interviews with 'child hood friends' who you hadn't even remembered crawled out of the wood work fabricating stories of raunchy sexual escapades and such claiming you was a high paid 'anything goes' escort and that's how you really met Bruce, it had made him so angry he didn't even bother to go to court he bought the magazine outright and stopped the printing sacking half of the company as well as the ceo and editorial managers.

"Just remember I'm with you. I love you and I've got your back we're a team sweets"

"I love you to" you both leaned in kissing each other you got butterflies in your chest as you both pulled away exiting the car you walked around to bruce he took your hand in his locking the car and led you down towards You eyed the people around you, they were watching you judging you. some scoffed you hear whispers from some people about what you were waering, you looked down you didnt think you looked bad. Bruce like you in these leggings well by the way he had pounced on you when you slid them on grabbing and squeezing your ass in them you assumed he had, they were a false matte black leather look you top was a baggy plain whit on the front on the back was a big patch of a cat saying dont be a pussy... probably not the best choice but you felt cute.

You noticed others women eyeing Bruce it was rare for him to be seen out not in a suit or some variation of it ,receiving looks from many of the mothers and older sisters of the students. Not that you could blame them he was in a tight fit black tee and tasteful dark sweats he had come dressed for the dreaded parents race...You never were one for a man in sweats but damn if he didn't look mouthwatering.. if only they were a tad lower, he caught you looking smirking at you then lifted a thumb to the corner of your mouth.

"Your drooling there sweets hold still." you slapped his hand away

"I was not!" he laughed using the opportunity to grasp your offending hand kissing your palm before holding it tight walking to the desk informing them of your arrival as bruce signed you both in you saw many women glaring at you. You pulled back a little from him he noticed giving your hand a squeeze then moved to hold your hip pulling you to walk beside him.

"Ignore them they are just jealous.... an ass like yours would cost them a lot of money." you squeaked as he pinched your bottom.... he seemed obsessed with it today, you was tankful as his antics were taking your mind off of the glances you was receiving.Bruce quickly navigated the crowds with you arriving at the booths made for parents to sign up to participate in some events he grabed a pen and began filling in for the parents races. Each pupil had a number the parents would get a corresponding number to pin to themselves for the race gaining points for their children adding to their total's helping them to win prizes. He passed the pen to you once filling everything in, you bit your lip writing down your name for the mothers race for Jack freezing you hovered the pen above damien's name bruce smiled leaning down he kissed your ear lightly before speaking quietly in your ear so close you could feel his breath.

"You'd run for him?" you nodded still debating if it was a good idea, it was your first semi public apperance you didnt want to rock the boat.

"Yes... I want to but....It could cause an uproar people could make assumptions." he stood behind you still holding your hip in one hand the other coverd your hand holding the pen making a tick mark beside his sons name kissing the back of your neck.

"Fuck them you want to run the mothers race for my son do it... and I'll run the dads for Jack."he said letting you put down your name before taking back the pen doing the same for jack.

"and I hope to meet you in the winners race."

"Something tells me you'd throw it just to see my ass" he grunted at you

"Nope I always win these things I wouldn't throw them for anything and besides I don't have to throw a race to look at it, I'll look at it when I damn well please, as is my right" you chuckled at him shaking your head

"What ever you say boss man" before being interupted by someone clearing there throat. You both turned to see a barbie who had obviously rearranged herself pulling the tops of her expensive tits out of the yoga top hanging out obscenely trying to gain his attention. You rolled your eyes as a blonde came up behind you both a sultry look fluttering her eyelashes at your man.

"Can I please?" she said motioning to the pen in Bruce's hand her eye scanning him from head to toe licking his lips. He smiled politely handing it to her you scowled at her.

"Of course come on love" he said leading you away you looked down a little.

"Dont let it get to you sweets. They will try, they will always try love"

"I know dosent mean I have to like it tho....Its just hard and I'm trying to behave for your sake. I cant exactly call her out and smack the shit out of her" he grunted twitching in his sweats rearranging himself

"Not if you don't want to be caught being railed on the field no"

"Bruce! are you always thinking about sex? seriously were in a school"

you shouted laughing pushing him lightly as he laughed pulling you back ton him placing you in front as he walked resting his chin on your shoulder whispering huskily into your ear.

"Well this is where me met.... its on my list"

"No!. Do not even go there with your stupid fucking list"

"Don't knock the list...You could have one if you want...I'm sure we could find a way to sneak away for five minutes or so, we could try Mr Kolemans office"

"Oh? and when do you ever finish in five minutes?" he shrugged sending you cheeky look

"Just because I haven't doesn't mean I cant" you shook you head rolling your eyes at him. You quickly noticed the blond from earlier was sticking close the the both of you, Bruce had noticed but kept quiet ignoring her as you made your way across to the boys events. You grunted as she tailed you all the way down the field even as you both sat on the grass you sat between Bruce's legs he pulled you close making a point to touch and hold you. She was always trying to be in sight of Bruce twirling her hair and fluttering her eyes at one point bending over in front of him wiggling her boney ass. You seethed knowing what she was doing but unable say anything.

"You know...You could say something...I really wouldn't mind..Quite the opposite I would enjoy having you get all territorial just a quick snap? growl? anything?" you rolled your eyes as he began grinding against you making sure you felt just how much he would enjoy it

"Bruce behave youself!!"you slapped his thigh making him grunt and hiss leaning forward capturing your ear between his teeth suckling your lobe

"Go oonn you know you want to, do it for me?" he continued kissing down your neck you flushed as she scoffed as Bruce sucked a new mark onto your neck. You would not start a cat fight over Bruce, not that you didn't want to fight for him just that you didn't need to. He was yours. But it didn't mean you wasn't self conscious as the slim woman tried to gain his attention. Tho he made himself quite clear with his little display just who it was he desired. You shook your head trying to rise above her pettiness. Spotting the boys you waved then pointed them out to Bruce who was now satisfied with his fresh mark pulled away with a soft kiss. Jack and Damien sat across from you, Jack waved back then nudged Damien who smiled nodding to you. First was the throwing events then we moved to the jumps.

"Whats Damien doing?"

"He is doing high jump he is band from long jump."

"What? why?"

"He... clears the sand.... by quite a bit so he cant do it now, the others cant compete with him"

"That doesn't sound fair being banned for being good at it" he sighed.

"And he was holding back"

"Wow so he's and agile little bugger then"

"Heh you have no idea" you both watched the kids participate in their events moving across the field. Throughout the day you saw a pattern Damien was top across the board. In every single event he did. The boy didn't even break a sweat as he was leaving all of the others in the dust, you got the distinct feeling he was holding back. Especially as you saw Bruce motion for him to slow down.

"Bruce what the fuck! your sons a beast how the fuck can he do that im pretty sure he just broke a world record?" you cried as he won the hurdles a good 50 seconds before Jack came in second place. you pulled out your phone to do a google search on hurdle world records Bruce sighed running a hand across the back of his neck.

"...Well he likes fitness and sports I may have updated the manor's gym for him" you snapped your head to him.

"Hang on whoa a gym? where the hell have you hid a gym?" he faltered which was unlike him before quickly snapping out of it stuttering.

"Err well it's-its at the back in the old part,its not fully finished I don't want you going in there it has potentially dangerous equipment in there, professional stuff you need to be taught how to use them." you nodded unconvinced before hearing an anouncement.

"All parents participating in the parental race please come and collect your numbers" Bruce stood helping you up. You both walked to the table collecting the numbers 345 jack 352 for Damien pinning them to your tee shirts ,the fathers race was first you pulled Bruce in for a sweet kiss which he promptly tried deepening wrapping himself aroung you you giggle pulling back as he moved to kiss down your neck, you glowed red as the other parents watch out right some of the women were scoffing. You cupped his face.

"Good luck babe kick ass" he smiled kissing your lips again

"You to" he said before taking position on the start line you was awestruck as you watched him dominate the race, what ever Bruce had said about Damien in the gym was bullshit, it was genetics, pure dna it had to be as Bruce quickly made his way out front and stayed there he was miles away from the others you cheered as he made it across the finish line. Smiled Standing tall as the other runners crouched over panting some heaving there faces purple. You took your place on the starting line noting that blondy was in the line up doing some bullshit yoga stretches drawing attention to herself, although you was on the larger side than the other women you was confident. In school you had been on the track team, not only that this was Gotham being able to run was a survival skill that most of these women didn't need to master in their gilded castles. You crouched looking down the track taking a slow breath flexing the muscles in your legs warming them with extra blood flow as the others got in position. The teacher counted down and you were off you stayed near the back pacing yourself letting the others wear themselves out before going in for the win, as predicted the others all took off in a full sprint loosing steam quickly. Half way down the track you took it up a notch sprinting slowly building up to full speed passing the women one by one hearing the curses and gasps as you took the lead even then you pushed on breaking away further and further finally crossing the finish line Bruce high fived you.

"Where the hell did that come from?"

"Track team, you never start with sprinting." he shook his head now the top three of each would race one another you noticed with glee that blondy hadn't made it through, she maybe skinny but you were fitter and you couldn't help being smug. You all lined up looking to Bruce you don't care about beat the others just him but you had no hope in winning against him outright so would have to try some underhanded tactics smiling slyly.

"Hey babe?" you bent over a little wiggling your ass he glanced at you wetting his lips eyeing your bent over form as the teacher to position starting to count down.

"Yeah"

"Is it obvious I'm not wearing anything underneath these?" you said pulling on your leggings he gasped standing up quickly turning to look at your ass.

"You what?!" you laughed running as the race began Bruce missing the call swore quickly following a few seconds you as you took a healthy lead the others now tired from the previous race, you glanced behind you seeing him quickly gaining on you, not even in his lane he'd merged into yours and he looked determined but his eyes were glued to you ass,

"Just you wait!" he shouted out to you squealing you pushed harder trying to stay ahead of him laughing unable to stop yourself from tucking your ass below you as you heard his heavy steps just behind you fully expecting him to grab you.

"No! Bruce! I'm sorry!" you shouted as he was practically on top of you as you crossed the finish line

"Sorry?! you get your ass here!!" but you didn't stop dodging him for a few more moments, in that moment you didn't care about the damn race you screamed as he finally caught you around the waist lifting you up crushing you against him.

"That was really a really dirty trick woman" he said you laughed he placed you down in front him your back to him then smoothed his hands across your ass raking his fingers up and down before giving you a quick spank you flushed knowing full well no matter how discreet he was trying to be someone was bound to have seen that.

"You little tease!" he growled once he felt the the seam of your underwear he moved hugging you from behind pulling you back grinding into your ass lightly.

"Just you wait until I get you to the car" you mewled at the threat rubbing back against him feeling his significant bulge pressing insistently at your ass

"Is that a promise Mr Wayne?" he groaned into your neck. Turning you saw that you had indeed come first gaining both boys extra points.

"Ha I won!!" you laughed

"Yes you won, but at what cost?" you froze turning to look at him wide eyed

"Cost? what do you mean cost? Bruce?" he just laughed pulling away from you as he waved over at the boys both of them shrinking into their shoulders at the public display you'd given everyone. He walked over to the table to hand in his numbers you followed at a safe distance

"Bruce? What cost? hey! don't ignore me!" He did tho chuckling to himself deciding to let your mind dwell on what could be in store for you.

#bruce wayne imagine #batmom imagines #batman x y/n #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #dc x y/n #dc x reader #dc x you #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x batmom #batman x reader

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bellemorte180 · 4 years

Text

The Howling

They just knew the moment their eyes locked and suddenly the full moon made sense. No longer was Caroline going to have to suffer through a heat with no partner to calm that urge; having refused to take another to her bed since the incident. No longer was she going to have to run wild through the woods, searching for the other half that was to belong to her; only to come up empty. Caroline always knew that one day she would find her mate.

She just never thought it would Klaus Mikaelson.

Written for June 2020 Bingo- Prompt "Mates" @klaroline-events

A/N: Before we begin, please note that there are sensitive things discussed in this story that could be triggering for some. Mentions of sexual assault do occur in this story and if that is something that bothers you, please keep that in mind.

The Howling

“That tickles.” Caroline muffled in a chuckle as Klaus’s lips trailed down her side. She could feel his blonde stubble from his chin on her skin; a sign that he had not shaved in days. Caroline did not care. She enjoyed the scratching the prickle of his hair caused; knowing that it would leave red marks on her skin. She wanted to be coated in his scent; for the rest of her pack to know that she was his. That he claimed her, marked her and would stand by his side. More importantly, she wanted her scent on him. “But don’t stop.”

“I’ll never stop Caroline. You’re mine. As I am yours.” Klaus’s husky voice trailed over her, causing her to quiver. She let out a moan as his tongue took a long lick of her center, causing her to cry out his name. She could feel his smirk against her, enjoying her reaction to him. He continued to eat at her, inserting two fingers inside of her and curling them to touch that specific spot that always made her come. “I’ve claimed you, Sweetheart. Over and over again, I have marked you.”

“Klaus!”

It came as a surprise to Caroline that the Alpha of the largest werewolf pack in the continental United States would be the one her wolf would choose. Of course, no wolf really knew how mates were chosen; they just knew when they met. They just knew the moment their eyes locked and suddenly the full moon made sense. No longer was Caroline going to have to suffer through a heat with no partner to calm that urge; having refused to take another to her bed since the incident. No longer was she going to have to run wild through the woods, searching for the other half that was to belong to her; only to come up empty. Caroline always knew that one day she would find her mate.

She just never thought it would Klaus Mikaelson.

Caroline came from a small pack located in an out of the way town in Virginia. The founding families of Mystic Falls were all made of shapeshifters who transformed every full moon into a pack of wolves. Packs were scattered all over the world and each pack were territorial of their land; Caroline’s pack was no different. When Klaus informed their pack Alpha, Caroline’s mother Liz, that they were coming for a visit; it set the town on edge. He ensured that he meant no harm but wanted to meet but his reassurance did not sooth the packs worry; Caroline included.

Klaus was known for his brutality and willingness to kill anyone who dared cross him. However, he was also fair and beloved by the wolves that followed him. He took care of his people and took offenses to them seriously. Klaus did not venture far from his home in New Orleans often, nor to simply come and decimate a random pack in the middle of nowhere but it did not settle their nerves.

“What do you want Caroline?” Klaus purred and she whimpered as his voiced echoed through her veins. He kissed his way across her flat stomach and Caroline rubbed her thighs together trying to create some friction; the sight only caused Klaus to chuckle. He enjoyed seeing her squirm and toying with her body; making her release that much sweeter. “You’ll have to tell me what you want, Sweetheart.”

“You. I want you.”

They had not left her small studio apartment in three days. After the moment in the woods when she first saw him, they did not want to leave each other’s side. They created a bubble that was just for them; rarely getting out of bed. It was their Claiming; a werewolf tradition that occurred when two mates meet, and they lay claim to one another. They marked each other, letting others know that they belonged to another.

For the first time in a year, Caroline felt whole.

Caroline stood by her mother’s side, in the middle of the woods surrounding the town her pack claimed as their territory. The woods were bright with the morning sun shining through the branches. Birds were chirping overhead, and their songs made Caroline’s wolf unsettled. It did not help that her mother invited him. She was nervous and on edge; her wolf itching to reach out and attack but the moment she started to feel Klaus approach the clearing, all worry seemed to end; all that mattered was him.

The leaves bustled and the light breeze that caused Caroline’s hair to flutter caused her to catch his sent. His scent set her on guard; knowing that her mate was near before she set eyes on him. She could hear the cracking to the twinges beneath his boots as he and a few of his wolves hiked towards them. She heard how his feet moved faster and quicker; he could sense her too. The few members of her own pack could feel his presence but not in the way Caroline could.

Caroline felt her mate before she saw him.

Caroline was surprised that Klaus did not take her in the clearing, she would have let him, a fact that surprised even her, but she quickly learned that he was possessive; he wanted no one to lay eyes on her but himself. The moment she saw him with his dirty blonde hair, blue eyes and dimples; she could not focus on anything else. She vaguely remembered him introducing himself, his eyes never leaving hers. Without a thought or a care, Caroline had walked towards him, Liz calling her name; asking what she was doing, but she ignored her. All she could think of was putting her hands on him; touching him and feeling him.

Klaus let her.

It became quite apparent what was happening to all those around them, but she cared not. She didn’t even care that her own personal monster was there. A man in a suit stepped from behind Klaus and took over the conversation but Caroline did not bother to listen to him. All she could see was Klaus and the feeling of her wolf wanting to claim him; to submit to him. She wanted her scent on him, to mark him as hers. Caroline pressed herself as close to him as she could, pressing her body to him while her teeth nipped at his throat.

“Do you have a name Sweetheart?”

“Caroline.”

“My Caroline.”

As they lay tangled in her bed, the days slowly ticking by, neither cared for the outside world; only focusing on laying their claim. In the moments that came in-between; lying beside one another, their bodies covered in sweat; they talked. It felt easy to open up to him and she listened to every word that came out of his mouth. He told her of growing up in a hostile pack with an alpha who he had always known was not his biological father; calling Klaus’s real father out when he realized the child his mate carried was not his. How Klaus challenged him at the tender age of sixteen and won. Hundreds of wolves bowed to him and even when he was challenged, he conquered.

Caroline told him of her childhood in Mystic Falls; how almost everyone was a wolf and those who were not knew nothing of those who were. It was the best kept secret in the town. She told him of her father leaving when she was in high school for a man; abandoning the pack for one in Atlanta. They never spoke anymore. She told him everything she could.

Well, almost everything.

There was one thing she could not bring herself to speak of.

Klaus crawled up her body and gazed down at her; her eyes meeting his. She spread her legs for him for what felt like the thousandths time since she saw him three days previously. Klaus entered her, rocking his hips back and forth. His touch was never going to be enough. She knew she would always crave him, want him; the feeling of his body against hers was beyond the sex she had with the others she had been with; the one still bitter in her mind. Caroline knew it was because Klaus was her mate and that their lovemaking was far more primal than anything a heat could produce.

When they were able to pull themselves from one another enough to allow the rest of the world intrude into their sanctuary. Reality set in and no longer could they hide themselves from their mutual packs. Caroline pulled her phone from the spot she had tossed it days earlier, plugged it in and checked all the messages that had been piling up.

[Elena]: Text me when you can.

That was yesterday. Caroline bit her lip feeling like an awful friend. While her life was changing, faced with the upheaval and decision on whether she was leaving her pack for Klaus’s, Caroline recognized that in some ways, Elena would be facing the same choice but with a different set of circumstances.

[Caroline]: Hey, sorry. What’s up? [Elena]: Can I swing by? I need to talk. [Caroline]: Of course.

Klaus’s arms wrapped around her middle and he placed a kiss on the side of her neck. Caroline moaned but it wasn’t sexual, the feeling of his touch soothed her in a way that she had never experienced. The thought of leaving Mystic Falls terrified her. She had always assumed that if she found a mate, he would join her pack; Caroline never expected that she would be mated with an Alpha.

“I’ll never make you choose.” Klaus whispered to her in the dead of the night, holding her naked body close to him. The stars shined brightly outside her window and the light of the waning gibbous shined upon them through the glass; the full moon only days away. “The alpha here is your mother. I would never make you choose.”

“It’s a scary thought. Leaving.” Caroline leaned up and kissed him. “But I want to be with you. You’re my mate. And besides, New Orleans is not far. I can always come back for a visit.”

“Whenever you want.” Klaus vowed, pushing a small strand of hair behind her ear before kissing the top of her forehead. “She will always be welcome in New Orleans, Sweetheart. Your entire pack is welcome. The city is full of wolves already. What are a few more?”

“Can I ask for one thing?”

“Everything I have is yours, Caroline. Ask and it shall be yours.”

“One more full moon here. I want to run in the woods one last time before we go. I want you to run with me.”

Elena arrived quickly; the knock on the door sounded just in time for Caroline to put on her pants. Klaus jumped in her shower, knowing that Caroline would want the privacy. Elena looked as she always had; long brown hair, doe eyes and a kind smile that made the entire town love her.

Everyone knew the story of Elena Gilbert. A young wolf cub found roaming the woods alone who was no older than three. No memory or way to tell where she had come from; only stating that her name was Elena and she missed her cat. The town took her in, Grayson and Miranda Gilbert adopted her, and she became one of them.

“Hey. How are you?” Caroline opened her arms and Elena hugged her close. “I’m so sorry. I should have called and texted. This must be a shock for you but I just...”

“It’s fine Care. I get it. You found your mate and that would have taken all your time.” Elena blushed slightly, knowing what Caroline would have been doing for the last few days. While Elena was not mated with anyone, she had a relationship with Stefan Salvatore a few years back and Stefan had helped her through her heat more than once. Elena may be prudish, but she understood the concept of a claiming. “Where is Klaus?”

“In the shower.” Caroline replied, leading Elena to the sofa that sat near a window that overlooked the square of Mystic Falls. Caroline had sat in that exact spot a thousand times watching the people pass by in the early mornings. She would miss that view but was excited to see the bustle of Bourbon Street in the dead of night and in the early morning. “What is it?”

“It’s Katherine.” Elena whispered. “She wants me to go back to New Orleans with her. I just don’t know what I want.”

Caroline was distracted, Klaus’s hands were on her hips. She could not hear the voices of the wolves around her. She could not feel the light breeze that were rustling through the trees. She did not see the curious looks the few members of both packs were sending their way. It wasn’t until the man in a suit called for Klaus that her mate was able to turn his head and Caroline got a glimpse of her.

She was identical to Caroline’s best friend. She had the same features, but her expressions were different. She held herself differently and there was something harder about her than Caroline was used to seeing on Elena. If it had not been for the skintight clothing Elena would never wear, the curly hair and the seductive posture, Caroline would have never been able to tell them apart.

“My name is Katherine. I’ve been searching for my sister. Elena. Do you know her?”

“I was born Elena Peirce. My birth parents were John and Isobel Peirce. They died in a car accident twenty years ago. They got stuck in a flashed flood and their car went off a bridge. Katherine and I survived but somehow, I ended up roaming the woods. Getting lost. Liz found me before my birth parents’ pack could begin searching. Apparently, Katherine was in a foster home for a few days before the pack claimed her. Most thought I was dead but not Katherine. She never gave up the search.”

“How did she find you?”

“Klaus. He helped her track me down. It took a few years, but they succeeded.” Caroline’s brow creased. She did not know if she liked the idea of her mate helping another female wolf; Caroline’s wolf howled at the thought, feeling the need to claim him again. As though Elena could sense Caroline’s jealousy, she quickly added. “Katherine is mated to Elijah, Klaus’s brother.”

“Oh.” Caroline replied in a small voice and Elena gave her an understanding smile. Caroline’s wolf calmed and settled inside her. “Klaus won’t make you choose. If you come to New Orleans, he won’t make you cut off your relationship with your parents or Jeremy. Or if you decide to stay in Mystic Falls, you would always be welcome to visits Katherine or me.” Caroline bit her lip, reaching out to take Elena’s hand into hers. “It might be selfish of me, but I would love it if you came with me. I’m excited to start this new adventure but it would be nice to do it with a friend.”

“You’ll be having an adventure with Klaus.” Elena laughed, tossing her head to the side. “He is your mate and your new Alpha. Not only that but you’re going to be by his side. Holding a high position, standing next to the Alpha who commands the largest pack in the United States. Look at you Caroline. Destined to be the Queen of the Wolves.”

“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that.”

“Not maybe. Most defiantly. If anyone can do it, it’s you.” Elena told her, a flash of anger in her brown eyes that Caroline had seen many times in the past year. Elena did what she could to build that confidence Caroline had been lacking ever since. “How are things with you and Klaus? Katherine told me what it was like, the claiming.” Elena whispered, blushing bright red again. “She said it is intense. Like a primal need that is similar to but stronger than the heat only it is directed at one person.”

“Yes. That would be a good way to describe it.” Caroline paused before pressing onward. “You know that need that you feel when in heat?” Elena nodded. “It’s like that. You need to…mate…but unlike with the heat that need is for one person, your mate. But its more than just the relief you get from the act. It’s about marking that person. When he was inside of me, all I could think about, well, besides the obvious, was that he was mine and no one else could have him. That he was it for me and I was it for him.”

“It sounds like you and Klaus really have bounded.” Elena replied with sadness. There was a time when she thought that Stefan was her mate but Caroline, and everyone, knew Elena was confusing the intense need of her heat to a claiming. Stefan relived that pain that came with a female wolf’s heat. However, it wasn’t until a wolf by the name of Lexi came to town and Stefan was mated with her. Elena was heartbroken. “Have you told him about, you know?”

Suddenly it felt like a bucket of ice was poured over her. Caroline froze as the memory of ice blue eyes and pain coursed through her. Elena was the only one who knew, besides Grayson Gilbert, and Caroline had every intention of keeping it that way.

“No.”

“Caroline-“

“No. He will demand for a Howling.” Caroline hissed and Elena’s eyes hardened. She knew that her friend was only coming from a good place but it was too much; Caroline could not face it. Elena hated him as much as Caroline, almost more she did sometimes.

“Maybe he should.”

The conversation ceased when Klaus opened the bathroom door and stepped out. Caroline’s heartbeat increased at the sight of him. He wore nothing but the pair of jeans she had washed for him during the spare moments when they left the bed. He was shirtless and Caroline was torn between admiration of his form and growling at the thought of Elena seeing her mate shirtless. Klaus sensed her reaction and tossed her a smirk before grabbing his Henley.

He introduced himself to Elena but allowed for the two of them to continue their conversation while he made a few calls in the kitchen; checking on the status of his pack. Elena went back to discussing the possibility of her moving to New Orleans to be with her sister and not having to watch Stefan with Lexi; but cringed at the idea of leaving her parents and Jeremy behind. When Elena realized that Caroline’s eyes kept shifting to Klaus, and he returned the gaze, Elena bid her goodbyes with a small smile.

The moment Caroline shut the door behind Elena, Klaus came and wrapped his arms around her middle; something Caroline was slowly realizing would become a habit. Not that she minded. She loved the feeling of his arms holding her close. He leaned down and kissed her shoulder, causing Caroline to moan at the touch of his lips.

“Sweetheart?” Caroline gave a soft whimper of acknowledgment as he continued to nip at her skin. Her eyes fluttered shut and she tilted her head, allowing him better access to her neck. She wanted him to suck on her neck but instead he pulled away to place a soft kiss on the top of her head. “Why would I demand for a Howling?”

Her entire body burned. It felt as though she was dying. If she tried to move, she knew that the pain would only worsen. Her naked body lay bruised and broken in the woods. It was not as though she planned for it. Caroline watched as the leaves flowed in the breeze, landing on her. The night sky seemed to torment her as the waxing gibbus hung high among the stars.

She did not mean for it to happen. No more than he did. Perhaps it was it was foolish of them both to neglect protection, but the heat clouded her judgment. Made Caroline beg for release and he had been willing; eager. Yet, when the full moon came, and she did not turn; they both knew why. The next morning it was like he could sense it on her. Caroline remembered his angry face and the fear that surged through her.

Caroline had a cub inside her, and its father wanted nothing to do with it.

The pack would demand he care for it. He would not be able to shrink his responsibilities. He did not want children with her no more than Caroline wanted to be tied to him. She just needed someone to ease the pain. It would not be the first time a cub was the product of the heat; that was the point of them after all. Procreation.

He had dragged her into the woods and beat her until she could not longer move. He stripped her of her clothing, forcing himself inside her before beating her again. He claimed that it was no matter if he came inside her now, he would ensure that she bore no children of his. When he was done with her, he left her there to die.

If Elena had not found her, Caroline was certain that she would have.

“You have to tell Liz.” Elena pleaded with Caroline, but she refused. She did not want to have to suffer through a Howling; of everyone knowing what had happened to her. Elena had brought Caroline to her father, a doctor, and he cleaned her wounds. “Caroline. He can’t get away with this.”

“I just want to forget.” Caroline had whispered, begging both Elena and Grayson to keep their silence. They did, only because they did not want her to suffer more than she already had. “No one else knows that I was unable to turn the other night. I’ll pretend I did. I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. I got hit by a passing car. Wolves heal quickly. I’ll be fine.”

“Caroline-“Elena started but Caroline shot her a forceful look. “Fine, but I still hate him.”

Caroline turned on the next full moon, feeling empty; her hand always going to the place her child should have been.

“I do too.”

“I want a name.” Klaus’s teeth were clenched, and his fist balled. Caroline could feel the anger radiating off of him. She wanted to go to him, sooth him with her touch but she could sense that nothing was going to get rid of his fury but holding her assailant’s throat in his teeth; but she still tried. Caroline walked towards Klaus and placed her hands on his chest. She could feel his muscles relax ever so slightly but it did not release his tension completely. The rage he was feeling was unprecedented; even for him.

“Klaus-“

“A name Caroline.” She did not answer, at a loss for what to say. This is exactly what she wanted to avoid. Yes, it was painful to see him almost every day and know what he had done to her, but it was better than putting herself through a Howling. “He killed your child. His own flesh and blood and then he-“Klaus paused, sickened at the thought of what she endured. “I would have claimed that child as my own when I found you. I would have been a father if he did not want him.”

“But he wouldn’t have been yours.”

“Do you think that matters?” Klaus implored as though she had lost her mind. “A heat is a biological response for female wolves. I always knew that my mate would have had others before me. If a child was the product of it then so be it. As long as you are faithful to me- “

“I would never be unfaithful.” Caroline hissed, as though insulted at what he was insinuating. The mere thought of having another after the Claiming was nauseating. “And you better listen to me Klaus Mikaelson. I am not one who is willing to share her mate. I do not care if you’re my Alpha, I will not share.”

“It’s only you. It will only be you.” Klaus leaned down and kissed her hard, conveying what he was trying to say but couldn’t. Caroline wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hoping that her touch would be enough for him to forget his anger; but she should have known better. After a few moments, Klaus broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “I still want a name and if you do not want to go through a Howling; then I will challenge him.”

“And if you lose?” Caroline whispered, gripping him close. She could not stand for the thought of losing him so soon after finding him, was something that she could not stand for. Images of Klaus’s mangled body and him standing over her mate victorious made her stomach roll. “Please. Can we not just let this go? It was a year ago now. I’ve moved on.”

Lie.

“No. I can’t. Many things, yes, I would be able to let go. If he had just helped you through your heat, I may have been jealous, but I never would have called him out. He abused you. He killed his own child that was inside you and he raped you just to show that he had power over you.” Klaus hissed, the anger flashing behind his eyes once again. “He deserves a Howling.”

“You’d have to speak with my mother. He is part of her pack; not yours.”

“Do you honestly think that I would not disclose why I am challenging him to Liz?” Klaus questioned and Caroline closed her eyes, tears falling down her cheeks. Klaus’s shoulders slumped helplessly. He placed his hands on the side of her face, gently whipping her tears away. “I do not like seeing you cry.” Caroline stared back up at him. “Why do you want me turn a blind eye? Why are you not out for his blood? Make me understand.”

“I’ve never seen a Howling. I know what they are. We all do but to experience it firsthand? I don’t want to put myself through that.” Caroline whispered in a hollow tone. “The entire pack would know what happened to me and I just can’t…” She trailed off before finding her voice again. “They will look at me like I’m something dirty. A failure. Female wolves are taught to keep themselves protected. To prevent children until they want them. They will say it was my fault! That I deserved it.”

“No. It was not your fault, it would never be your fault, Sweetheart.” Klaus told her gently. “And the child? It was an accident. My mother never intended to get pregnant with me. Her heat occurred when her mate, our alpha at the time, was out of town. She needed relief and I was the result of that. That did not make her weak.” He leaned down and kissed her gently. She knew the rest of the story; for he had told her in the dead of night. Esther was mated to their Alpha, but he did not take it kindly when she bore another wolf’s child. “And hear me Caroline. You are a survivor. You are so strong and full of light. He is a monster who hurt you. He was just as responsible for the creation of that child as you were. If he was so concerned about preventing a pregnancy, then he should have worn a condom. You were in heat. Your mind was not going to be able to focus on anything else.”

“Thank you.” She was crying in earnest, tasting the salt of her own tears on her lips. The gaping hole that had been tearing at her insides felt raw but in a way that was bittersweet. She buried her face into his chest, terrified if she lost that contact that she would break down completely. She never had the felt such validation; always having to hide behind a lie that she started herself.

“When we have children, they will be loved. I will never harm you in such a way. You could not turn in the next few days at the full moon because my seed took root and I would not harm you. I will worship the ground you walk on because you would be giving me a gift.” Caroline looked up at him, resting her head against the spot over his heart; hearing its thumping. The sound brought her comfort. “But if it means that much to you, I’ll walk away. We will go to New Orleans and you will never have to see him again.”

“You would do that? For me?” Klaus nodded. Caroline could see the immense effort it was taking not to demand a name from her and call for a Howling at the next full moon. He would wonder who it was for the rest of his life. He would wonder if the wolf would visit his pack when Liz came to see Caroline. He would wonder if he welcomed the man who raped his mate into his home. Caroline realized that she did not want to have that hanging over her head; for their lives to be tainted in such a way. She gave him a year of her life and that was enough. “If we do this. If I give you a name and we do this, will you stay with me? You won’t leave my side?”

“I will hold your hand the entire time and when we change, we will hunt him down together.” Caroline searched his eyes, looking for a sign of dishonesty. She found none. He meant each and every word. He would stand with her, even if she faced scorn at the hands of wolves who would argue for his side.

“His name is Damon Salvatore.”

“I heard you got hit by a car, Blondie.” Damon sneered at her. “Better look both ways next time.”

A Howling always took place during the full moon, bleeding into its apex. The woods held a haunting look to it. Torches had lined the pathway to a clearing and dozens of people lined the edges; watching the spectacle. The silence was deafening. Not a single person spoke. They simple looked on. Listening to their Alpha.

Damon was in the center of a large circle on his knees. His blue eyes boring a hole into Caroline, but she just glared back. Klaus’s hand was gripped in hers, providing her strength; allowing her to stand tall as she faced the one thing, the one person, she feared most. A Howling was terrifying and far worse than she expected but there was one thing it lacked.

Scorn.

Her mother and her Alpha stared down at Damon as though he was dirty and pathetic; tainted by the acts he committed. She detailed his crime for that pack and hearing their hiss of anger was enough for Caroline. Klaus gave her hand a tight squeeze and it allowed the tears to fall freely. For the first time, Caroline realized that she was not weak. She was not broken.

She was far stronger than she had ever given herself credit from.

Liz passed her judgement.

Guilty.

Caroline looked around and slowly each and every wolf lowered themselves to their knees. They all bowed to her justice. Elena’s knees hit the ground first, ready to condemn Damon to a Howling. Katherine linked arms with her sister while Elijah bowed next to his mate. Neighbors and childhood friends stood behind Caroline. Everyone except one.

“Stefan.” Liz replied in a low tone. “Do you want to speak on behalf of your brother? Why should he be spared?” Stefan looked at his brother in sadness, his fate tearing at him. Lexi reached up, yanking on her mate’s arm; hissing her displeasure in his ear. Slowly, Stefan sank down to his knees. “Very well. Klaus? Do you want to proceed? The moon is almost full.”

“No.” Klaus told Liz and Caroline whipped her head around. That was the deal the two alphas had made. They would share the responsibility of handing down Damon’s fate. Caroline looked at her mate in question. Klaus just brought her hand, that he never once let go of, to his lips and gave it a kiss. Caroline knew what he was offering; a chance at closure. “Go. Sweetheart. I’ll be right here. I promised you one last run. Okay?”

With a pounding heart, Caroline dropped Klaus’s hand and made her way over to Damon. He was still kneeling and this time it was Caroline who towered over him. He looked at her with those same eyes she had been terrified of for the past year. She sank down so she was at his eye level and never looked away from him. This time she had all the power. Wolves would howl at the moon, their teeth gleaming with his blood.

“Run.” Caroline whispered. “Run as fast as you can Damon because we will be following you. This is no pack of yours. You do not belong here but you will die here.”

A/N: I just want to say, this story is not at all how I anticipated it turning out; but I love it.It is by far one of my favorites that I've written for Bingo. I think this one, Contraband and Songbird (that will be posted Friday) are my top favorites.

#klaroline #kcbingo2020

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