#fist of all the books were terrible (coming from someone who read them like 5 times)

[thursdayg1rl]

why did they have to make the summer I turned pretty into a show. it’s ruined my life and I have no plans of even watching

[aarlert]

i love your fics sm. any tips for ppl learning to write? whats your process like?

ah!!! me??? shucks! thank you so much! i never feel like i am qualified at all to give tips or advice but because you so kindly asked, here are some things that i think guided me to a place i am happy with:

1. write things that you really want to write. not because you think other people want it or because you crave that sweet external validation—which, look. i do. we all do. all the time. it's nothing to be ashamed about. but if you're just starting out writing, try to get excited about it. have fun with it. seriously, the ride will be so much more enjoyable. write that ship, that trope, that AU, that brainworm that won't leave you alone. seize it. write it because goddamn it no one else will

2. read! read some good words and you will absorb good things. pay attention to what you like: phrasing, imagery, etc. borrow them and make them your own.

3. don't underestimate the value of solid grammar and punctuation. i know it's a pain in the ass, i KNOW, but trust me. making your writing look good, at least on a surface level, helps a lot. your writing is a special thing. polish it! it deserves it!

4. if you are comfortable with it, get your fic beta'd. we don't often notice our own mistakes. and showing your raw work to someone else can feel terrifying, believe me, i want to eat my fist every time. but a second pair of eyes is so valuable. ask a trusted friend—another writer, if you know one. someone who can lend you their expertise but also applaud you for your accomplishments.

5. here is a book i love: "Self-Editing for Fiction Writers, 2nd Edition" by Renni Browne and Dave King. i read it a few years ago and still think about the things i learned in it. every point in this book is a point of advice i'd give to anyone else

i hope any of this is useful!! none of this is like, revolutionary advice, but they will give you a good foundation. i also tried to share things that won't dictate you stylistically, because that can differ so much from person to person.

as for my process, OH BOY. do i even have much of a process.... i'll do my best to describe what i do. i'll also have some more points about what drives my own personal writing style, things that i don't necessarily think other people Should do, but serve as the backbone of how i write. under the read more!!! (why is this so long)

it's only in recent years that i've begun writing with any kind of consistency, so i'm kind of figuring out my process Right Now haha. the process varies depending on the length of the fic and the complexity of the idea. but here are the main points:

1. brainstorming: usually i open a google doc and feverishly jot down an idea when i have it. sometimes it's just a few lines. for bigger ideas, i'll outline the whole fic, which is mostly bulletpoints that vary in detail from "they go to this place and talk about their feelings" to full blown detailed written scenes that i can copy/paste wholesale into the fic draft lol. my ideas often spawn from a line of dialogue, an emotion, vague imagery. this is why none of my fics are plot heavy, i am simply incapable

2. drafting the fic: aka The Writing aka the longest and hardest part lol. sometimes it goes so smoothly the words come out of me like a waterfall. other times it's like juicing a rock. i usually write strictly in chronological order, otherwise i never finish. i'm terrible at going back to do the things i skipped because they were hard. in some places i will leave [brackets] to return to certain moments, like if i need to look up a word or figure out the blocking for a fight scene. it's important to maintain the writing flow if i'm in it, so those particular moments i might skip and come back. otherwise i am but a sculptor hacking away at the marble, hoping to find the story underneath

3. editing: tbh i rigorously self-edit as i write which... might be a bad thing but i can't help it. this is editing as in grammar, punctuation, sentence structure. i fuck around with sentence structure so much—flow is really important to me. just, how the words and sentences sound. i know that sounds like, obvious, but i just want the cadence of every paragraph to sound good. varying up sentence lengths, making sure words sound good together, etc. sometimes at this point i will also feel "hmm need more relationship building here" and add more scenes/dialogue

4. send it out for beta: aka the part where i hide under a rock and try not to delete everything i wrote out of fear. it's never as bad as i expect but i'm like this every time. more editing happens, because of course.

5. post the fic: the best part! except then i have to think of a title and summary! fuck!!!!! it's extremely rare that i have these prepared ahead of time. screw me. my titles come from all over the dang place, poetry, songs, etc. i'm trying to write more original titles, and when i do i usually keep them concise, like 1-3 words

so that's like. literally my process which is probably not at all interesting and maybe not what you were hoping to learn about, so some more things that are like, particular to How i write or at least what i think about when i'm writing:

less is more, when it comes to like 99% of things. if i can describe something in 1 word instead of 5 i will do it (unless it is more in-character to be more verbose)

i always write in very close 3rd person POV, so i'm always thinking really hard about how this character is thinking, what they can physically see/hear/feel etc (for example, a character is never thinking about the color of their own eyes. so i wouldn't say like 'cyno blinked his red eyes' if it's in cyno's POV. idk these are the things i think about. it just feels more immersive this way)

make the dialogue feel as natural as possible, while still maintaining control over it as like, a piece of fiction. i often read dialogue again while skipping the narration between lines, just to make sure it still flows naturally. obviously it's not gonna sound 1 to 1 like real life conversation, but at the very least i want readers to feel like they can hear the character's voices

convey emotions through tone, dialogue, and physical cues rather than trying to say it plainly in the narration (i don't do this 100% of the time, but it's a general rule of thumb)

describe the imagery that really matters—what's setting the scene and giving the desired mood? focus on those details instead of cramming the prose with as much description as possible

sometimes you don't need a metaphor. you can just describe the thing itself, and that hits just as hard

what does each character want in a given scene? what's motivating them? does it feel right to give them that thing now, or later?

that is probably too many commas, use a period for god's sake

again, these are just things that motivate my own writing, they're not necessarily things that i think everyone should take to heart. but if it is interesting/helpful for you, then by all means! run away with them! use them, change them, do with them as you see fit. the important thing is the writing. i believe in you! you can do it!!!

this...... is so long what da hell. my bad. i don't even know how this happened. but as you can see i do love talking about writing even though i feel like an imposter all the time. if you have any other questions i am happy to answer them!!! thank you!!!

[eloves-writes]

a failed attempt to hate you

(tristan dugray)

a/n: i can only apologise if this writing is terrible, i wrote most of this in the middle of the night hopped up on medication for my disgusting cold. i hope it makes sense. anywho thanks for reading, enjoy, mwah <3

screw mr medina for making you help tristan study. you knew he knew from rory your inherent disdain for him, and it wasn’t your fault he was falling behind therefore not your responsibility to help him (as you had told mr medina last tuesday, with no effect). it was now sunday morning and you held little hope he would actually show up this time; he had somehow managed to cancel on your little study date 6 times already and it had only been 5 days since you were handed this apparently mammoth task. honestly, you didn’t expect him to show up at all, especially not anytime before noon- for which reasons you had made the decision put on your usual lazy sunday morning reading in bed get-up, which included (but was not limited to) an oversized rock concert shirt rory’s friend lane had given you in an attempt to clear her closet of non-christian attire, nothing but underwear underneath since you wouldn’t plan on leaving the comfort of your bedsheets for many hours, and a loose silk scrunchie you accidentally stole from rory keeping your hair out of your eyes. 

your book of choice today was ‘harry potter and the goblet of fire’ , the most recently released chapter of the boy wizard’s adventures at hogwarts. the clock beside you read 9:15 as you comfied yourself for a morning of magic and adventure, which naturally was ended a mere 8 minutes later at 9:23 when the doorbell rang downstairs. you assumed your mother would answer it, but when it rang a second time you remembered your parents had both gone out to watch your sibling’s soccer match and you’d have to get it yourself.

it didn’t even cross your mind to put pants on, or that it may not be the postman at the door, until you opened it to see your very favourite chilton student whose eyes had hastily wandered to your bare legs. typical high school boy, you thought to yourself before your brain actually grasped the situation and kick started into action.

‘tristan. hi.’ you said with a slight shock in your voice.

‘erm, hi. i hope i’m not interrupting anything,’ he smirked, glancing down at your thighs again.

you rolled your eyes so aggressively you hoped mr medina could hear it from wherever he was spending his day, irritating boy-less and free to do whatever he wanted with his time.

‘you’re not,’ you quipped. ‘i just didn’t expect you to actually show up this time. and early may i add, i’m sure we said 11.’

‘we did, but i’ve got plans later so i thought i’d come by earlier and get this over with.’

‘how did you know i didn’t have plans? i might have been busy before 11.’

he pulled a face of amusement and you could swear you saw a hint of sarcasm shining through his eyes too. ‘right. are you done talking now or can i come in?’

‘you can come in, i guess,’ you sighed, closing the door behind him and showing him to the kitchen table. ‘wait here, i’ll go and get my books.’

‘grab some pants whilst you’re at it.’

‘stop talking,’ you called as you walked upstairs.

you came back downstairs a few minutes later fully-clothed and carrying your english notes to see that tristan had wandered from the chair you specifically remembered telling him to sit in, and was instead tracing a finger along the bookcase that stretched across the far wall of your living room. for a moment you just watched him nosey into your life; the framed certificates, the family photos, the 5 tapes of ‘beauty and the beast’ stacked atop of each other because it was your favourite film when you were 9 and practically every living relative had bought you a copy. beside those was a picture of you dressed as princess belle at disneyworld with chocolate ice cream smeared from cheek to cheek, a huge smile plastered between. tristan picked it up and turned to face you.

‘thoroughly adorable. seriously, you should go for this look more often.’

‘ha ha,’ you grimaced, snatching it off him and placing it back on the shelf. ‘are we studying or reminiscing on my past fashion choices?’ 

‘oo, someone’s in a good mood this morning huh,’ he teased. you pulled another face, once again silently cursing mr medina for completely ruining not just your day, but in fact your whole week. by god this boy got more irritating the more time you spent with him- it had only been 10 minutes, but it was 10 minutes longer than you ever previously had or ever wanted to.

 ‘can i get a drink before we start?’ he asked, redirecting the conversation and walking past you back into the kitchen. he began opening various cupboards, searching for a glass. ‘where’s the-’

‘why yes, tristan. you can have a drink,’ you snarked, opening the cupboard behind him with a dramatic flourish. he raised his eyebrows at you and reached forward to grab a glass, leaning over you as he did so. you caught a whiff of his cologne and almost forgot to dislike him for a moment.

‘there’s, um, soda in the ... fridge,’ you told him, voice unwillingly faltering as he looked down to meet your eyes. he had pretty eyes. pretty, blue, sparkling, stupid, annoying, asshole eyes. 

you found the thick tension sickening. you refused to be another girl at school who simply swooned over him when he walked past your locker. you didn't like him. you were here to teach him english. because he was dumb. and actually, his eyes weren’t that nice.

he grabbed a soda out of the fridge and you both sat down at the table and began reading through your analysis of ‘to kill a mockingbird’, adamantly pretending not to see him staring at you the whole time. 

why? he had had every popular and pretty girl in the whole of chilton, how was he ever so starved of female attention that he would look at you so admirably when you liked to make it clear you despised him? in fact, you enjoyed making a special effort to flip him off, or pull a face at him when he walked by, or kick his chair extra hard in spanish, or... oh shit. you had seen it from an outside point of view now, and it was glaringly obvious; maybe you did like him, just a little bit. shit. rory owed lorelai 10$ and a cheeseburger from luke’s, though you didn’t want to have to admit she was right when she’d said you were like a kindergarten boy pulling a girl’s ponytails because he thought she was pretty.

‘hey tristan,’ you started, breaking the comfortable silence between his questions and suddenly nervous to talk to him. stupid, it was still the exact same boy you’d been complaining about all week, nothing new. 

he looked up from your notes. ‘what’s up princess?’ 

that was definitely new.

‘don’t call me princess’ -he smirked irritatingly- ‘do you need to stay much longer? i mean, is there anything else you want help with?’

‘trying to get rid of me?’

‘no! no. i just thought that you’d only stay and pretend to listen to me for like, half an hour then vanish. it’s 11:30 and you’ve been through my whole binder.’

‘it is? time flies.’

‘tristan.’

‘i do care about my grades, you know. and you’re a good teacher, i might have a chance at an A.’

‘why didn't you show up the last 6 times we planned then?’

he put down his pen- your pen, actually. it had pink sparkles on the lid. ‘got to keep up my street cred.’

‘ha ha. funny,’ you replied as blankly as possible, pulling back a smile you could feel in your stomach. you made eye contact again and, like every other time since you’d sat down and started studying, you held each other’s gaze for longer than necessary. funny how realising you like someone makes you suddenly act like it.

‘i should get going then right,’ he said, picking his jacket from the back of his chair.

you felt weird, almost as if you didn't want him to leave after praying earlier he wouldn't show up. alas, your parents would be home soon and you would be willing to bet money that tristan would have some interesting jokes about your being home alone that would not slide with your dad.

‘yeah. i hope you get that A,’ you said, accidentally smiling as you walked him to the door.

tristan turned to lean on the frame of the now-open door and put on a face of mock surprise. ‘my, my, y/n. was that a kind comment and a smile? you’re spoiling me.’

‘shut up, i hope you fail.’

he smiled back. ‘you really mean that?’

‘i guess not.’

there was yet another beat of heavy silence.

‘see you monday.’

‘see you monday.’

you closed the front door as he walked down the drive, but noticed tristan’s car keys still sat on the kitchen table. a porsche, of course. you picked them up and reopened the door to his fist poised to knock. the two of you laughed awkwardly for a second.

‘i forgot my-’

‘you forgot your-’

another awkward laugh. jesus christ this was uncomfortable. you passed him the keys, and with absolutely no warning at all, your lips were suddenly met with his. they were soft and confident, and his free hand held your face as you tried to process the new situation. you quickly melted into the kiss, letting him take control until he pulled away and smiled that sparkly smile you didn't hate as much as you tried to.

‘didn't see that one coming,’ you said breathily, brushing some loose hairs off of your face.

‘i knew you didn’t hate me.’

‘ever the arrogant twat.’

‘hey, does this mean you’ll stop kicking my chair in spanish?’

‘absolutely not. in fact, i think i’ll kick it harder.’

‘as long as you let me do that again.’

tags: @leossmoonn for inspiring me to start writing again, @account123445 & @lmaoidekanymore6 for asking me to post tristan fics! (couldn’t figure out how to make the tags work but if you read this, you know ✨)

[streetlight11]

Love Notes

Summary: People usually mistake Slytherins as the mean and nasty ones. Nobody told you that you would be stuck with the loud and obnoxious boy from Gryffindor. One day during your fifth year, you started receiving anonymous notes in your books, pockets, table, etc. The question is, who gave them to you?

Theme: Hogwarts au, enemies to lovers

Genre: fluff, angst [not really]

Warnings: none

WC: 4.9k

Pairing: Gryffindor!Haknyeon x Slytherin!FemReader

a/n: Hi again :) I've been binge watching Harry Potter movies for the past few days and I love it so much. So here's a little Hogwarts fic with Hakkie! Do send me requests if you have any! I'm open to writing them :)

Going to Hogwarts was probably the best thing to happen to you. And getting yourself sorted into Slytherin house was also the best thing to ever happen to you. Except, nobody told you that you would have a horrendous time being in the same classes as the loud and obnoxious boy from Gryffindor.

His name?

Was Ju Haknyeon.

“Did you lose your way to class again today?” Haknyeon teased when you arrived at your seat that just so happens to be right in front of him. You were in your fifth year and yet he has never once gone a day without getting on a single nerve on your body.

“Did you lose your pacifier on your way here cause you can’t seem to keep your mouth shut.” You scowled at him only to earn a soft chuckle from him.

“Look who’s talking now…” Haknyeon smirks, earning a kick to his desk from you. Your seat partner and also one of your close friends, Wooyoung couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the said boy.

Professor Snape finally dismissed the class as everyone quickly scrambled out of the room. You were walking with Wooyoung and Yeosang as the former began rambling about his terrible date yesterday when you suddenly felt an arm over your shoulder. The last person you hoped for it to be, ends up proving you wrong the minute he spoke.

“Hey hey, have you practiced for the Quidditch game this season? Wouldn’t wanna lose your Quidditch title to other houses.” Haknyeon whispered into your ear, making you push his face away.

“Do you ever shut up?” You said as he smirked, casually pursing his lips into a kissy face.

You rolled your eyes at him, elbowing his stomach to make him leave your side. Haknyeon left your side for a brief moment before coming back to you to stop in front of you while leaning down a little to match your height. Once he was right in front of you, he smirked cheekily at you.

“I won’t shut up when I’m with you, darling.” He whispered.

You cupped his face with both hands, only to lean in to let your lips hover over his as you whispered under your breath, “Don’t make me do it for you, sweetheart.” The moment you pulled away from him and began to walk away, Haknyeon could’ve sworn he felt his heart skip a few beats.

“Now, class, please open to page 367.” Professor McGonagall announced as you heard the sounds of pages being turned. You did the same, flipping the pages a few at a time until a slip of note drops out from your book. It was a pretty blue colour that has been folded into the shape of a flower.

“Did you put this in my book?” You asked Wooyoung who was seated beside you, only for him to shake his head. Just then, a voice came from behind you.

“Oh look, the Slytherin’s princess got herself a love note.” Haknyeon said. It annoyed you to the point where you had to cast a spell on him from under your desk to shut him up for 2 hours. A few weeks have gone by and you have been getting anonymous notes slipped into your textbooks, locker, and sometimes even in your coat pockets.

However, all the notes always end up in your bag, never touched or read before.

It was a Thursday afternoon and you were just walking into your Transfiguration class when a female student from Hufflepuff came up to you giddily excited as she informed you what she saw.

“Omg Y/N! Someone gave you a rose and a letter! It’s on your desk!” She squeaked, allowing a couple of eyes to land on you, who was standing at the back of the class with Wooyoung and Yeosang. With that being said, you glanced over to your desk to find that she was right.

However, you noticed that Haknyeon’s table was empty. Maybe he finally got sick and couldn’t come to class today.

“The Slytherin’s princess got a gift today huh? That’s new.”

Maybe not.

Haknyeon said casually as he strolls past you with his hands tucked into his pant’s pockets while he makes his way over to his desk. You rolled your eyes at the back of his head before walking up to your desk and soon took the rose and note only to stuff it in your bag.

“Why don’t you read it outloud for all of us to hear, darling? I’m sure your admirer would love to see the way your eyes turn into heart shapes for them.” Haknyeon smirked.

You couldn’t lie, Haknyeon has in fact gotten slightly more manlier in built and also a bit more nicer looking in terms of his face features.

Which is why you’d be damned if you admitted out loud that your heart did a little flip when he smirked at you.

“The last person I’d wanna read it aloud to is you so no, that won’t happen.” You grumbled before sitting down at your desk. Wooyoung couldn’t help but chuckle as he told you about Haknyeon's offended face he made after you said that.

A few hours later, everyone was making their way back to their common rooms after dinner. You were just walking towards the Slytherin’s common room when Felix spoke up to you, “Hey, is it true you’ve been getting love notes from someone in class?”

“I don’t know what they are, I’ve never opened them.” You confessed, earning a few gasps from your friends.

“Aren’t you even a slight bit curious?” Minho asked.

“Look, I doubt it’s even real. It might just be a prank from someone. I don’t know…” You said almost confidently.

“Oh come on, just open one and see what it says. It doesn’t hurt to read one.” Wooyoung encouraged you as you rolled your eyes at him. It was already after hours. Everyone was asleep except you. So you quietly tip-toed your way to the living area, only to sit near the green fireplace with your bag filled with the notes you kept for the past 5 weeks. You took one of the notes out and soon unfolded it one after another.

“You look pretty today.”

“Your eyes sparkle like the green flames of your house.”

“You make me forget why I’m in this class.”

“Your smile could cure my sadness.”

“If only the clouds would make way for a sunshine like you”

“Don’t lose that smile, it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen”

“Are you a love potion? Cause I feel like I’ve fallen in love with you”

You then happened to take out the note that was attached to the rose you got earlier in which it said;

“A pretty flower for a pretty girl like you.”

And the list goes on and on as you read them. However, one thing you noticed was the lack of initials, leaving these notes anonymous.

“Who are you?”

This question swirls in your head as you keep these notes in a little treasure chest your mom gave you for your 15th birthday.

You were on your way to the Quidditch field to play for the Quidditch Tournament with your team members. Upon making it to the courtyard, you just so happen to bump into Haknyeon. You noticed the Red and Gold striped sweater, along with his pants and a cloak in contrast to your full Quidditch attire together with the arms and leg gears.

“Hey guys, mind if I steal ‘yours truly’ for a moment? I promise I’ll bring her back to you guys in one whole.” Haknyeon smiles innocently to your friends, earning a few snickers from them but they nonetheless left you alone with him.

Once they were out of sight, you turned to him with a frown.

“What do you want now, Ju? And make it quick. I have a game to win.” You snapped, earning a chuckle from him.

“Relax beasty, I won’t hold you back for long.”

“So what do you want?”

“You know this is a seasonal championship right?”

“And?”

“And this year’s winner will be titled the Season’s Champion, yes?”

“O...kay?” You raised an eyebrow at him in question, not sure where this conversation was heading to.

“So let’s make a bet.”

You started to laugh as you clutched your stomach, afraid of growing six packs while you did that. Unfortunately, you didn’t get the same response from him which made you confused and eventually stopped.

“A bet? You wanna make a bet? Sure. You’ll only be crying at the end of it cause Slytherin’s gonna take the prize home.”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you. So let’s make a bet.” Haknyeon urges you again, to which you couldn’t help but agree just so you could prove him wrong.

“Fine. If Slytherin wins, you’re gonna leave me alone for the rest of the year.” You said.

“And if Gryffindor wins, you have to go on 3 dates with me.” He announced. You weren’t gonna lie, you were a little shocked by his proposal but you didn’t want to back out now so you shook hands on it.

“Deal.”

“Choi Jongho has gotten the snitch! Gryffindor wins!” Lee Jordan, the commentator from Gryffindor announced as you slammed your fist onto your broomstick. You’ve lost a few times before throughout your 5 years in Hogwarts but today was a little different as you had your bet with Haknyeon hanging by a thread.

You were floating about 10 feet away from Gryffindor’s stand, your gaze naturally fleeting to the left only to lock eyes with the blonde haired devil from Gryffindor who had a smirk on his face before he mouthed something so clear to you.

“I win.”

You couldn’t even respond to him so you simply flew down and back into your pitch tent along with the rest of your teammates. After you were done with post-game preps, you all began to make your way back to your common rooms.

It wasn’t until you were at the grand staircase that you bumped into Haknyeon and his friends. He gave you a cheeky little wink before snapping his fingers and soon, you felt a slip of paper magically appear in your hands.

You kept it in your hands until you went back, only opening it when you were in your bed.

“Nice game. I hope you don’t forget about our bet. See you at Three Broomsticks Inn, this Saturday. 12pm. Don’t be late. Oh, and, wear prettily ;) - JHN”

You were definitely in for a treat.

The day finally came as you made an excuse to your friends saying you couldn’t go with them to Hogsmeade because you promised to help Ginny with her Muggle studies. The minute they left, you got upstairs to change out of your pyjamas and into some comfortable jeans, a sweater, a denim jacket and a pair of worn out sneakers.

You teleported to Hogsmeade using the Floo Powder your mom gave you just in case you needed to rush home due to an emergency.

You arrived at a dark alley in Hogsmeade, making sure your friends weren’t around before you left the safety of that alley. Carefully walking past some villagers, you found your way to the Inn without getting caught. With one gentle push of the wooden door, you were immediately greeted by the bustling customers.

You looked around the room to find for the devil who shall not be named and Lord Behold, he waves over to you from one of the tables across the room. You almost lost your footing when you saw what he wore.

It was almost as if he knew what you were going to wear. He was wearing black pants with a denim jacket. Simple yet so good looking.

You went over to him only to sit on his left where it was nearer to the edge of the semi circle couch.

“You’re late, you know?” Haknyeon laughs.

“Yeah but I’m here aren’t I?” You scoffed softly under your breath, earning a little giggle from him.

“On our first date too? You’re a terrible one.” He joked.

“Fine then. Go find someone who’s on time for your date, maybe they’ll actually arrive earlier than you.” Right before you could slide out of the seat, Haknyeon gently grabs your wrist to stop you.

“Relax, I’m just kidding… Come on, butterbeer on me. Deal?” He asked, shaking his wallet in between his fingers as though telling you he really meant it when he said he’ll pay for it.

Of course you couldn’t let this moment up, which is why you agreed to it. Unfortunately, right before he could slide out the opposite end of the table, your eyes flew over to the front doors where the bell chimed indicating a customer. That’s when you saw your friends walking in and you could’ve sworn they would see you in a matter of seconds if they just turned to the left slightly.

“Oh shit!” You cursed as you grabbed hold of Haknyeon’s collar only to drag him out of the table and soon towards the back. Haknyeon was a little taken aback by your sudden aggression as he began to ask you a series of questions.

You quickly pulled him behind one of the pillars, shoving him against the concrete wall as you peeked past the pillar.

“Okay, if you want to kill me, at least do it when we’re in private.” He teased you.

“Shut up. My friends are here. I lied to them saying I can’t join them.” You whispered, trying to see if your friends wouldn’t make it to the back. What you didn’t realize was the way Haknyeon was discreetly checking you out.

“You know, for a Slytherin, you’re not as sly as you think you are. What makes you think they can’t figure out it’s you from a dist-”

“Kiss me.”

You suddenly spoke as he stared at you with wide eyes. He almost couldn’t believe his ears when you said that.

“What?”

“I said kiss me!” You loudly whispered but your eyes were frantically flickering back and forth to something behind him.

However, right before you could yell at him, you felt him snaking his right arm around your waist while the other hand reached up to cup your cheek, pulling you into a soft and gentle kiss. You fluttered your eyelids close as he turned you so that his back would be facing the open area while your smaller form gets shielded from the public eye.

You could hear your friend’s voices getting closer and closer and eventually made their way past Haknyeon’s back. You could’ve sworn you heard some of them snicker and scoff at your unknown presence.

Once they are gone, Haknyeon pulls back from you with the softest sound as he caresses your cheek for a moment.

Suddenly your heart was picking up speed against your chest. You locked eyes with him for a second or two, feeling him tilt his head slightly to make his lips brush over yours again purposely before pulling away completely.

“I reckon we should leave?” He chuckled, making you nod.

“Yes please.”

With that being said, he let you leave the hiding spot first, making sure he used his body to block you from unwanted view.

A few hours passed where he took you to a few of his favourite shops in Hogsmeade, including some personal spots around town where he usually goes when he needs space to be by himself. You were now making your way back to the castle as you both managed to not quarrel for more than a minute of being with each other.

You must admit, it was nice getting to know Haknyeon better instead of fighting with him like usual.

It has been four days since your first date with Haknyeon and again, you still received the notes. This time, it said;

“You’re cute. Can I keep you?”

With that, you couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle.

“What? Did the person who gave you those letters finally revealed himself?” Wooyoung asked from beside you, only for you to show him the note.

“No, but isn’t it tiring to keep thinking of cheesy love notes to write almost everyday?” You whispered to him upon hearing Professor McGonagall enter the class.

“Well, I would say this person is totally head over heels for you to even write these from day 1.” Wooyoung speaks utter nonsense most of the time, but maybe he made some sense today.

You were on your second date with Haknyeon, as he promised to take you on a ride. What ride might I ask? Not just any ride. He was taking you on a ride on a Hippogriff.

“Are you sure we won’t get in trouble for this? I really don’t want to be expelled.” You warned him as he laughed at you.

“Aren’t you being a little too goody two shoes for a Slytherin?” Haknyeon teased, only to get a good slap to his arm from you.

“Say anything stupid again and I swear you’ll be the one swimming in the lake with the damn Lochness.” You threatened as he raised his arms in a surrender but there was a wide grin on his face. Something you’ve grown to adore these days.

With that, he soon hops on the magical creature easily, leaving you nervous. Haknyeon had his hand extended out for you to take but you were afraid.

“Y/N come on, we don’t have forever!” He said.

“What if I fall?” You panicked but you ended up unconsciously whining, making him giggle.

“I won’t let you fall. I promise. Now come on, darling.” Haknyeon jerks his hand to you again, only for you to stare at it for a bit before you finally take his hand into yours. He easily pulled you up and onto the animal’s back. You sat in front of him while you gently grabbed onto the creature’s neck, being careful that you don’t accidentally harm it.

“Okay Buckbeak, show us whatchu got.” Haknyeon said as he gave the creature a few pats to its belly and soon, the creature took off flying into the sky. You let out a scream, hugging the neck tightly while Haknyeon holds onto nothing.

He clearly had more experience than you in terms of flying on this creature’s back.

You had your eyes closed the entire time even when you felt the smooth glide across the air. Still being stubborn to open your eyes, you felt him tap your shoulders.

“Y/N come on! Open your eyes! You’re missing out on the view!” His voice sounded so excited behind you, it almost made you believe it wasn’t the same boy who has been a living nuisance to you all these while.

“No way! I’m just gonna panic even more if I see how high we are!” You yelled over the loud gush of wind that might be rendering your hearing.

“I promise we’ll be fine, just open your eyes! Trust me!” Haknyeon reassured you as you felt him gently slide his hands down your arms and onto your wrist to pull them away from the creature’s neck. You shook your head desperately, hoping he’d leave you alone. Unfortunately for you, he didn’t.

Instead, he thought it would be a good idea to scare you. Maybe that way you’ll finally open your eyes.

And you did.

Because the minute you heard him yell for help, you immediately opened your eyes and turned around only to find him seated firmly on Buckbeak’s back with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You bloody piece of shit!” You huffed in annoyance as you turned back around only for Buckbeak to playfully tilt his body up to make you fall back slightly. That’s when a string of curses left your lips while you desperately grabbed onto its neck.

“Don’t do that Buckbeak!” You scolded the animal, only to get a little sound from him. Just then, Haknyeon decides to challenge you.

“Wanna know what it feels to fly?”

“Uhh, no?”

“It’ll be fun. Here.” Haknyeon said as he slowly reached over to grab your wrists while his firm chest softly pressed against your back but for some reason, it made you feel some sort of safety.

“W-What are you doing?” You stuttered, only for him to smile and soon spoke into your ears leaving a soft tingling feel to your skin.

“Just trust me.”

With that being said, he gently spreads your arms out on either side of you, making them act like wings for you. As Buckbeak glided through the air, you imagined you were flying until you heard him whisper into your ear, “Close your eyes.”

You did as he said, only for it to enhance the imagination. A smile naturally appears on your lips as you completely didn’t see the way he was staring at you from beside you. Ignoring the way his hands found your waist and left it there for the rest of the ride.

It was your third and final date for the bet you made with him. For some odd reason, you didn’t want it to end but of course you couldn’t tell him that. So when you met him at the lake, you looked slightly down and he noticed. Haknyeon wouldn’t let this slide easily which is why he decided to tease you about it.

“What’s with the long face, darling? Already attached to me?”

You scoffed as you approached him by the swing only for you to take a seat at the wooden plank beside his seated figure on the grass patch.

“So what? This was just for the bet anyway.” You mumbled under your breath, not realizing that he heard you.

The next few minutes went by like how your previous dates went. Constant teasing, playful jokes and banter, friendly chats and even random fights that involve you throwing a handful of dead leaves at him while he scoops water from the lake and proceeds to toss it at you.

At the end of this short date, you had just arrived at the end of the wooden bridge when he wraps his fingers around your wrist to stop you from walking any further.

“I just remembered I promised my friends I’d meet them at the Three Broomsticks Inn in like 5 minutes so I have to leave you from here on.” He said.

“Right…” You said, your voice sounded a little sad.

“I guess the bet’s over. Thanks… for... well, going on the dates with me.” Haknyeon said, eyes flickering back and forth between your eyes and the wooden panels behind you.

“A bet’s a bet right? I’d be a wimp if I didn’t do it.” You smiled.

There was a beat of awkward silence as you got ready to leave when he said something that made your stomach flip.

“That’s it? No goodbye kiss? I thought this was a date?” Haknyeon pouted, keeping his gaze on you as stable as possible. You almost couldn’t believe your ears.

Did he just ask you for a kiss?

“I… Umm… Okay?” You stuttered in confusion, earning a soft little giggle from him.

However, the nerves soon disappear the minute he takes a step closer and soon wraps one hand around your waist while the other cups your face before he leans down to let his lips seal yours. You instantly fluttered your eyes shut, letting your hands rest on his chest.

The kiss felt so genuine, you almost forgot how you used to fight with this same boy 24/7. Haknyeon smiled against your lips as he pulled back for air shortly before kissing you again.

His lips were intoxicating, you almost forgot how to breathe. Haknyeon gives you a cheeky little lick to your bottom lip as he soon pulls away from you, leaving you breathless. You pressed your forehead softly against his as you kept your eyes shut, too embarrassed to look at him at this point.

His chuckle fills your ears as he cups your face with both hands and whispers against your lips.

“Go. Be safe. Avoid the common grounds, that’s where Filch always lurks around.” Soon after, he gave your lips another peck before you felt wind whooshing around you. Immediately, his touch left you and it almost made you crumble to the ground.

What did he do to you?

A few days later, you were just having lunch with everyone else at their respective house tables and your friends surrounded you when you saw a note slipping past from under your plate. A pretty baby blue one that is. You carefully unfolded it, only to see it read;

“I realized I was thinking of you, and I began to wonder how long you’ve been on my mind. Then it occurred to me: Since the day I met you, you’ve never left.”

For some reason, those words meant something to you.

It was as though you knew this person and have created some sort of a bond with them. And yet, you still don’t know who. However, you do now have a little suspicion on who it was and who these notes belonged to. So to test your theory, you looked up from your table, almost immediately catching the eyes of the same pair of brown ones you’ve grown accustomed to.

Haknyeon was already staring like he knew you were going to find him. What surprised you the most is the fact that he didn’t even flinch when you caught him.

You held eye contact for a second before you got cut off by Wooyoung putting a scoopful of mashed potatoes onto your plate. You gave the boy a little smack to his head, earning a choke from him. When you looked back over to Haknyeon, he was already talking to his friend with the back of his head facing you.

A few hours later, you were having your Potions class when a note popped out of nowhere from under your book. To avoid getting minus points from Snape, you quickly shoved the note into your cloak pocket and yet you still got called by the Head of Slytherin for not paying attention.

Therefore, having to serve detention.

You could only curse him in your head while you cleaned every single flask and cauldron pots till they were spick and span.

Once you were done, you left the room only to find Haknyeon leaning against the wall with one leg bent to rest his foot on the wall. He was busy playing with his Patronus charm when his eyes flicked up upon hearing the door open.

“Haknyeon? What are you doing here? Don’t we have Transfiguration right now?” You loudly whispered as you approached him only to drag him towards the end where you were hidden from Snape’s office door. Once you were hiding behind the pillar, you turned to peek past the wall with Haknyeon right in front of you.

The hallway was empty thanks to the classes going on currently but that doesn’t mean you were free from not being caught out of class.

“I told Professor McGonagall I’m having stomach aches so she excused me to go to the hospital wing.” Haknyeon explained, only for you to frown.

“And why were you waiting outside Snape’s office, might I ask?”

“To see you.”

“You couldn’t wait till I come to class?” You asked with a slight tease in your voice.

“Needed to see you right after detention, so that I could do this.”

With that being said, he easily captures you into a kiss. You sighed through your nose as you cupped his neck to pull him closer to you. Haknyeon wraps his arms around your waist, letting himself trap you against the wall and his body. You changed your head positions to be at a slightly more comfortable state, feeling him squeeze your sides.

Just then, he pulled away for a breath, making it easy for you to slip in the question.

“All those notes were from you, weren’t they?”

Haknyeon grew quiet for a moment but then decided to just come clean with you. After all, that’s what he has been wanting to do anyway.

“Are you disappointed?”

“I would be if you told me this 4 weeks ago… But now? Not so much.” You smiled.

“Really?” He asked.

“Would I do this if I was disappointed?” You asked only to kiss him again. Haknyeon smirks against your lips as you feel him lift you up and spin you around. When he placed you back down, he gave you a peck on the lips and soon spoke up.

“Should I stop giving you notes then?”

“Go ahead. Cause I’ve already won the prize.”

“You sure have.”

~~~

[watermelonlovershigh]

Day in the Life of a Single Dad with a 2 Yr Old

This was requested by this anon.

AN: let me know if you guys like fluff fics & i'll try to write them as frequent as my smut & sicfics. also couldn't come up with a better title so... yeah the title is a lil iffy.

Things to help you understand this story better:

(Harry is a single parent/Harry is 25/Harry is a healthy eater/Loves his daughter so much)

Harry is peacefully sleeping in his bed alone. Covers to his chin, curled up on his side. That is until his beautiful two year old daughter comes barging in there to wake her daddy up. He shouldn't be asleep she thinks. It's too late. In reality its only 7 am on a Saturday, but to an early riser like her, he should be awake and playing with her. Or making her breakfast.

Her little feet pad over to her daddy's side of the bed. She can barley reach him due to the height of his bed, but manages to stretch her little arms up and taps on Harrys face. "Daddy, wake up." she speaks in her little British accent. Harry slowly opens his eyes and immediately squeezes them shut because of the sunlight coming from the window blinding him. "Daddy!!" his daughter says a little louder.

If his daughter was any older, Harry might tell her to wait a few minutes or go back to bed because it's too early, but he knows she's only 2. So he forces his eyes open again and reaches down to hook his hands in her tiny arm pits to lift her on the bed. "Why are you awake so early babe." he asks in a gravely voice, while placing her on his bare chest.

"I hungry." her tiny voice replies.

"Mhmm what would you like?" Harry mumbles sleepily.

"Sweets." she says innocently.

"I don't think so love. We don't eat sweets for breakfast. It will give you a tummy ache. What about a healthy fruit salad. We have some Watermelon and Strawberries in the fridge." he replies to his daughter who's straddling his chest.

"NO, I WANT SWEETS! I WANT SWEETS!" she yells back with angry tears threatening to escape.

"D/n, we do not yell!" her father speaks firmly. "We can't have sweets but we can have something other than a fruit salad if you want. Lets go down and see what we have." With a tight grip on his upset daughter, Harry gets out of bed and makes his way down the spiral staircase and into the kitchen.

This wasn't something new to him. Ever since his daughter turned 2 in August, she's been acting up a lot more than previously. You could say it was the terrible twos everyone talks about. Harry tries his hardest to teach her the proper ways to behave but it's been proven to be a lot more difficult than anticipated. Especially hard when he's busy all the time and isn't with her 24/7 like stay-at-home mums are or stay-at-home dads were. He's a musician. Not a so called musician that gets excited to book a Friday night at the local pub. No, Harry is a international pop star.

When he ended up getting a one-night stand pregnant, he told them they could do what they wanted as far keeping the baby or not. Harry has always been one to agree that its a women's choice. But his one-night stand wanted to have the baby. Honestly, you'd think Harry would get angry that she decided to keep it, but he wasn't. Maybe it wasn't the ideal situation to have a baby from a one-night stand that he had on tour, but he being the loving Harry everyone seems to know and love, of course tried to look at it as a positive thing. But when his daughter was born, his one-night stand got her minute of fame by saying she had Harry Styles baby and left. Abandoned her own blood. Harry had to get full custody of his daughter and ever since then she's been living with her daddy.

It was really hard the first few months of her life. A baby needs their mothers comfort and warmth and she had none of that. She never got the opportunity to breast feed or feel the love of her mother, and Harry feels sick just thinking about it. So Harry put his career on hold for a few months to take care of his daughter and show her that someone cares for her. He never wanted her to feel unloved. It was his biggest fear. That's why every day since the day she was born, he tells her how much he loves her. Shows her how much he loves her.

He did all her nightly feedings with warmed up formula in bottles. He changed her diapers at all hours of the day. He gave her baths every day to make sure she smelled nice and clean. And when she turned 1 years old and was getting more active, he took her to the studio with him and let her play her toys.

Just because Harry is a single parent doesn't mean he doesn't have help or support. He has a lot of help when it comes to taking care of his daughter. His sister Gemma babysits all the time for him when he's got something very important to do at the studio where he'd prefer if his daughter wasn't there. Harry's mum watches his daughter frequently when he has a interview he needs to attend. Even some of Harry's friends watch or take care of her when needed. Especially some of his ex bandmates that have kids of their own now. Harry's daughter has playdates with Bear, Liam's son about once a month. They're about the same age and their dads are friends so it works out great. His daughter has even played with Freddie, Louis's son. Not as much because Freddie lives in America but when he comes to England to spend time with his father they hang out. Freddie and Harry's daughter are quite similar. They were both created due to a one-night stand. The only difference is Freddie's mum wanted him. Didn't abandon him. So he has a relationship with both parents. Needless to say, besides all the things a mother can give to their child, his daughter has a good life. People love her, and once again that's all Harry could ask for. People and himself to love his daughter.

After fighting with his daughter about what to eat for breakfast, she finally settles for some Strawberry pancakes as long as they have chocolate syrup on top. Harry gives in and allows a little chocolate for her to have with breakfast. She sits in her high chair munching on the pancakes while Harry cleans the mess from cooking. Like washing the pan and wiping the stove off. When he's finished cleaning, he notices his daughter has stopped eating and is just making a mess with her food at this point.

Walking up to her high chair, Harry bends down and lifts her sticky body up and says, "Alright, time to give you a bath little one."

"No bath daddy! Me no want a bath!" she yells and attempts to kick her fathers legs but Harry grabs ahold of them in his big hand and stops her movements which makes her small body more angry. She screams very loud in his ear and pounds her baby fist in his shoulders, expressing her anger. Harry really wants to get upset. But what he's read in parenting books is that if you ignore their behavior and act like you don't see their tantrums, it will make it better and they'll give up on trying so hard to show their anger.  Because most toddlers have tantrums to try and get attention from their parent(s). By ignoring it, you're not feeding into it.

"I'm sorry but you have chocolate all over you love. Need to get you clean because I need to take you to the studio for a few hours with me today. How does that sound?" trying to make bath time and going to the studio sound fun.

After fighting with Darcy to get in the bath, Harry finally got her in the tub. He struggled to wash her curly hair due to the fact she wouldn't sit still, even after he gave her a rubber ducky to play with. Once he's washed her hair and chocolate covered body, Harry picks her up and wraps her in a big fluffy towel, then takes her to her room to get changed. He manages to get a pull up on her, (still trying to potty train), and puts a lovely red track suit on her with some Gucci shoes. Then he carries her in front of the bathroom mirror to brush her hair.

"Be good for daddy and let me brush your hair." Harry tells his daughter in a gentle manner.

As soon as he passes the brush in her hair, his daughter screams, "Owww, it hurts daddy!"

10 minutes later, Harry has brushed her locks and put her hair into some cute pigtails. With his 2 year old crying in the process. He's pretty good at doing hair because he used to have longer hair himself. Then he picks her up off the counter and places her on the ground, walking her to his bedroom.

"Can you lay in my bed while I get ready? I'll put on your favorite show." he questions calmly.

"Peppa Pig, Peppa Pig, Peppa Pig!" is daughter chants.

"Alright, alright." He picks up his baby girl and sets her in the middle of his bed. Then he grabs the remote to turn his wall mounted tv on. He scrolls on Netflix and finds Peppa Pig to keep her occupied. Then goes to his bathroom to get dressed and ready to head to the studio.

When he exits his bathroom fully dressed and ready to leave, he finds a sleeping toddler on his bed, snuggled into his pillow. Her perfectly outlined lips slightly parted. Harry can't help but smile. He loves his baby girl with his entirety and seeing her peaceful like this makes him so happy. He turns the tv off and carefully picks her up into his arms and heads down the stairs to his car in the garage. But not before stopping by her room to pick up her mini backpack that holds extra pullups and a sippy cup full of juice, with some of her toys as well. Her tiny face is stuffed into her daddy's neck and Harry can feel light puffs of air hitting his skin. He puts his daughter in her car seat and buckles her up properly. Then gets in himself to drive to the studio.

About 5 minutes away from the studio, Darcy wakes up from her late morning nap and whines out, "Me wanna go home and play with you!"

"I'm sorry but I have to work for a little bit. I'll play with you when we get home later. How does that sound Hmm?" She was not satisfied with her fathers answer and starts wailing. Hot salty tears run down her little cheeks and she makes exaggerated sounds to emphasize her crying. She kicks at the seat in front of her and balls her fist up as if she's going to hit something but unfortunately to her, she can't reach a single thing due to her seat belt. Once again, Harry just ignores her cries of anger and turns the radio on loud to block it out.

By the time they arrive at the studio, Harry's daughter has calmed down. She's still upset but at least she isn't crying and that's progress in Harry's eyes. He parks his car in a secluded area to hide from potential paparazzi and unbuckles her. Then shields her face form potential cameras and make their way into the music studio. Harry has to record some audio for his newest album so that's why he needed to come in today. They enter the studio where the rest of his solo band is. He prefers to record the instruments live instead of manufactured drums and guitars.

At some point when he was getting ready in his home bathroom, Harry had called his assistant and told her he needed to bring his daughter in to the studio with him so she could watch her while he's busy. She agreed but being Harry Styles assistant, it wasn't really an option. Not that Harry would force her but she's an assistant for a reason. To do jobs Harry assigns her. In this case babysit his toddler while he records a song. He doesn't have anyone else today and unfortunately can't leave her at home with a mummy like many other fathers can. He's just happy his job allows his daughter to be somewhat a part of it. Not in the spotlight because he keeps his daughters identity a secret from the public for her protection, but as far as her going to the studio with him or when she gets older, she can come on tour with him.

Harry's assistant takes his toddler and her mini backpack full of her essentials. They hang out in the open area, out of the way from his band and he himself so he can get what he needs to get done so they can wrap everything up for the album. Harry's daughter actually loves his assistant. They have grown quite close over the 2 years of her life. But because she's going through her terrible twos, the toddler didn't want to behave for anyone today.

About an hour into Harry's work, he's interrupted with a frantic assistant that has a screaming toddler in her arms. "I'm sorry Harry but she's been crying for about 30 minutes and I've done everything I know to do to get her to calm down." Harry isn't upset his assistant came to him for help with his baby. That's not the type of guy he is.

Harry takes off his headphones and walks over to them. He picks his little girl up into his tattooed arms and questions, "Love, why are you upset for? If you keep crying, you'll end up with a tummy ache."

She just hugs around her fathers neck with her little arms and says, "Want you daddy." Those words almost breaks his heart. Harry doesn't know where this sudden want for him has came from.

"You can have me all you want when I'm finished working, alright. I'll be done shortly." He struggles to pass her back over to his assistant, but finally manages. "Maybe she's hungry. I'll give you a few pounds to take her through drive thru at McDonalds. Would you like McDonalds d/n?" She just nods her pigtailed head. He would suggest for them to go inside, but the public knows what his assistant looks like so they'd know that was his daughter. The daughter that has her identity secret for now. His assistant takes the toddler to the McDonalds drive thru and orders her some chicken nuggets. Even through Harrys pescatarian, he still allows his daughter to eat meats. Then Harry goes back to work in the studio.

Around 2 in the afternoon, Harry and the two year old make it back home. The rest of the evening was a little hectic with a few tantrums here and there. Harry cooked them a nice meal for dinner at about 6 and played dolls with her in the short period of time she wasn't upset. Then comes the dreaded bedtime.

Harry changes her into some pjs and helps her brush her teeth. Then when he went to put her in bed, she started crying for the 100th time today. "Me sleep with you daddy." she cries out. There's a part of him that wants to say yes and cave in, but the parent part of him is saying no. She needs to learn to be a big girl. Harry really doesn't understand why she wants to sleep with him all the sudden. She normally has no problem sleeping by herself.

"No baby. You need to be a big girl and sleep in your bed sweetheart. I'm right next door if you need me though okay." His daughter clings to his body and cries fat tears. Harry decides to stay in her room until she falls asleep. So that's what he does. When she subsumes to sleep, he lays her down in her bed and pulls the covers up over her frail body. Then exits her room quietly.

Harry changes into some comfier clothes himself and goes down stairs to get himself a glass of wine. Then he sits on the sofa and turns a series on to watch before bed. Times like now is when  he wishes he had a wife. He'd even take a girlfriend. Just someone to hold him late at night and cuddle with him. Even have some type of intimacy. Ever since he found out about his daughter, Harrys game of sleeping around stopped. He didn't want to keep sleeping with random girls when he was becoming a dad. He was raised better than that. So needless to say he was lonely. In every way possible. Mentally, and physically.

Whilst in the middle of the show he's watching, Harry is brought back to reality when he hears a blood-curdling scream from up the stairs. He rushes to set his wine down on the coffee table and runs to his daughters room. When he walks in there, his heart sinks. The toddler is crying so hard she's gasping for air. It's a different cry that he's seen through-out the day. Unlike her terrible twos tantrums, this cry sounds like she's scared. Harry runs to her and picks her up. "Hey what's wrong my love? Tell daddy what's wrong." he asks of his child, soothing her to his chest.

As her tears slow down in the comfort of her daddy's arms, she mumbles, "You left me." Once again Harrys confused because she never acts like this.

Harry walks out her bedroom and goes to sit with her on the sofa downstairs. Then he turns her around on his lap to look at her face more clearly. "Baby, you need to tell daddy why you got scared or why you want me all the sudden."

The little 2 year old takes a deep breath and speaks in her little accent, "On Peppa Pig, they...they said kids like me are supposed to have a mummy AND a daddy. They said daddies can't love their babies like mummy's can. Me was scared you don't love me anymore." Her voice cracked saying the last bit with fresh tears running down her face and Harry has glossy eyes looking down at his distressed but beautiful mini twin. That's right. They look almost exactly alike. He thanks God every day for that because he doesn't want to look at his daughter and be reminded of a one-night stand that's a piece of shit of a mother.

"Look at me d/n. I love you so so so much. I will NEVER stop loving you." at this point he has to take a deep breath so compose his emotions, "And not all kids have mummies. There are a lot of kids who just have a daddy or some just have a mummy. But it doesn't mean I love you any less. Okay?! Don't listen to what they said in Peppa Pig. They were wrong." Finishing his speech, Harry pulls her tiny body forward and hugs her to his warm chest. He has silent tears running down his face. Both hands spread over her boney back. He thinks tonight is appropriate enough to allow her to sleep with him. She needs comfort. "Would you still like to sleep with me?" he asks in a whisper.

"Pleaseee." she responds while crying. Harry stands form the couch, turning the television off and abandoning his barley touched wine glass, and goes to his bedroom. The turns the overhead light off and walks over to the bed. Peeling the covers back, Harry and his daughter, whose on his chest, slide under the warm blankets together. Now she has just about stopped crying. Just little whimpers leaving her body, along with a few hiccups. Harry reaches over to turn the lamp off, leaving the room completely dark. He shushes his baby until her eyes slowly close and she falls asleep with her face burred in his neck and arms around his neck. Her short legs lay limp over his stomach.

Harry has a difficult time falling asleep that night. He feels sorry for his baby girl because he worries that movies and shows with two parents will make her sad and left out because she doesn't have a mummy. He just prays she will see all she'll ever need is her daddy to protect her and love her for the rest of eternity.

MASTERLIST & My Favorite Harry Styles Fics MASTERLIST

[unsupervisedpanda]

Shots fired

Spencer x reader

Sitting on Spencer's couch you'd been reading one of your favorite books. It was early, at least for a weekend it was. You'd come by Spencer's hoping to catch him before a phone call from the team, however he seemed to have been gone already.

   You thought about just going home, but decided to stay and clean the already, mostly pristine apartment. It was organized in his own chaotic way. You'd slowly put away his paperwork and obsessively marked books.

  You then walked over to his nearly empty sink washing the dishes. After that it was doing his laundry and maybe make and remake his bed.

  Today was your last day off which is why you were hoping to catch him. You worked at an elementary school and taught a rambuctious group of 2nd graders. They were great kids and you loved them all dearly.

  That being said tomorrow was Monday so you had things that you needed to prepare. That is why you called Spencer and let him know you'd been there. You knew he was observant and may panic if he saw his apartment.

   "Hey Spence, it's me. I just wanted to let you know I stopped by. I love you and I'll see you when you're back. Kisses." Then you hung up.

  Nothing could have prepared you for the next day.

You woke up at 5:00am and got ready for the day. The school day didn't start until 8:30, but you wanted to catch a shower.

Swinging your legs over your bed and wobbled to the bathroom, grabbing a towel and your brush on the way. You had your clothes laid out the night before, surprisingly you were set for Monday it was Friday when you just threw your clothes on and prayed they matched.

  That being said you sauntered into the small room flipping the light on and flinching at it's brightness.

   "Ugh no! Tis to early for this." You groaned plopping the towel on the toilet.

  You stripped the overnight clothes off and turned the shower on, the steam rising from the enclosed space and into the rest of the room.

   Pulling the curtains aside you stepped in, the hot water cascading down your back and soaking your hair. The water washed away your sleepiness and you began to shampoo and condition your locks. You hummed as the suds made your hair squishy and soft. You giggled before putting your head back under the rushing water. The soap washed out gathering around your feet and down the drain.

   Once you were sure the soap was out and that your body felt refreshed, you shut the water off. Stepping out of the shower your feet padded on the shower mat. You smiled reaching over and grabbing the grey towel.

  Drying your body you then dried your hair. Once you were sure you wouldn't drip water everywhere you brushed through your damp hair.

  Spinning back to your door you wrapped the towel tightly around yourself. You needed to get dressed and you'd sleepily left the clothes in your room. Huffing you opened the door, the cool air rushing at your damp flesh, goosebumps rising.

Shivering you padded to your room and made sure the curtains were closed, windows locked, and then locking the bedroom door. You heard all sorts of stories from Penelope about how women were attacked in their own homes while they were vulnerable. No not you and not today.

   Quickly you slipped into your clothes, which happened to be a pair of black leggings and a (favorite color) dress that ended just above the knee, with a light overcoat

  You huffed before grabbing your phone. 5:45 am. Good you were on a roll. You lived about 15 minutes away from the school so you had time.

  Sliding your sneakers on you tied them before hearing your front door open. You immediately jumped up, opening your night stand, and pulling out the pistol you'd kept stashed there.

   You crept over to the door and unlocked the knob. With the way your apartment was set up you couldn't see the front door or the kitchen. Stepping into the hall you slinked down towards the living room. Once you entered you saw the back of the person kneeling in front of your fridge.

   You almost laughed out loud, but clicked the safety back on.

   "Spence you couldn't text me before coming over?" You giggled as the brunette jumped, hitting his head off the top of the fridge.

  "Ouch! Crap. I'm sorry y/n I wanted to surprise you. I figured I could stop by early enough that I won't be called in." You laughed at the male before placing the gun in another drawer in the kitchen. 

  "Awe that's sweet Spencer. What were you looking for?" You laughed walking over to him and pushing his bangs out of his face.

  "Ehm well I was looking for some coffee creamer because the barista forgot it. They were really busy." You nodded before brushing past him and to the refrigerator.

  "Ahh let's see I have hazelnut and vanilla and oh! There's some caramel, too."

   You heard him whisper a soft "Vanilla, please." Before you stood up the container in hand. Turning around you saw his eyes were downcast and your eyebrows raised in concern.

  "Spencer. Is everything alright?" He seemed to jump at the question, but nodded reaching for the bottle in your hand.

   "No. There's something bothering you, love. What happened yesterday?" His eyes widened as you placed the bottle behind him on the counter.

  "You can talk to me. You know that. Now spill, Spence." He shuddered slightly before sighing.

   "There's a case. The unsub is targeting elementary schools in the area. He targets the female employees killing them, talking about it's them or the kids. He even used a recording to lure them. Still no one is taking us seriously! We've gone to several of the schools, even the superintendent! They're refusing to shut the schools down saying that 'our employees are trained for this.'" He huffed heavily running his fingers through his hair.

  "This guy is smart y/n. He's already gone to three schools and killed 23 people and-" he choked up as he thought about the 13 children who died.

  "Spence, what school would he go for next? He's smart and calculated I'm sure. Where would he target next?" You looked at your best friend worry in your eyes. He looked up at you the gears in his head turning.

  "That's the thing y/n he's unpredictable. We thought he had a connection to one and he attacked another. We have no idea which school he'll target next. So far all of his attacks would seem random but they're not." He sighed out rubbing his face.

  "He's killed 23 people. 10 teachers and 13 children. We thought we were so close Y/n and he killed again. We can't lose. We can't let him kill again." His voice sounded so strained.

  You went to answer him when his phone beeped. He jumped slightly before pulling it out.

  "I got to go. The team needs me. I'm sorry. I love you! Be safe" he rushed kissing your forehead, before slipping out of the front door.

   Fisting your hands you sighed. This man could target your school next. Grabbing your purse and keys you rushed out the door.

     "Yes sir I understand there's no evidence or reason for him to come here but please listen to me. If we take the precautions, just until he's caught there's less likely of a chance for anyone to get hurt!

   We are an elementary school. We don't have to switch classes. We can have indoor recess, allowing the children to be safe, to learn, to have fun!

  We can have lunch in our classrooms and avoid being out in the open. This man is dangerous sir. Please."

   Your boss looked at you his eyes sharp.

  "Ms. L/n I'm sure this man is dangerous, and I'm sure you're worried but there is no reason for us to go into a panic. You may do as you wish with your class, I'll permiss it but I cannot make the other teachers to through with it. I'm sorry." You sighed but nodded.

  "Thank you Victor. I appreciate it but please inform them?" He hesitated but nodded.

  "I will."

Walking back to your classroom your shoes thudded along the tile. At least you got permission to protect your class. It was definitely something.

   Unlocking your door you pulled together today's activities. You'd have to make sure everything was prepared for if something happened.

   Going through your cupboards and closets, you emptied or organized them, to maybe hide the kids in. It wasn't much but you wanted to keep them safe.

  School would be in session soon and you needed to be sure that you were prepared.

    "Hey Lola! How are you today?" You greeted the young girl as she plopped into her desk.

  "I'm mad. Mommy told me that Skylar isn't coming to school today! And she is  like my bestest best friend!" You laughed as she threw her arms up in frustration.

   "Maybe that's what's best Little Lady. Don't worry though! We might play hide and seek later!" You said handing her a squishy ball to squeeze.

   Soon you had all of your kids for today. You may have called the parents and let them know of the risks and  Victor might not be impressed but you'd deal with his wrath later.

    Looking around you told the class of the plans today and gave them a math game to play in small groups. The door of course was locked along with the door stop.

   You gave each child an assignment, but made it a game so that they wouldn't be scared. You made Lola and Jaiden your captains who took care of their crew. If someone had to go to the bathroom you'd take a small group and leave the other group to watch the classroom. Then you'd come back and switch.

    That being said you were constantly checking in on Spencer. He didn't answer much but he did reassure you to his best ability. At least he had been.

   You didn't understand what was happening until you heard someone bump into the microphone in the office.

It made a terrible screaming noise before you heard Haley, the secretary announce that everyone had to take the school intruder precautions.

  Quickly you told the kids to go to their "bases" or hiding places. Jaiden and his team hid in the cupboards while Lola and hers hid in the closet.

  You? You stood next to the door out of sight. Earlier you'd put up a curtain so that if the guy did show up he couldn't look in.

   You heard the other kids in other classes asking what was going on and some of them were crying. You grimaced at the thought of their faces.

   You waited for a while before Victor came on.

  "I understand you are scared. I need you all to stay calm and keep the children safe. No matter what you hear, or see DO NOT leave your classrooms. Thank you that is all."

   Glancing around you began pushing some of the desks in front of the door. Then you ran over to the window and unlocked one. You didn't open it for fear of making your escape obvious. If you needed to get the kids out quickly you would.

   Pulling out your phone your dialed Spencers number. If you heard any evidence of the unsub he'd be on speed dial. That being said you told the kids to stay hidden and go over their "battle plans".

   Steadying your breathing you walked over to the door and stood next to it out of sight.

   It didn't take long before you heard screaming, a female. She was yelling about how it was the schools corrupt system that got her son killed. That if they had listened to protocol and protected him he'd still be alive.

  You gasped before calling Reid.

"Hello?" Shuddering you replied quietly.

  "The unsub is actually a woman. She has a dead son. He died in a school shooting or something similar." The other end was silent for a moment before you heard some scuffling.

   "Y/n?" You sighed as you recognised Hotch's voice.

  "Yes sir?"

"I need you to tell me what's going on." Before you could answer a loud gun shot was heard.

  "Y/n! Are you okay!" You heard Spencer panic.

   "I- I am fine. So are the kids. I don't know about the others though. The unsub. She's here Spencer and she's mad." You cried softly before another shot echoed throughout the building.

   "Y/n. We're on our way. Just stay safe. We're coming." You nodded before mumbling a soft 'okay' and hanging up.

   "YOU TEACHERS KILLED MY BABY! YOU DIDN'T PROTECT HIM! HE DIDN'T DESERVE TO DIE. HE WAS A CHILD!" you gasped as she wailed before shooting her gun again. Directly into your door.

  Gasping you waited. You heard her walk over to the door before pulling on the handle.

  "Oh. So you think you can protect them huh? With a measly door and a glass window with a fucking curtain? No way in hell."

  With that she put the gun against the glass with a 'clank'. Before you could react and loud ringing filled your ears as she pulled the trigger.

   Glass flew everywhere as the woman laughed. Thinking fast you grabbed a desk and faced it towards the window holding it in place. With her only way in temporarily blocked you called for Lola.

  "Lola honey! C'mere!" You whisper yelled as the small girl crawled out.

  "Ms. L/n what was that? It was really loud and we're scared." You smiled softly.

  "I know honey but I need you to get all of your classmates and take them to the 3rd window. Do you understand?" She nodded quickly rushing around.

   Sighing in relief you jumped when another gun shot sounded.

    Gritting your teeth you let go of the desk, glad it stayed.

   Helping Lola gather them all was much harder then you wanted it to be, but they were scared and that you understood.

   "Okay my little adventures, we're gonna do an escape mission. I want you all to climb out of this window and hide in the bushes until the good guys come okay?" They nodded and you shivered in relief. Once they were safe you could do what you needed to.

   Quickly you put them on the counter and they climbed out, the taller boys going first to help the shorter ones.

   Finally it was Lola's turn and she looked at you with big watery eyes.

  "Ms. L/n I'm scared." Your heart broke before you hugged her.

  "Me too. Don't worry though our knight is coming princess." She cried as you put her on the counter helping her out.

   "Be safe. Hide. Go!" They all nodded and ran off. As soon as you were sure they were safe you rushed to the door that connected to Mr. Groves room. Unlocking it you rushed in all the kids looked at you wide eyed.

  "Hey guys! It's okay you need to be really quiet and come with me okay?" They cried and looked over at their teacher and you nearly screamed at the sight.

He had gotten hit by a stray bullet or something and was bleeding out on the floor.

  "Okay. Okay come on. Quietly." They nodded rushing into your classroom. When you had them all you helped them out like you did your own, giving them the same instructions.

   Rushing back the other class you took off your jacket pressing it into Steve's chest.

  "Hey Steve. How are you?" You laughed awkwardly and he gurgled at you. Crying you kept pressure.

   "They're all safe. I helped them. It's okay." You smiled at him and he smiled lightly and you sobbed quietly as his life slowly seeped out onto your hands and jacket.

   Slowly pulled your hands away you jumped when you heard sniffling.

   Whipping around you looked under his desk finding a little boy.

  "Hey hey! What's your name handsome?" You asked quickly wiping the blood off.

  "C-christopher, b-but my mo-mommy calls m-me Chris." He sobbed.

   "Okay Chris why don't I help you out with your other friends?" The boy shook his head aggressively in a 'no' motion.

  "I can't." Your eyebrows raised before your eyes widened.

   "Christopher, are you paralyzed?" The boy nodded and you let out a breath.

  "Okay come here. I'll carry you." His eyes widened.

  "We, we can't go out there. The bad lady will shoot us!" You winced at his loud voice and he seemed to realize what he'd done because he began to softly cry.

   "Ahh honey it's okay. We won't move. We won't move." You hushed pulling him into you.

   You sat there for what felt like forever before you heard Derek talking down the Unsub.

  "Ma'am you don't want to do this! Put the gun down. Ma'am!" You and Christopher jumped when someone slammed into your classroom next door.

Pulling Christopher into your lap you held him close as he cried into your chest.

   "THEY KILLED HIM! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT. THEY KILLED HIM." You jumped at how close she seemed.

   Breathing out shakily you put Chris down gesturing for him to be quiet.

   Slowly you pulled yourself up. Glancing at the door connecting the rooms you saw it was partially opened.  

   Taking a deep breath you slowly made your way over jumping when the woman began to yell again.

   This was your chance. Running at the door you slammed it shut turning the lock.

   "YOU CAN'T PROTECT THEM!" She screamed slamming into the now locked door.

   Quickly you dragged a few desks to block her from entering. From there you unlocked the main door.

   "Chris, baby, I'm going to pick you up and I want you to close your eyes. Do you understand?" He nodded quickly tears bubbling up.

   "Okay come here honey." He dragged himself over to you and you quickly gathered him into your arms.

   "Okay you have to trust me. Just close your eyes." You hushed quickly and quietly opening the classroom door, as the women continued to bang and scream in yours.

   Rushing into the hall you saw Derek's eyes widen as you held Chris to your chest, the blood from Steve staining your outfit.

   "It's not mine!" You assured as you jogged to him, Chris hiding in your hair.

   "The kids are outside hiding in the bushes." You whispered once you were close enough so the woman wouldn't hear you.

   "Mr. Groves, she killed him. And Chris he's paralyzed." You informed as Derek ushered you behind him.

   "You need to get out of here. If she sees you she'll-" *BANG*

   You yelped in shock as the shot rang out.

   "Move in!" A man yelled followed by his team.

   Christopher held onto you sobbing into your dress. You held him close and hushed him, whispering reassurances into his ear.

    Derek led you outside and when you got there you were surrounded by police and EMT's.

     You handed Christopher off to one of the women, promising him he'd be okay. Then you ran over to the bushes and found both your students and Steve's.

     "Hey guys! Come one the good guys are here." You promised as Lola ran to you.

    "Hey princess." You murmured as she cried into your shoulder. The other kids surrounded you in a group hug.

     Standing up you held Lola to your chest.

    "Come on guys." You ushered them to the authorities.

     You were shocked when a woman mobbed you and began to cry as she held you and Lola.

     "Thank you! Thank you so much." She cried and you were to shocked to do anything.

     When she pulled away she held Lola's face in one hand and yours in the other.

      "You don't know me, but I know you. You saved my little boy Chris." She sniveled and you nodded.

    "Chris. Is he okay?" You asked as you set Lola down next to you keeping ahold of her hand.

     "Yes thanks to you. He's a little shaken up of course but thank you!" She continued.

     You nodded before you led her to an ambulance where Chris was sitting.

     "Hey Chris. This is Lola. You mind if she stays with you and your mom?" You asked as you brushed Lola's hair back.

    He nodded patting the spot next to him.

    "Thank you. Lola honey I'll be right back." You assured her before turning to scan the crowd, looking for Spencer. 

     When you found him you rushed to him. Calling out his name, he turned, and you ran into his arms.

    "Spencer." You wept lightly and he held you, wrapping his arms around you as he held you tightly.

    "You did it." He whispered and you nodded.

     "We did it." You told him pulling away.

   He nodded and kissed your forehead.

   "You're amazing." He murmured.

  You shuddered lightly.

    "Amazingly gross. I- I need to change. Steve..." You muttered and he nodded.

    "I think JJ might have a change of clothes.... Or I could ask Penelope?" He suggested and you nodded hating the blood on your clothes.

   Leading you towards his team mates, he kissed your forehead.

    When you got there Derek clapped you on the shoulder, congratulating you for your quick thinking.

    Hotch nodded to you in respect and Emily and JJ fretted over you.

    Emily gave you one of her shirts, and you borrowed a pair of sweats from Morgan.

    "Thanks guys." You smiled tightly as Spencer held you to his side, one arm wrapped around your waist.

    Leaning into his shoulder you closed your eyes. Today definitely didn't go to plan.

     You found out later after you asked what happened, that the woman was named Marissa Timmins. Her son was killed in a school shooting after one of the teachers snapped.

     The boy was eight. The snap occured after she found out that the man who'd killed her child was going with an insanity plea.

    That being said the gunshot you'd heard was her... well taking her life into her own hands.

    Everyone was deemed okay but were understandably shaken up. Luckily no children were harmed. Haley was being treated for a gunshot wound to her hip and Victor had been shot in the abdomen but was rushed to the hospital.

     It seemed the only casualties this time were Steve and Marissa.

   That night Spencer had taken you home and stayed with you the entire time, which the team understood. Several parents sent you thank you cards, and so did the kids. School had been cancelled for the rest of the week so you slept in, or tried to.

    The nightmares weren't helping but waking up in Spencer's arms calmed your racing heart.

     You were glad you had him. So glad. That being said Steve's funeral was on Thursday, and then despite how everyone else felt you attended Marissa's as well.

Maybe it was to see how her family saw her before she lost her child, maybe it was to try and get to know her for who she had been, or maybe it was so you could put a face to the woman who'd killed so many people.

It was closed casket for her, but the pictures showed enough. As for Steve's, well you felt terrible. Seeing his wife and two daughters, it broke your heart.

You offered your condolences and Mrs. Groves held you for a long time. She thanked you for being there for him in his final moments.

Spencer waited for you both times, ready to hold you as you sobbed.

You never understood how Spencer could do this, see people die, day in and day out but you loved him for it.

Standing on your tip toes you pecked him on the lips.

"Let's go home?" You asked and nodded walked around the car and opening your door.

"Let's go home." He confirmed kissing your cheek.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 6

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language, brief violence, and a line that hints at past physical abuse (depending on how you choose to interpret it) Warnings: Mild TW for implied/referenced abuse Notes: Okay so this was supposed to be somewhat therapeutic? But it ended up taking longer to get to that part than I intended, so... Don't worry though, next chapter will be fluffy and also involve more, like, actual Daniela scenes. Previous Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2 Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco

Chapter 6: Elegy

(Elegy: A piece of music in the form of a lament)

When you dream, you do not dream of being locked in a tower, awaiting a kindly knight to come save you. When you dream… you dream of your old home, infested with monsters, nearly unrecognizable. Of being forced to flee, leaving everything you loved behind. Of escaping to a remote, quaint little village, only to end up trapped once again, as friendly faces morph into gaping maws and fangs dripping red. When you dream, it is less a nightmare, more memories retouched, covered in a fresh coat of paint.

Waking up is but a brief source of comfort. One hand goes to your head, rubbing gently, as if you could wipe away all traces of your past. A quick glance around your shared room leaves you confused, but serves as a welcome distraction. Though there are six beds in the room, yours is the only occupied one, the others having all been vacated and made presentable. The only explanation that fit with what you knew was that everyone had gotten up, and gotten to work, without waking you. Panic filled you as you connected the dots, knowing that missing work was a death sentence.

Rushing, you rise to your feet, throwing your dresser open to search for fresh clothes. While the castle’s staff was almost entirely female, the Dimitrescu family didn’t enforce traditional gender presentation, allowing maidens to choose whether to wear a dress or a button-up and trousers. Remembering the wound on your neck, you pause, glancing in the dorm’s singular mirror to inspect your injury. Most of the blood had rubbed off in your sleep (and would likely be a nightmare to clean from the sheets). There were, however, a few spots where dried blood mingled with the protective scab. Considering how late you already were, you didn’t believe you would have time to clean up.

As much as you hated the thought, the best you could do was go for a button-up, hoping the collar would hide the worst of your disastrous appearance. Your hair was another matter entirely, far messier than it normally was, and you struggled to brush/comb it enough to be mildly presentable. Good thing Daniela won’t see me today, you think, remembering her insistence on skipping today’s lesson.

Then you remember the rest of your conversation with her; the yelling, being dragged to your feet, and the pain in her eyes. For a moment you feel woozy, pausing in the middle of buttoning your shirt. Your eyes focus on a spot on the now-closed dresser… and suddenly you wish you had paid more attention when you first woke up. There’s a note stuck to the furniture, clearly addressed to you.

Heard you had some trouble yesterday. We’re just glad you’re alive! A certain someone has been a lot nicer since you started playing the piano, and we’re grateful. To show that, we decided to split your morning duties among ourselves, so you can sleep in. If you’re reading this, then it’s still before 4 AM. Feel free to just relax for a while, or even get some more sleep! We’ll be by to make sure you’re up eventually.

Sincerely,

Daphne, Rosalia, Ygritte, Alexandra, Juniper, and Riley

“I… have… freetime?” You mumbled, still a little drowsy, but now also shocked. This was a complete first for you. Maybe even a first among the servants! Sure, you had been given breaks before, but having a couple hours to do whatever you wanted? No one had ever pulled strings like this for you before. It made your chest feel warm, and you just about forgot the whole mess with Daniela. “I’ll have to find a way to pay them back, even if they think they’re paying me back.” With that said you relaxed a little, no longer rushing getting dressed, though still leaving your neck the way it was. You figured you’d stop by one of the maidens’ restrooms before you officially started your shift.

In the meantime, you knew exactly what you’d be using this time for: finding those damn piano books you had been promised!

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“Let’s see… dust, more dust, a dead spider, even more dust, and- oh shit, the spider is not dead,” you said, barely holding in a yelp as the arachnid scurries away from you. If you had known the attic would be so unclean, you might not have bothered to come up here. So far your targets had alluded you without giving so much as a hint towards their location. The library had seemed a likely location, but you had heard Daniela’s voice within, and anxiety had sent you dashing away. Up here, in an area clearly used for storage above all else, was the next best guess, as far as you were concerned. Still, you hadn’t seen anything worth your time yet.

Just insects, really. Not even terribly interesting ones. Well, there had been a shiny beetle of some sort, but it had crawled into a crack in the wall mere seconds after you saw it. Other than that, though, nothing but creepy crawlies. Creepy flyers?... Both, for sure. One fly in particular kept buzzing around you, weirdly interested in what you were doing.

Somehow you didn’t understand what that meant until a firm hand had wrapped itself around your neck. The grip was tight, putting more than enough pressure to make your vision blur. Thankfully, or perhaps unfortunately, the culprit didn’t intend to just choke you out. Instead they lift you and toss you aside- casually, at that. You hit the wall with a terrible crashing sound, certain to leave bruises, and narrowly avoid toppling into a stack of heavy crates. So much for enjoying some free time, you think. Stunned for several seconds, you find yourself left helpless as your attacker approaches.

“You’re not allowed to be up here,” a voice snarled, familiar enough to leave you terrified. Of course you had to run into the most violent of the Dimitrescu sisters. “Looking for a way out, hmm? Or are you stupid enough to think we’d leave a weapon where a wretched thing like you could find it?” Cassandra asked, pausing only to send a swift kick your way. A grunt escapes you, leaves you coughing, but it doesn’t hurt as bad as hitting the wall. Despite wanting to curl up and give in, you tried to drag yourself to your feet. Surprisingly, Cassandra makes no move to stop you, perhaps enjoying the sight of you struggling.

“Lady… Daniela… gave me permission,” you said between painful breaths. By the time you’re back on your feet, the vampire before you is watching you with narrowed, albeit curious, eyes. Normally it would take a lot of courage to face her. But you’re exhausted, in pain, and you’ve taken nearly as much hurt from someone who called themselves your lover. It’s not brave to stare down Cassandra, it’s foolhardy. It’s idiotic, really, and yet you find yourself unable to care. “I’m just looking for a couple piano books I’ve been told about, so I can use them to help teach Lady Daniela.”

“Oh? You’re her instructor?” Cassandra asked, a strange smile overtaking her expression. Something in the atmosphere has shifted, dangerously, but you can’t figure out why. Clueless to your self-betrayal, you nod in response. Instantly Cassandra’s smile turns into an open-lipped snarl, and she reaches out to grab you by the shirt, this time slamming you into the wall with her own hands. “Then you’re the reason she kept me up yesterday, crying non stop! I’m going to rip you apart, you vermin.”

The look in her eyes is, most definitely, the scariest thing you had ever seen. It’s feral, inhuman, and unstoppably determined. But when tears fall from your eyes, it’s not because you know you’re about to die. No, it’s because the last thing you think you’ll ever hear is the news that your partner had been sobbing for hours… and that you were the reason why. Your heart aches, both physically and emotionally, as you brace yourself for the bloody end.

Instead, the grip on your clothes loosens. You don’t dare open your eyes to see why.

“What the fuck do you want, sis?” Cassandra asked, sounding like she had turned her head away from you. Before you know it you’ve been let go, and you slide to the ground, too surprised to hold yourself steady. When you look up, you see an irritated Bela pulling Cassandra away from you, whispering something you can’t quite hear. They argue for a minute, under their breath, keen on keeping you out of the loop. Eventually the younger of the two storms away, but not before making a dent in the wall with her fist.

“What a child,” Bela said, rolling her eyes at the display. Then she’s walking back towards you, extending a hand in an offer of assistance (one you gladly accept). “That girl has the foresight of a magic eight ball, I swear. If she had actually killed you… ugh, I can hardly stand to imagine how inconsolable Daniela would become. Then I’d have two insufferable sisters. Regardless, do tell me why you thought it would be a good idea to come up here unaccompanied? It is normally off limits for servants, after all.”

“I-I, well… I mean, firstly thank you for saving me, I had no idea-” Bela holds a finger up in a ‘shut up’ motion, then puts it away as soon as you pause- “right, you don’t care. Look, I was just trying to find the piano books that Lady Dimitrescu mentioned, but I’ve looked all over and I can’t find them, so I should really just go,” you explain, eager to get out of the attic. To your surprise, Bela gives you an odd look before turning away. Then she takes no more than five steps, shifts to the side, and opens an old cabinet. Inside you can see a dozen books of sheet music, notably from several different decades, all worn but still in decent condition. “How did-?... I thought I checked there.”

“Well, you must have been distracted. Nonetheless, you know where they are now, and you owe me twice over. With that in mind… come with me. We have things to discuss,” Bela commanded, walking away before you could protest. All you can do is grab the sheet music, tuck it under one arm, and follow her to who-knows-where.

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

“I’ll have to have you make my tea more often,” Bela mused, letting the mug keep her hands warm. The two of you were sitting in some sort of study, a room that you had never been inside before. From what you could tell it belonged solely to the eldest Dimitrescu daughter. Inside were several shelves, each filled with well bookmarked collections, a desk next to a massive window, a couple simple chairs, and a few instrument cases. All in all it was an aesthetically pleasing room, organized but not exactly neat. You could certainly imagine Bela spending entire days in this chamber. “Now, why do you think I brought you here?” Her voice brings your focus back into the present moment, as well as sends a spike of anxiety through you.

“Based on what nearly got me killed earlier… Does it have to do with Daniela crying?” You asked, doing your best to indicate just how bad you felt about the subject. No matter how cruel she could be, you did honestly care about Daniela, and even wanted a real, healthy relationship with her. Desire, or willingness, wasn’t the root of the problem by any means. Something told you that Bela understood this, maybe even respected you for it.

“Guess there’s more in that pretty head of yours than air and symphonies, hmm?” Bela replied, laughing a little as she did. It was a far nicer sound than Cassandra’s maniacal giggling, for sure. “Now, I don’t know all the details about what happened- just that there was an argument, clearly a bad one, and Daniela barely made it through dinner before locking herself in her room. Luckily for you, our mother doesn’t seem to know about your little ‘fight’. She’s not sure what upset Dani, and I doubt my sister would tell her, so your secret is safe. Assuming that I blackmailed Cassandra well enough, that is. Anyway, I can’t help you, and by extension my sister, if I don’t know the full story. In case it wasn’t clear, that’s your cue to start talking.”

You’re surprised, admittedly, by a number of things. But Bela seems impatient, so you go over the details of the previous night with her, occasionally pausing to let her ask questions. The whole time her focus is on you, unwavering. There’s also a noticeable lack of judgement in her expression, even when you voice your regret about how you handled the situation, and what is there seems directed more towards Daniela than yourself. Once you finish, Bela releases a deep sigh. One of her hands goes to rub her forehead as if warding off a migraine.

“Well, I can’t say I’m terribly surprised, as much as I wish I could. Daniela’s always had her head in the clouds, and it’s left her tripping over her own feet more than once. Still, this is certainly one of her bigger messes…” Bela said, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m going to have to talk to her about this, aren’t I? There’s no way she’s going to process this correctly on her own.” This time she seemed to be talking to herself, gaze locked on her tea as if it might suddenly offer to speak to Daniela in her place. When the tea stayed silent, understandably, she returned her focus to you. “You seemed upset, earlier, about this ridiculous situation. I am going to assume, from that, you are genuinely interested in my dear sister. Normally, this would be the part where I drain you of all blood, and possibly keep your skull as a memento... mori. Yours would look lovely on a window sill, I think.”

She pauses, head tilting a little to the side, clearly evaluating your artistic value.

“However, Daniela appears to care about you, far more than her usual fleeting infatuations. So, for now, I have decided not to eviscerate you, you’re welcome,” Bela cooed, teasingly, enjoying the way you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Still, you were glad that you would apparently be surviving the day. “So I’m going to give you some advice, which you will take, and you won’t even owe me anything extra for this. Daniela is in love with the mere concept of love- and she has been for as long as I can remember. Romance novels are practically the only books she reads. It’s… embarrassing, truly. More than that, I get the impression that she couldn’t even begin to describe what love actually feels like. She’s digested so much of that written drivel that it warped her senses. Of course, the, ahem, situation we find ourselves in, here at the castle, has undoubtedly added to this effect.

“To get to the point, Daniela’s terribly, hopelessly clueless when it comes to things like what she wants from you. And so I take it upon myself, as her older sibling, to ensure that you understand. Moreso, that you are not dissuaded. If this is an actual chance for her to experience real romance, then it could make her happier than I’ve ever seen her,” Bela explained. The look in her eyes was incredibly soft, to the point where it made you realize just how much this odd little family cared for each other. “Don’t give up, don’t let her occasional infuriating antics push you away. Given enough time… I think the two of you could, I suppose, compliment each other quite nicely. But if you break her heart? I will pull yours from your chest and eat it raw. Understood?” Gulping, you nodded quickly, ignoring the feeling of heat rushing to your cheeks. It was one thing for Bela to want her sister to be happy, but another thing entirely for her to acknowledge your “suitability” for the position. “Good. Now return to whatever it is you maidens normally do. I have a sister to talk sense into.”

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

Hours later, you stand alone in a display room, dusting various relics from bygone times. A trophy here, a bizarre art piece there, strange, unlabeled tools you can’t quite imagine are for wine-making. It’s a fascinating collection, really. But your mind is focused on other, far softer things. All you can think about is what Bela had told you, about how Daniela really is interested in you, and how she thought the two of you could make it work. After the chaos earlier in the day, this was exactly what you needed. Just some time to yourself, working quietly, thoughts all to yourself. Even your bruises bother you less, the pain fading out into the background. Considering where you are, though, it is not at all surprising that your peace cannot last. As soon as you finish your task you move towards the exit.

The door swings open, outwards, at your touch, only to reveal a familiar figure reaching for the doorknob. Both of you gasp, taken by surprise, before your gazes meet. Of course it’s Daniela. Who else would you bump into right now?

“I thought about what you said,” she blurts, suddenly, eyes wide and hands shaking. “We need to talk, yeah?”

[saphirered]

Ah I just read like 5 of your head cannons they're amazing! Could you write about the M9 reacting to a fighter s/o using magic for the fist time, and the s/o explaining that they haven't used it cause it scares them?

Thank you so much ☺️! It turned out a bit longer than I intended but more content is good right? I tried to get some variety in the types of magic users to kudos to anyone who figures out the (sub)classes. Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy this one 😘

Caleb:

Caleb, observant as he is caught on the fact you had more knowledge of the arcane than you let people believe. You knew things someone not schooled in some kind of magic wouldn’t have the faintest clue about. It may have left him a bit suspicious of you in the beginning but over time he saw no malicious intent or a connection to the people he’d rather distance himself from.

The first time Caleb noticed you cast a spell, you spoke the familiar words combined with the motions to deflect a hit from an enemy mid battle that otherwise might have been the death of you. You thought no one had noticed but Caleb had, and he recognised the shield spell you used. He saw you flinch the moment you cast it and fear in your eyes as if you were waiting for an aftermath. It never came but you were on edge for the next few hours.

Approaching you after noticing you were still on edge, nervously fidgeting with a coin in your hand to get rid of the more obvious jitters, you denied all claims. If Caleb is good at anything it’s providing a verbal slap in the face through reality check and calling out your bullshit. He wouldn’t press for answers because your past is your past and he had no right to demand it if you were not willingly offering it.

It took you some time but you came clean. You told him how your relationship with practical magics is destructive and hurts people. Because of that you vowed to distance yourself from magic altogether but sometimes you slip and hope no one notices and no ill effects follow you casting any spell. Caleb understands, better than anyone perhaps. He admires your restraint and capability of stepping away from the thing that causes you so much pain; something he never could.

If you’re able to and with your consent Caleb would help you work through your fears, only for your own wellbeing because one thing is undeniable; your magic is part of you and if you never learn to live with it, that it is part of you, you might never be able to accept it. What happens when you’re unable to fear the magic? Will you instead turn to fear yourself like he had himself for so long? No, if he can spare you a fate like that he’d do anything.

Beau:

You never hid the fact you were schooled in the arcane. It just never clicked you are actually a very capable spellcaster especially donned in battle worn armour and your tastes for sharp edged pointy things, and a ‘will cut a bitch’ attitude whenever someone comes for you or those close to you.

Perhaps a little ashamed to admit the first time Beau actually saw you cast a spell it was a simple mage hand cantrip. You couldn’t reach a book on a high shelf at the Archive and you thought it disrespectful to physically climb the bookcases to get it. Beau may or may not have been watching you, more like admiring your muscle. Nothing better than a strong, gorgeous ripped bookworm. Mouth agape you caught Beau staring. You had to snap her out of it. Beau had a million questions, maybe half of them flirty. You answered her questions best you could, even the flirty ones but when it got to where you learned magic you sort of just shut down so she dropped the subject. Beau knows how to read the room no matter how much she might want to press for answers. She’ll refrain. For now.

This doesn’t mean Beau drops the subject entirely for all future reference though. She’d leave hooks for you in case you’d be in a more talkative mood and grow frustrated when you ignored or brushed off the so-many-eth attempt to get you to spill some beans. One day she sat you down, giving you one more chance to tell her what’s going on. If you wanted to tell her, you could. If not, she’d never ask again or try to get you to talk about it.

That’s when you broke down, explaining all the terrible memories of your ‘studies’. You were the only child in a long line of powerful mages to barely be able to cast a cantrip growing up. You were a disappointment and disgrace to your family. Rigorous hours practicing and studying from dawn til dusk without breaks. Not being allowed to go outside and play with friends until you got this one thing right. Nevermind the fact that your family let it be known you were a disappointment.

You’d been working hard already to break the circle but couldn’t prevent the bad memories haunting you every time you felt like you had to cast a spell. No matter how far you ran, whenever you reached for the components, spoke the words or performed the somatics, you were hit with a sense of incompetence. Beau’s not unfamiliar to the need of living up to the expectations of family. She’d be there for you if you wanted to take up magic on your own terms or distance yourself from magic entirely.

Fjord:

Didn’t have a single clue you were magically inclined. But to be fair you never gave anyone a reason to believe you were. You were born with magic and you had seen what developing those abilities had done to others like you. You like yourself the way you are and would very much prefer not to fall into the servitude of some evil entity in the hunger for more power.

You’d seen Fjord spiral into the clutches of his patron and saw him struggle to get away from the leviathan. Ritualistically you tapped into the power bestowed upon you to search for a way to break the pact between warlock and patron. Of course it was doable and your powers could show you the way but you needed to get stronger first…

Fjord grew worried. You’d begun talking to yourself, spending nights awake and an odd sense of paranoia had grasped you. A storm hit once and you had nowhere to shelter. The little voice in your head came back. You could stop that storm. All it would take is a little tiny taste. When you agreed you had no control over yourself. Hand held up to the sky, eyes white and skin ashen, a bright light emitted and the clouds disappeared. Needless to say this did not go unnoticed by anyone.

Obligatory endless questions. Obligatory none answered. You retreated within your shell choosing to ignore your surroundings and feeling the nagging in the back of your head. Fjord heard you speaking to yourself at night. Asking the skies if it was worth it. Worth what? You heard him and just because the voice in the back of your head told you not to, you told Fjord everything; how you had been trying to find a way to keep Uk’otoa at bay, how to break his connection with his patron and give him freedom and what would happen to you if you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching for more after completing that goal.

Fjord refuses to let you sacrifice yourself for his freedom. He’d rather have you fighting the evils of the world at his side than end up fighting you in an attempt to save yourself from what you might become. The two of you would work together to repress the inkling for more power and keep your powers at bay and under control. While you might want to see it differently, for the good of everything you’d stay far away from any magical forces seeking to awaken the power you were born with.

Veth:

Veth made it clear she would not understand why anyone would pass on the opportunity to learn or develop magical abilities should they be available to them. She literally spoke those words and you just nodded along changing the subject. You’d rather not lie but is this lie by omission?

It was an emergency. A fight had gone south and you were losing quickly. Clerics on their last legs, a wizard down being dragged away by the monk and Veth running in arrows blazing and screaming to protect her friends. You had to get out and none of you were quick enough at this point to all get out. So you did what you had to do. A quick expeditious retreat resulted in conveniently released magic missiles at your enemies, grabbing the halfling who got out some last shots you misty stepped your way to safety. You shouted to the others you were safe immediately knowing to keep your mouth shut for the next minute. Bless the gods the surges weren’t that bad this time.

Safely returned Veth commented on what you did. Did you take those scrolls? Did you buy that misty step enchanted item after all? Those were the only logical explanations right? Yes but they weren’t true. So you told Veth the truth. No scrolls or enchanted items were involved. Why didn’t you tell anyone you could do that?! It would have been so helpful in the past! Look how many buttons you could have helped her get!

You calmly explained her you could cast spells and were actually quite good at it one point your magic is dangerous, and the surges uncontrollable the state you’re at. While this time the reward by far exceeded the risks in this situation, you’d rather prevent killing those around you in a blaze of glory if you can. Wild magic surges are no joke and you’re so afraid of hurting the people you care about you’d rather step away from magic completely than live with the knowledge you could be the end of your friends and family.

Veth still has a hard time understanding your reasoning being prone to risky behaviour herself but accepts your views and respects your decisions. While you may not practice magic you still know it and after some persuasion, the woman gets you to teach her a thing or two. Of course all used for the good of mankind of course…. She just failed to specify who’s.

Jester:

You’re a special one. The Traveler told her so after all! He just didn’t tell her in what way specifically but you are special! That Traveler of hers may know a bit more than you’re comfortable with so you’ve been wary of the green cloak should he see the need to reveal your secrets. Luckily he cares about Jester and revealing your secrets would hurt you and you being hurt makes Jester upset so you can take comfort in the Traveler’s attachment to the tiefling.

Pixies came to haunt you in the night. They were meant to send you a message. Someone wanted you to stop running and accept your fate. Pissed off as you were you fought them off but when some tried to get away and your bow out of reach you were forced to release the bursts of bright green energy. Regret hit followed by fear. What if your patron could find you now? What if they came to get you or tried to hurt your friends to get you to cooperate? You will never be a puppet again and if a cantrip screwed this up for you….

“Oh. My. Gosh. Why did you never tell me you could do magic?” Jester exclaimed waking up Fjord just to tell him your eldritch blasts looked so much cooler than his. Guess the cat’s out of the bag… You had to prevent Jester from waking up the others to tell them you’d just gotten even cooler than you already were.

Successfully sending the others back to sleep you took Jester aside. Your hands still shaking, you asked her to talk to her god and ask him if he knew someone might be looking for you and getting close. The Traveler obliged but he wanted to hear the story behind your predicament. You told Jester everything ignoring the green hooded figure. How a being from another realm tricked you into an agreement. From then on you became a warlock.

You didn’t like being a warlock and you being stuck in such a binding deal lead to a very abusive relation between you and your patron so you did everything in your power to get away from them. Luckily crossing the planes is a lot more difficult and limits their capabilities quite a bit. Jester promised she’d protect you and of course the Traveler can be your new god so he’ll protect you too. Both you and the Traveler might not have been in full agreement with this statement. Jester understands you wanting to be far away and never see your patron again. She’s seen her mom get rid of the people getting a little too close for comfort or too attached and possessive so she knows how to deal with them.

Caduceus:

From the beginning you knew you couldn’t hide anything from Caduceus no matter how hard you tried. This lead you to just never specify anything. If he picked up on thing and asked about them then you’d answer, if not, you weren’t just going to say anything. Not even to explain yourself. Let him draw his own conclusions.

You may once have been a devout follower of your god, the one who bestowed upon you the powers you’d need to uphold their tenets but you veered from that path. Not everything is as black and white as some people claim it to be. You learned the hard way afraid of repeating your mistakes you’d only revert to your old habits in the most dire situations.

Caduceus had gone down. Jester was too far away and you were the only one able to get to him in time but you were out of healing potions. A quick lay on hands later and Caduceus was back on his feet albeit a bit confused about how you had managed to get him back to the land of the living. Talk later, he told you after seeing you mortified of what you had just done through the relief of seeing Caduceus alive.

Talk later you did. You couldn’t run away from your problems. Caduceus wouldn’t let you. You told him how you had done terrible things, hurt people because your god willed it so. You thought you were doing the right thing until you were faced with the truth and consequences. That’s when you stepped away from your life as a paladin; a vessel for your god.

You kept the sword but refused to use the magic; proof of your ability to hurt people who were worthy of redemption. Over many months Caduceus would help you see that your magic is nothing to be afraid of as long as you wield it with a good conscious and to protect instead of seek vengeance. There’s a fine line between being righteous and being just. The Wildmother taught him as much. Maybe she could through him, show you the same?

Yasha:

Whenever someone played a happy tune or began singing you’d retreat and block out your surroundings or find anything you could to distract you from the sound. Yasha just thought music’s not for everyone and maybe these songs and melodies just were’t your style. However when you asked her to please stop humming a tune while you had watch together she became a bit suspicious.

Spending some downtime at a tavern, deep in your cups Yasha was being bothered by a rather persistent asshole. On the verge of a fight breaking out you stepped in front of the barbarian and in a singsong voice told the asshole to kindly piss off and find company elsewhere with someone actually interested. The act alone made your stomach churn so you ran off.

You didn’t like controlling people. It didn’t even take a rhyme or proper verse. All it took was some booze and a melody in your head. This couldn’t happen again. Yasha had come after you to check on you and when you told her to stop, she stopped, frozen in place unable to move. You immediately dropped the accidental spell you cast putting distance between you and Yasha.

Yasha assured her it was fine and with your permission approached. A hug from the gentle goth was all it took for you to turn into a sobbing mess. When the sobs calmed down you told Yasha how you were cursed with your voice. Song and rhymes, tunes and melodies constantly plagued you afraid you’d go along with them and people got hurt because you couldn’t control your voice.

For the longest time you were uncomfortable using your voice but with your permission Yasha would help you practice. She can take a hit if you lose control badly but this fear is no good for you. She’ll play sweet serenades, some prettier than others as she too needs practice, the both of you can practice together learning and relearning the things you grew to love together.

Mollymauk:

Mollymauk doesn’t care about your shit. Everyone hides something and as long as those secrets aren’t a danger to those around you it’s all fine. Though he can’t deny being a bit curious when you snuck off to burn a suspicious stack of paper…. lighting the flame without tinder, flint and steel, or anything.

The next few weeks involved Molly trying to get you to use magic again, asking you to do small tasks much easier to complete with magic than they would be manually. You didn’t budge. Somehow he couldn’t get you to do anything. You’d complete the task the hard way each and every time. He began to wonder if he might have imagined the whole thing.

He spent the whole night tossing and turning until he decided to give up on sleep and just face you with the question to be done with it. You were gone, the light of a fire a bit away from the rest of the group. He found you watching the flames, tears in your eyes and devoid of all emotion. He’d seen Caleb in a similar state before. That’s when it hit him. This was pain, fear and trauma and you’re disassociating to get through this.

Sitting down next to you he’d place a hand on your shoulder, when you don’t stop him he’d wrap it around your shoulder letting you know he’s here for you when you need him. His views don’t change. Everyone is entitled to their secrets and keeping their lives to themselves. If you want to talk, he’s here but he’d accept your silence too despite his curiosity. Luckily for his curiosity, you told him everything. The torments of the past and the family you lost, the pain you’ve caused countless others and how you’re trying to pay your penance and make right your wrongs.

You’re glad to have Molly at your side be that to cheer you up or listen to you. He’s there whenever you need him and will take no for an answer when you don’t want to talk about something. He won’t ask for further details but will do anything to show you you’re on the right path and leaving a place better than you found it when you can’t see it.

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

Get Me To Church, I’ve Done So Many Bad Things It Hurts

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: you guys, idk what this is. I only know it’s not what I initially planned. Title is from Sinéad O’Connor’s song “Take Me To Church”, which hijacked this story’s initial plot. It reminds me of Wilhemina, and it’s a very good song <3

Word count: ~ 5 400

Your brain no longer was a brain but fucking mush. Mush that stunk and made one want to throw up at first sight. You had not been able to get a good night’s sleep since you had been sent to Outpost 3 a few months ago. You were running on a few hours of rest snatched here and there and on the disgusting, weird food cubes. At this point, when someone talked to you, you would gap at them until your brain suddenly gave a start and registered their words. Your body felt twice its weight. It was hard to concentrate, hard to think.

Days went by looking exactly alike. You would get out of bed, meet the others, try to have a talk, listen to the same song over and over again. “Calling occupants of interplanetary, most extraordinary craft”. Stare at a book maybe, open it, stare at a page, fail to understand a single sentence. You would wait for time to pass. Complain with Coco or Andre or that guy whose name you couldn’t remember even though you had been living together for months now. One day, Coco and you decided to exercise by running up and down a staircase, but you didn’t last more than five minutes before you dropped on the floor, panting. You didn’t try again. You lacked the motivation.

Sit at the table, eat your cube. “Calling occupants of interplanetary, most extraordinary craft”. Go to bed. You were going crazy. You could no longer tell what was real and what was a figment of your imagination.

In truth, there was one thing at least you knew was real. The butterflies in your stomach every time Venable – freaking Venable, of all people – so much as walked into the room you were in.

It was terrible. Why her, why you, you did not know. The only thing you knew was that you were falling hard for her, for that sadistic, mean, scary woman.

In typical mush-brain fashion, you couldn’t string two sentences together when she would ask you a question and her dark eyes would bore into you. You would laugh stupidly or give one-word answers. You would trip over your own feet when you passed her in a corridor.

So, really, it wasn’t a surprise when you realized that she hated you even more than she seemed to hate the others. For starters, she never looked at you. When she did, her eyes were as cold as the North Pole. Icy winds and all that. And when she talked to you, her voice was always so condescending, so sarcastic, as if she knew you were the most idiotic idiot at the Outpost. She probably wondered every minute of every day why you had been chosen to survive. It was a mystery to you, too.

But then – but this was part of your imagination. It must be. There was no rational explanation. For the wistful look on her face you had caught a glimpse of, once, when you had turned and shot her a glance. She had been staring at you. Or for the faint blush that had risen to her cheeks when you had accidentally – accidentally? – brushed past her, way too close to her, on your hurried way to the bathroom. Or for that one time, that blissful, ethereal time – but that had been a dream, it must have been, you had passed out from exhaustion and dreamed – when she, coming out of her room, and you of yours, had paused with her hand on the doorknob, and raised her head, met your eyes, and smiled. Not her mocking, cruel smile. But a fond, almost shy smile. A genuine smile, reflected in her eyes. This you were sure you had dreamed. Were you?  

You were falling for her. Love, intimacy, would make things more tolerable. You craved a strong, true connection with someone, and part of you was convinced you could have it with her.

In the past few evenings Venable had made a habit of joining you in the music room as you whiled the time away before bed. She wouldn’t say anything, merely sit and read a book. The first time she had done it, you and the others had exchanged half surprised, half worried looks. What was she doing? Studying you? Deciding which one of you she would cook for dinner? You didn’t know. Her presence had made you all uncomfortable at first, but now you were used to it. You ignored her, just as she ignored you.

She always, always sat facing you.

And you couldn’t help but steal glances at her. Marvel at the beauty and neatness of her. Your eyes would travel down her body and the butterflies in your stomach would go wild and your head fill with want. For. Her.

Her eyes never met yours, not even once.  

One evening as you sat brooding and she sat reading facing you, and the others chatted about some boring things, and the music, the music went “Calling occupants of interplanetary, most extraordinary craft”, you abruptly jumped on your feet to stretch your upper body. The sudden movement surprised Venable, who looked up at you. You met her eyes and gave her a goofy smile. She scowled.

“In your mind you have capacities,” you heard yourself sing to the music.

“But do you, Y/N?” Venable sneered.

That shut you up. You straightened up and glared at her. “Do you have, like, a problem with me?” you asked in an annoyed voice.

“Do you mean apart from your obvious lack of brain cells?”

“Why are you always so mean?” you heard yourself whine.

“Oh, boo hoo,” Venable cooed. “Poor you. Look at you, standing among the few who have been allowed to survive the Apocalypse. Do you really think I should feel sorry for you?”

You considered that. “No,” you grumbled.

“No, Ms Venable.”

You didn’t know what came over you then. Probably it was a mix of exhaustion, anger, frustration and want. Your hands clenched into fists. In what was both the bravest and stupidest moment of your life, you retorted, “Bite me.”

Someone in the room gasped, and then chuckled. Venable’s eyes went wide with shock. Heat flooded your cheeks.

You were dead meat, you knew that. So really you couldn’t make things worse by adding: “I’m sorry. I meant, bite me, Ms Venable.”

Impressive. You were a genius. Gosh, you needed sleep.

You couldn’t meet Venable’s eyes. Instead you stared at Andre, who was gawping at you. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Coco give you a thumbs-up. You smiled shyly at her.

“Right,” you said. “Um. Goodnight.”

You hurried out of the room before someone could call you back. Your heart was beating too fast in your chest, but you couldn’t really understand why. You needed sleep.

You closed the door of your bedroom behind you and collapsed on your bed.

**

You couldn’t sleep.

It was always the same: you were exhausted all day, but the minute your head touched your pillow, your brain roared back into life. Someone in your head turned the light on. You were wide awake.

You groaned and turned on the bed. You didn’t have the slightest idea what time it was or how long you had lain under the sheet. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been a century. You turned again, forced yourself to close your eyes.

Bite me, Ms Venable. Damn it, you were such a fool when you were exhausted! You had survived the bloody Apocalypse and now you were about to die for something so, so stupid. Venable was probably plotting your death right now. She would order you out of the Outpost and condemn you to a horrible death among the repugnant creatures that haunted the nuclear winter outside. In your current state, you wouldn’t last a day. You’d trip over something and break your neck or get stabbed by the first hungry person you’d meet.

Fear clenched your stomach. You didn’t want to die. You didn’t feel like giving up on life yet. Even if the world as you had known it was gone, even if there was almost no hope of a bright, safe future. God, you wanted to live.

You sprang out of bed before you knew what you were doing and ran to the door. Locked it. Looked around the room for things to build a barricade with. The chair would do, and if you could move that huge chest of drawers –

You heard footsteps coming down the corridor towards you. And something else, unmistakable. The sound of a cane.

Shit. Your whole body froze with fear. Then your hand automatically reached for a decorative statuette close-by, that had sharp angles and that you could use as a weapon if need be. The footsteps grew louder and came to a halt at your door.

You waited, heart hammering in your chest. Venable must have a spare key, of course she must. You stared at the doorknob, expecting it to move, expecting the door to open, on Venable standing tall and threatening and radiating off anger and satisfaction. How so very beautiful she would look.

Nothing happened.

What was she doing? You couldn’t hear anything but the mad pounding of your heart. Had you imagined her footsteps? The sound of her cane? But you had been so sure –

One of your hands came up to press against the door. Fingers splayed out, palm pressing against the cold, hard surface. To try and feel her through the wood.

You waited. Your heartbeat was drumming against the wood. And it was slowing down, and your eyes were fluttering closed, for she was here – just behind the door, and you could almost see her, her eyes on the doorknob, the spare key in her hand, her lips slightly parted. It was as if your soul had connected with hers and now they were softly singing to each other.

There was a sound like a sigh. Before you knew it you had unlocked the door and opened it.

Venable stood in front of you with her left hand in the air, a few inches further to the left than yours had been. She met your eyes in surprise as her fingers curled up. She lowered her hand, and schooled her features.

You decided your safest option was to play it cool.

“I thought I heard a noise,” you said, assuming a casual expression.

“I was on my way to bed,” Venable answered. A pause. “I saw your light was on through the gap under your door.”

She didn’t sound particularly mad or threatening. Relief flooded your chest. Maybe she didn’t mean to kill you, after all. Maybe you’d been over-reacting.

Her eyes fell on the statuette you were still holding.

“What’s this?” she asked very slowly. Her eyes met yours again. They were dark, her eyes. The darkest eyes you had ever seen.

“What’s this?” she repeated, louder. You started.

“Oh, uh.” You raised the statuette to your chest and shrugged. Play it cool. “I don’t know why I’m holding this.” You tried to laugh. It came out nervous and foolish. “Must have been sleepwalking or something.”

Venable’s gaze was boring into you, piercing your skin, piercing your veins, piercing your bones. You felt too hot suddenly. You laughed again. Then it finally dawned on you.

“My light isn’t on,” you said.

You always kept one candle burning when you slept, but its light was very faint. There was no way Venable could have seen it from the lit corridor.

Her face didn’t change. “It’s not?” she said in a toneless voice.

You shook your head. “I’m afraid not.”

She straightened her shoulders, raised her chin. Her grip on her cane tightened just so.

“Were you planning on attacking someone with this?” she asked, nodding at the statuette.

“I’ve no idea what you mean,” you answered, holding her gaze.

“I cannot think of any other use you could have for it.”

“Well, maybe I was.”

“Has someone threatened you?”

You scoffed. Gave her a look as if to say the joke wasn’t good. She narrowed her eyes uncomprehendingly.  

“Um, let’s see.” You folded your arms as you pretended to think. The statuette dug in your chest. “Maybe I’ve gone just a little bit too far with someone who’s quite obsessed with hierarchy.”

A small, incredulous laugh escaped her.

“You thought I was going to –“She didn’t finish her sentence, her laugh lingering on her lips as the incredulity reached her eyes.    

“Well,” you retorted, leaning your hip against the doorframe, “you did have those two Greys shot the other day for making love.” You raised your eyebrows at her. “For breaking one of your rules. So excuse me if I’m not feeling particularly safe right now.”

The smile vanished from her face. She closed her mouth, stared at you. Your eyes shifted to her lips. Back up to her eyes. You licked your lips.

“I wouldn’t have you killed merely for being stupid,” she said after a short moment.

How were her cheekbones so sharp? Her eyes so dark? You swore whomever had made her was the most talented artist and the cruelest asshole in the whole goddamn universe. How many years it must have taken, how much sweat, how many skills, how much patience and love, to make her.

You cleared your throat. What had she just said? Called you stupid. Wouldn’t have you killed. Something like that. You couldn’t remember.

“My light wasn’t on,” you said mechanically, “so why did you stop at my door?”

If the question surprised or unsettled her, she didn’t show it.

“I thought it was on,” she answered without missing a beat. She paused. “You thought I was going to have you killed?”

“Um, maybe.”

Her eyes fell on the statuette again. When they met yours, you swore you saw something like sadness deep into the black. She blinked, and the sadness disappeared.

“It’s getting late,” she said. “You should go to bed.”

You realized you didn’t want her to go. What if you invited her to come in? What if you told her about your insomnia, and asked her to help you while the night away? Merely have a talk with her. Merely sit by her side, and watch her, and share secrets with her. Show her you weren’t as stupid as she must think you were. You could light dozens of candles and watch the light dance on her face. Have her relax, make her laugh. And maybe if things went well, at the break of dawn you could lay your head on her lap, and certainly then sleep would find you.

You assumed a nonchalant expression. “Well then, goodnight to you,” you said with a smile that hurt your mouth.

She nodded, turned and walked off.

You listened to her footsteps fade away. You let out a long, shaky breath, and closed your door.

For a very long time you stayed with your back against the door, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. The sadness you had seen in Venable’s eyes haunted you. You tried to think of something else. What you would do tomorrow. Boring. That summer holiday you had spent in Spain with your best-friend. Venable’s hair in the flickering light of the candles. Venable’s face. Venable’s eyes. How you absolutely adored the fact that she could stand up to anyone. Venable’s eyes. The sadness in her eyes.

You groaned. You had half a mind to bang your head on the door to knock yourself out and finally get some sleep. Perhaps you could go to Venable’s room and apologise. Tell her you hadn’t meant to question her authority. You’d like to see her again.

It was a stupid idea. Lack of sleep made you so, so stupid. She would be angry, would order you out, slam her door in your face, maybe hit you with her cane. You shouldn’t. You wouldn’t.

You tip-toed down the corridor till you reached her door. It was slightly ajar, which surprised you. Heart beating fast, you opened it just enough to peek into the room.

Venable was sitting on the floor by the dark fireplace, her head bent, her hands joined on her lap. What was she doing on the floor? Surely the position couldn’t be good for her back. Then you noticed that her lips were moving, forming silent words, as if she were praying. Her eyes were closed.

The flickering light from the candles threw shadows on her face. Patches of black and red and orange vacillating and oscillating. Touching her face, fleeing to the walls. You watched her in silence, at a loss for what to do or what to think. You heard her sniffle, saw her raise a hand to wipe her cheek.

There was something so fragile about the scene in front of you. To see this woman who was always so proud, and so strong, and so dominating, murmuring silent words to herself on the floor in the dead of night. Or maybe those words weren’t for herself. Maybe they were addressed to someone else, whoever would listen, whoever would take the time to stop and lend an ear. Was she asking for strength? For mercy? Salvation? Her back was leaning slightly forward just like the backs of worshippers you had seen in churches.

Her lips stopped moving for a moment. She opened her eyes to stare unseeingly at the wall in front of her. You saw her bite her lower lip, saw her take a shaky breath. The silent murmuring started again.

You scratched your arm nervously. You knew you should leave, and erase from your mind this private moment you had no right to witness. Part of you felt like a thief. But your legs seemed to be frozen. You could not move them.

So you watched her. At one point she coughed softly, and the next two words came out loud enough for you to hear them: “Let me...”

Was she praying? You didn’t think she was a religious person. Why should she be? She had helped bring on the Apocalypse and had not received so much as a word of complaint from God. You squinted at her in the dim light, your body instinctively leaning towards her, your hands coming up to grip at the doorframe. Your heart was pushing against your ribs as if it wished to burst free from your chest and wrap around her.

Venable paused, sighed, went on murmuring. Once again her words reached you. “…soothe and let it save me so she can think it acceptable to love me.”

Your clammy palm slipped on the doorframe, unbalancing you. You gasped in a breath. Venable’s head jerked to the side. Her eyes locked with yours.

You could have screamed. Surprise then anger then fear flashed across Venable’s face as you took a step back, your mouth opening and closing like a fish as you tried to find something to say but couldn’t come up with anything. For a moment there was only silence, and you and she holding each other’s gaze.

Venable’s face closed up. She stood up, supporting herself on her cane, so calm, so composed. It was impressive, the tight grip she kept on her emotions. Always so perfectly in control of herself.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in a firm voice.  

“I –“you stuttered, “I – I’m sorry, I just – I, uh, saw your light was on.”

That was a risky answer, and you knew it. But today had been crazy, and any minute now Venable would unleash her wrath and it would destroy you. You had nothing left to lose. So you held her gaze, her inscrutable, unreadable gaze, admiring even now the flickers of candlelight that danced across the black.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you heard yourself say, your voice coming from far, far away. “I’ve not been able to sleep for quite a while. So I roam the corridors to try and distract myself, and I saw your light was on.” A pause. “What were you doing?”

Venable’s expression didn’t change. She took her time to answer, and you waited, waited for the inevitable anger, the inevitable punishment. You felt too distanced from yourself to be afraid.

“That is none of your business,” Venable said eventually. She turned away from you. “Go back to your room.”

That brought you back to yourself. Your soul crashed back into your body.

“Is that all?” you blurted out. “Go back to my room? Aren’t you going to, like,…” You didn’t finish your sentence, but she must have understood, because she turned to face you and shot you a somewhat outraged look.

“You seem so very certain I mean to hurt you,” she said sharply.

“Er, well.” You folded your arms on your chest and looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think. “In the last few hours I disrespected you and burst into your privacy. And, no offence, but you don’t strike me as a kitten kind of person.”

“Kitten?” she repeated.

“Yeah, you know.” You brought a nervous hand up to scratch your head. “Fluffy and cute, cuddly and helpless.”

She stared at you as if you were stupid. “Kittens scratch you for no reason.”

“Yeah, but...”You shook your head at yourself.”Never mind, don’t mind me. I’m too exhausted to think straight.”

Long seconds passed. None of you moved. You both held your ground, staring at each other. Waiting.

Your mouth opened again. “I don’t know whether I should run away from you or towards you.”  

She didn’t react. Didn’t answer. She kept staring at you.

“I can’t sleep,” you repeated. “May I stay here and sleep with you?”

Her expression did shatter at that. She blinked in surprise, then in consternation.

“Uh, I mean, not like that,” you stammered. “I mean sleep as in actually sleep. Uh, get some shuteye.”

Venable let out another one of her small, incredulous laughs. “No, you may not,” she answered sharply.

“Right, of course. Stupid me.” You tried to laugh, ended up choking on your own spit.”Sorry. Uh, forget about all this.” You quickly turned to go.

“You need to get a grip on yourself,” came Venable’s voice. You stopped.

“Gosh, I know,” you breathed.”I’m sorry.” You waited. No reply came, so you started to walk away.

“I may have a few sleeping pills, if you think they can help,” Venable called after you.

You turned on your heel and rushed back into her room. “Yes, please, I’d be very grateful. Thank you.”

Venable nodded, walked into the ensuite bathroom. You heard the sound of a drawer opening, some fumbling, and then she was back into the room holding a small pill box.

She dropped one pill in your extended hand. “Try this tonight. I can give you more tomorrow if it works.”

“Thank you,” you breathed. Your fingers curled around the pill as her eyes bore into yours. You almost reached out to touch her cheek. Almost.

But then your breath hitched. For that was it, wasn’t it? Her punishment. Her revenge. You glanced down at the pill in your hand. Poison. It had to be.

You glanced back up at her, and your thoughts must have shown on your face, for her eyes momentarily glazed over with the same sadness as before.  

“This is hydroxyzine,” she snapped.

“Right,” you mumbled. “Thanks.”

“Do you think some of my rules are too harsh?” she asked suddenly.

You blinked at her. “Well, I mean…” You paused a second, considering. You chose honesty.” Most of them are useful, I’ll give you that. But, Ms Venable, the copulation rule? People being shot for, what, loving each other? Finding comfort in each other?” You took one step towards her, growing irritated. “Those two Greys didn’t deserve death. They did nothing wrong. And what’s so bad about copulation, anyway? What’s so wrong with affection? Intimacy?”

You paused, waiting for her answer. Her eyes were very big and shining in the candlelight. They were different, now. It was that sadness again. She looked almost sad.

“Tell me, what’s wrong with this?” You reached out and laid the pad of your index on her right wrist. She tensed up, her hand tightening around the knob of her cane. Her eyes grew bigger still.

You swallowed, refusing to lower your gaze, as you slowly ran your finger down her hand, circled one of her knuckles, moved to the next. You could feel her shaking under your touch, her skin soft and hot.  

“This never hurt anyone,” you said softly. Her brow tightened, just so. She made as if to withdraw her hand from your touch. Your finger stuttered, your eyes questioning hers. Well, maybe affection had hurt her. Undoubtedly it had. You could read it in her eyes.  

You removed your hand, but she captured it in hers and brought it up close to her mouth.

“We cannot possibly take the risk of having to deal with a herd of babies, can we, Y/N?” she said very slowly. Her breath grazed your knuckles and sent a shiver down your spine. Her grip on your hand was strong.

“We can’t, Wilhemina,” you heard yourself say.

Wilhemina. How did you remember her Christian name? She had told it to you exactly once, on the day of your arrival at the Outpost. Months ago. And it wasn’t a very common name.

“But then again, Wilhemina,” you went on, “you and I would never have this problem.”

Venable brought your hand up to her mouth, her gaze burning into yours, and sank her teeth into your skin.

“Ow!” you yapped. “What the…”

She tightened her grip on your hand to hold it back. A smirk crept up her lips.

“Bite me,” she said, her mouth hot and damp against your skin. “That’s what you said. So, here.” She did let go of your hand, then. You held it protectively to your chest, smoothing it over your shirt. “Happy to oblige.” She turned away from you.

You watched her in consternation as she bent over her bed, apparently rearranging the pillows. Her teeth had left a row of white marks on your hand. A moment passed, until she straightened up and met your eyes.

“Well, goodnight,” she said, almost teasingly. And with that she sent you off.

**

“You’re still alive,” Coco said in surprise the morning after.

“You’re very observant,” you mumbled, slumping onto the chair next to her. You still felt a bit woolly because of the hydroxyzine. But at least you had slept.

“You’ve been observing our Earth”, sang the female voice from the radio.

“This song will drive me crazy,” you groaned. “Can’t we turn it off?”

“And we’d like to make a contact with you,” the voice retorted.

You straightened your shoulders as Venable walked into the room. Her gaze immediately fell on you. You held it, not sure what to think of the night before, her helping you, her biting you for God’s sake – mechanically you massaged the back of your hand where her teeth had sunk. And those words you had overhead. They had been addressed to someone else, but you couldn’t help but hope she had been talking about you.

You thought you saw something in her eyes, eagerness perhaps, as she walked towards you. She stopped in front of you and tapped her cane on the floor.

“Good-morning,” she said. You gave her a smile in answer, then lowered your eyes to study your nails. You could feel her gaze on your face.

“How did you sleep?” she went on in a casual voice that sounded just a tiny bit strained, as if she were uncomfortable or nervous.

You squinted at her, fighting back an amused smile. “I slept well, thank you.”

You were vaguely aware of the hush that had fallen upon the room. There was more to it, too, some sort of tension, expectant and apprehensive, a holding of one’s breath as one waits for something the nature of which one isn’t really certain of.

“We’ve been observing your Earth, and one night we’ll make a contact with you,” the robotic, distorted alien voice burst out.

“Good,” Venable answered. “I am glad to hear that.”

A pause. The pause stretched.

“Maybe now some of my brain cells will finally kick back into life, “you prompted.

Venable blinked. “We can only hope so,” she answered after a while.

The smile you had been holding back danced across your lips. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Coco shoot you a perplexed look, saw her contort her face as if to ask, “what the hell is happening?”

Venable’s cane tapped on the floor. “Everyone, please,” she called, “I have an announcement to make. Some good news for you all.”

Excited whispers filled the room. You straightened in your seat. Venable waited until she had everyone’s attention, and then spoke with pride in her voice. “To renew with tradition and entertain you, we will now have board games nights. Whist, backgammon, chess.”

Was she… actually trying to be nice? Giving you all something to look forward to? A bit of fun, to help pass the time? You almost gawked at her.

She’s trying, a voice whispered in your head. What was it she had said? Make it acceptable to love her. You were vaguely aware of the tears that sprang to your eyes.

“Excuse me,” Coco blurted out, “I thought you’d said ‘good news’, not ‘you’re now officially living in a shitty Jane Austen novel’.”

Venable glared at her. You caught just a flash of pain in her eyes.  

“I think it’s a good idea,” you retorted before Venable had time to. “It’ll keep our minds distracted.”

“I don’t even know what whist and backgammon are,” said Andre. “And I’ve never played chess.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Venable sneered. “It will be the perfect opportunity to inject some knowledge into your vacuous brain.”

“Not as vacuous as that,” Andre retorted angrily, “seeing as you filled it with my boyfriend’s own brain.”

You had never seen Andre stand up to Venable before. Like the others, he had been too scared of her to dare contradict her. But now his voice was openly belligerent, his eyes shooting daggers at her, and his hands gripped the arms of his chair as if he were contemplating standing up. Something had changed, and it didn’t take you long to realize you were the cause. Or rather, Venable’s behavior to you. You had been insolent to her, and she had not punished you. She had not even verbally abused you.  

“What will it take,” Venable enunciated, “for you to finally understand me when I say that I did not feed you Stu?”

“Then where is he?” Andre growled, jumping to his feet, “And what was in the fucking stew?”

“Alright, okay, calm down,” you spoke, rising too, and holding out a hand in front of Andre. “I’ll teach you chess, okay? I know chess, I can teach you. Just, relax, man. Gosh.”

Andre glared at you. You raised your eyebrows at him. For a minute he stayed still, hands clenched into fists, and then he let out a breath and moved back to his chair.  

Coco threw her hands up in the air. “Board games nights it is,” she said sarcastically.

You turned to Venable. She was studying you, her expression strange, as if she could not quite decide between anger and gratefulness.

“Miss Y/L/N,” she said, her eyes locked with yours, “I do not need your help when it comes to dealing with idiots.”

You took your time to answer, to think of the right words to say. A smile crept up your lips again, and this time you let it.              

And you knew everyone in the room would be able to hear you. But you didn’t care. Blame it on the hydroxyzine. Blame it on the freaking interplanetary and most extraordinary occupants. The world had ended. You were exhausted. And you were falling for her.

When you spoke, your voice was a singsong, as insolent as it had been the evening before. “Why, fuck me, Ms Venable. I know that.”

[depressedacadamia]

A kiss would be nice

Summary: Magnus develops feelings for his roomate and has no idea what to do; when theres' some serious miscommunication, Alex and Magnus have to solve an obvious problem.

Pairing:  Fierrochase

A/N: THIS WAS MY FIRST EVER REQUEST!!!!  I swear I'm gonna organise my Masterlist on tumblr coz its a hot mess rn and then I will get a prompt list up. Anyway, I hope this lives up to the expectations of the request- enjoy and comment!

Read on A03        M;List

Magnus liked Alex.

How exactly was he meant to process this?

Yes. Alex was sometimes a girl and other times a boy but what did it make him?

He could remember the moment Alex came floundering into his life, confident about who she was and Magnus could only think about how much he didn't know about himself. It was ridiculous, in his opinion, to think that he fundamentally changed as a person just because he liked someone.

So why did he feel so scared to come to that conclusion that he did in fact like Alex?

“What are you thinking so hard about over there, pretty boy?” Alex asked dryly as he scrolled through his phone while he dangled off the top bunk of their dormitory. Startled, Magnus snapped his head towards Alex and with no game whatsoever stuttered a terrible lie.

“Uh- Uh, nothing.”

“Uhu,” Alex emphasised. “ So that totally wasn't a lie.”

“Yes, Wait, I mean no- wait,” Magnus stuttered out again, his hands beginning to fidget and his palms becoming sweaty.

Alex simply raised an eyebrow before softly sighing and returning to his phone scrolling. He knew that Magnus wasn't the kind to keep secrets in a malicious manner- if he wasn't spilling something, it was because he didn't feel comfortable and Alex knew as well as anyone else that if Magnus was uncomfortable, nothing was spilling from his lips.

Clenching his fists in finality, Magnus got up, accidentally banging the top of his head on the top bunk above him where Alex was elegantly dangling off, his hair defying the laws of gravity by maintaining its rightful position on his head. He rubbed his head, swore under his breath and continued to make a bashful exit from the dorm room.

Alex could tell that something was definitely up.

Sure, Magnus was weird- he sometimes came back home at incredibly odd hours, always seemed relatively silent when one were to ask him where he had been and he almost always wore his lengthy blonde hair in a way that covered the majority of his face; in fact, Alex had thought about tilting his chin up just so he could get a better view of his elegant features.

So what exactly was it causing his roommate to act so oddly?

Magnus was in the bathroom. In fact he was hiding out in one of the stalls, trying his best to avud Alex at all costs. What had started out as a way to skip the horribly boring parts of his classes, now became a full blown ritual in which he would run away to his favourite bathroom stall- the one by the very end, next to the hand blow dryers, were his favourite but also alarmed him because it was there where he could hear whether anybody really washed their hands and there was an alarming amount of evidence which contradicted so.

He would take a book or sometimes just plug in his earphones to listen to music as he essentially hid out in the stall. Sometimes, when he felt a bit more confident- and knew Alex would be off campus- Magnus would hide out in the library; a much more comfortable and all round better smelling place to read, study and or listen to music.

But now as he slowly emerged from the stall after hours of sitting, heading back towards his room, Magnus could only feel this inevitable feeling of impending doom. He had managed to distract himself from the Alex situation for so long and now, he was about to crumble.

It was only a matter of time.

“Magnus?” A familiar and - dare I even say- dreaded voice asked him.

Glancing through the blonde locks of hair which curtained his face, he caught a glimpse of familiar green hair which he had been avoiding.

“Huh?” He managed to mumble.

Alex frowned. “Don’t ‘huh’ me. Where have you been? I’ve been calling you all day.”

Magnus’s eyes widened- he had left his phone on silent as he didnt want to deal with others. “I-you did? Sorry.”

“That doesn't matter now. Where have you bee- actually nevermind that as well, come on, we need to get back, it’s already late and I know you have an early class tomorrow.”

Magnus hesitated.

Alex noticed. He refused to stay silent about the matter any longer.

“Okay. Spit it out. “

“What!” Magnus stammered. “ Spi- spit what? Spit wh- what out exactly?”

“The reason you’ve been avoiding me? Did I forget to do my chores or something? Or did I accidentally make some sort of mess of your stuff?”

“No- No, of course not!”

“So?”

Magnus found himself too enamoured with Alex’s features to respond. He could feel the bubble bath slowly overflowing inside his mind. What did it mean if he liked Alex? Was he now a completely different person? What did it matter if he liked Alex?

Wasn't he just like everybody else?

But Magnus’ mind told him that it was so obvious that Alex was in fact not like everybody else, otherwise why was it Alex whom he couldn’t keep his eyes off of? If Alex was so like everyone else, why was it his eyes that Magnus always wanted to stare at, why was it Alex’s hair that Magnus always wanted to ruffle or Alex’s hand that he always wanted to hold?

Why was it always Alex whom he wanted to hug when he was having a bad day?

So when he looked back at Alex, he felt the overwhelming need to throw himself and wrap his arms around Alex so tightly that Alex would have trouble breathing and then - in Magnus’s perfect world- Alex would also wrap his arms around Magnus and they would hold each other in their arms and stand their leaning on each other.

“Nothing,” Magnmus mumbled as he came back to reality.

He walked past Alex, eager to get back to their dorm and just sleep his feelings away- something he was used to doing thanks to his years of being homeless. He wasn’t about to escape when a slender hand wrapped itself around his wrist and dragged him backwards.

“No.” Alex huffed almost angrily. “You’re not running away from me,not again.”

Magnus could have sworn- looking back- that he may have let out a squeak.

“You are avoiding me Mister and I’d like to know why. It’s bad enough that you spend all your time hiding in the bathroom stalls, it’s even worse that you're doing it to avoid someone as fabulous as myself. So if we could quickly get this over with, It would be greatly appreciated and I’m sure it would relieve your nostrils as well.”

“I-”

“You…?”Alex prompted.

“Ilikeyou.”

Alex paused, scrunched up his nose before raising an eyebrow in ridicule and letting out a laugh. And while Magnus truly believed there was nothing more beautiful than Alex’s smile, right now, it was the most damning thing he had ever seen.

Of course Alex would be laughing! Who wouldn't be laughing if some weedy, shady blond kid confessed their feelings for them in the most pathetic way possible!

Magnus had no other choice but to clench his fists to resist the burning sensation gathering in his eyes as he turned on his heel and hurried back to his dorm.

He was curled up on his bed, binging criminal minds on his laptop because what else was meant to comfort you after getting rejected if it wasn’t watching people getting brutally murdered by psychopaths and sadists?

He was wrapped with this specific episode- involving a bunch of very explicit murder- when Alex snatched his headphones right off his head plopped himself in the computer chair that rested right next to the bottom bunk where Magnus had been hiding out.

He could feel himself paling as he remembered that he lived with Alex.

“We need to talk.”

What? He was so sick of Alex making every decision, afterall- it was Alex who chose to laugh at him.

“We have nothing to talk about,” Magnus managed to snap back.

“Why do you keep avoiding me? First in our own dorm, then in public and now you don't even want to look at me.”

“I’m sorry,” He retorted, his words coated with so much sarcasm, had there been anymore, he may have become Samirah at that very moment. “Was I expected to hang around after being ridiculed?”

“Ridiculed? What do you mea-”

“-What do I mean? I guess you wouldnt understand what it feels like for someone whom you really really like to outright just laugh at you after confessing. I guess you don't know how- how nerve racking and horrible it is to not feel comfortable and safe wherever you go. I guess you were privileged enough to not deal with doubting yourself with every decision you make and every thought you have!”

Alex started. “I-”

“-No. I’m not finished. Do you know how that made me feel?” Magnus was on a roll. “ Like shit. I felt shitty. I felt like shit and I was curled up like a bratty 5 year old and do you know what I’ve realised? I’ve realised that I have nob reason to feel shitty because I'm not the one who was so insecure in myself that I laughed at someone else who was struggling, esepcially when I rejected a hot piece of ass such as myself!” He finished his ramble with a shout, his chest heaving, cheeks flushed and somehow, his hair messy.

“So,” Alex drawled causally. “ Am I allowed to speak now?”

“No.”

Rolling his eyes, Alex sooke anyway. “ I’m sorry that you feel this way and I guess I can't change that I was the person who made you feel like- well, shit, but I have to say Beantown, you really shouldn't assume things so quickly.”

Magnus frowned, turning his shiny, glossy eyes towards Alex finally. “Huh?”

“Well. If you were to give me a chance to explain, I’d be able to tell you that I laughed because I thought you looked adorable. I would be able to tell you that I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings in any way and I’m very sorry if I did and…”

Alex held Magnus’ chin, pulling his head a bit down so he was able to fully look him in the eye rather than just looking away under Magnus’ chin, forcing him to look him in the eye.

“And…?” Magnus whispered hesitantly, almost afraid of the answer.

“And, I would be able to tell you that I like you.” Alex smiled dopily.

Did Magnus hear that correctly? Did Alex Fierro- the most confident, and in Magnus’s eyes, the most attractive person out there just admit to liking the scraggly kid who used to live on the streets?

“Excuse me?”

Aex sighed. “I said that I like you and your … What was it you said?” He paused for dramatic effect because lighting up his eyes. “ Oh yes and your ‘hot piece of ass’ I believe it was.”

Magnus cringed at his previous words as he started at Alex. Alex fierro liked him!

“What?” Alex smirked on noticing Magnus’s innocent stare.

“Can I try something?” Magnus tilted his head to the side innocently. Alex nodded.

Yes, please do try something, A kiss would be nice.

But to Alex’s surprise, he felt Magnus’s arms being wrapped around his body. It was an odd sensation that at first made Alex want to reel backwards.

But then this familiar ignition in his stomach tugged him back to wrap his arms back around Magnus and bury his face in Magnus’s chest, just about reaching his collarbone.

The hug was brief. Perhaps not even longer than 15 seconds at a maximum, but it was enough for Magnus to feel better.

Alex decided that perhaps next time Magnus would kiss him.

Super cool people Taglist: @wisegirl773 @ddepressedbookworm

[asleepinawell]

Book Recs

I was gonna do one of these at the end of the year, but I’ve somehow managed to read 26 books this year already (12 novellas, 14 novels), almost all featuring queer authors and/or characters so this is already a long list.

Note: There’s a few on here I was kind of meh about, but in most of those cases it was a ‘book might be good but it’s not for me so i’ll mention it to put it on people’s radar anyway’ type of thing. Insert the usual necessary tumblr disclaimer about all of this being only my opinion and your opinions are valid too etc etc.

In order of when I read them:

Princess Floralinda and the Forty-Flight Tower by Tamsyn Muir - Fantasy novella from the author of gideon the ninth that’s a twist on the classic princess trapped in a tower waiting for a prince story. Quite fun. (novella)

The Monster of Elendhaven by Jennifer Giesbrecht - Dark fantasy about revenge and magic. m/m couple but like I said it’s pretty dark and twisted all around so definitely not a happy queer romantic story. My opinion was interesting premise that could have been executed better and probably should have been a full novel to embellish on the world building potential. (novella)

A Memory Called Empire & A Desolation Called Peace - Arkady Martine - Probably tied with murderbot as the best things I read this year. Scifi, f/f couple, wonderfully done exploration of what it means to fall in love with a culture that is destroying your own. More of the many queer anti-imperialist books that have come out recently and certainly some of the best. The second one is a direct continuation of the first. (2 novels)

The Tyrant Baru Cormorant - Seth Dickinson - This is the third in the Baru Cormorant series (The Masquerade) and was my favorite so far. The second and third book were originally one book that got split I believe and the second book didn’t stand alone as well (though was still great), but the third book really made up for that. Dark fantasy world starring a queer woc whose country and culture is destroyed by the imperial forces of that world colonizing and assimilating them. She vows revenge and decides to work her way up within her enemy’s ranks to enact it from within and bring an empire to ruins. Really really fascinating study of so many different aspects of our own world and the systems which enable and allow bigotry and how bigoted and violent narratives are used to control minorities. This is definitely a darker series and I was particularly impressed with some of the commentary on the racism prevalent in non-intersectional feminism as depicted through a fantasy world. Can’t wait for the last one to come out! (3 novels, 1 forthcoming)

The Murderbot Diaries - Martha Wells - There’s six of them--5 novella and a novel--and the first is All Systems Red. Told from the point of view of a self-aware droid/android that is rented out by a corporation to provide protection in a dystopian capitalist hellhole future that isn’t that unlike our current capitalist dystopia but is in space. Muderbot hacked the chip that controlled it and instead of going rogue just wants to be left alone to watch its favorite tv shows. Murderbot is painfully relatable and the books are both funny and poignant. Highly recommended. (5 novellas and a novel).

Winter’s Orbit - Everina Maxwell - This was a m/m romance novel with a scifi backdrop of royal intrigue. Generally I’m more into scifi with a queer relationship in the background than vice versa, so it wasn’t my favorite, BUT I think it was still well written and someone looking for more of the romance angle would enjoy it. Has all your favorite romance tropes in it, especially the yearning. (novel)

The Divine Cities - Robert Jackson Bennett - Three book series. I’m very conflicted about this one. Set in a fantasy world where an enslaved nation overthrew the country enslaving them and now rules over them. It’s a story of what happens after the triumphant victory and within that it’s also a murder mystery tied into the dying magic of the conquered nation. It also has a six foot something naked oily viking man fist fight a cthulhu in a frozen river. The second book was by far my favorite, mostly due to the main character being brilliant. My conflict comes from the fact I don’t feel like the story treated its women and queer characters well. Like it had really great characters but it didn’t do great by them overall. That and the third book didn’t live up to the first two. But still definitely worth a read, can’t stress enough how cool some of the world building was. (3 novels)

Into the Drowning Deep - Mira Grant - This might be the only one on here I disliked. It’s got a doomed boat voyage and creepy underwater terror and monsters and a super diverse cast of characters, but I just didn’t enjoy the writing style. While having a diverse cast is great, there were a lot of moments where it felt like characters were pausing to explain things about themselves that felt like a tumblr post rather than a normal conversation you might have while actively being hunted by monsters. I also bounced off all the characters. But a lot of people seem to have liked it so if you’re into horror and want a book with a f/f main couple then maybe you’ll enjoy it. (novel)

Dead Djinn Universe - P. Djèlí Clark - Around the early 1900′s, a man in Egypt discovers a way to access another world and bring Djinn and mysterious clockwork beings called Angels through. As a result, Egypt tells the British to get fucked and Cairo becomes one of the most powerful cities in the world. So Egypt, magic, djinn, a steampunk-ish vibe, oh and the main character is a butch queer woman who enjoys wearing dapper suits and looking fabulous while she investigates supernatural events. Her girlfriend is also mysterious and badass. And she has a cat. There’s three novella (one of which technically might be considered a short story) and then the first novel. You should absolutely read the novellas first (A Dead Djinn in Cairo, The Angel of Khan el-Khalili, The Haunting of Tram Car 015). Super fun and imaginative series. (3 novellas and a novel, more forthcoming)

River of Teeth & Taste of Marrow - Sarah Gailey - From the book description

“In the early 20th Century, the United States government concocted a plan to import hippopotamuses into the marshlands of Louisiana to be bred and slaughtered as an alternative meat source. This is true. Other true things about hippos: they are savage, they are fast, and their jaws can snap a man in two. This was a terrible plan.”

Queer hippo riders!!!! Very much a western but with hippos. Main couple included a non-binary character. Loved the first one. The second one I was more meh about due to one of the characters I was supposed to like having obnoxious man pain that a woman had to take the brunt of the whole time. Also there were less hippos. But queer hippo riders! Definitely read the first one, and they’re both novellas so no reason not to read the second as well. (2 novellas)

A Psalm for the Wild-Built - Becky Chambers - I may be the only person who hasn’t read the long way to a small angry planet at this point, but I did grab her new novella and I loved it. It made me want to go sit out in the woods and feel peaceful. The world it’s set in feels like a peaceful post-apocalypse...or diverted apocalypse maybe. Humans built robots and robots gained sentience, but instead of rebelling they just up and left and went into the wilderness with a promise that the humans wouldn’t follow them.The remaining human society reshaped itself into something new and peaceful. It’s the story of a monk who leaves their habitual monking duties to go be a tea monk and then later wanders into the wilderness and becomes the first human in ages to meet a robot. Very sad there’s no fan art yet. (novella, more forthcoming)

The March North - Graydon Saunders - This was such a weird book that I’m not sure how to explain it. The prose style is hard to get used to and I suspect a lot of people will bounce off it in the first chapter. There’s no third person pronouns used at all and important events get mentioned once in passing and if you blink you’ll miss them. Set on a world where magic is extremely common to the point that rivers sometimes run with blood or fire and the local weeds are something out of a horror movie and most of the world is run by powerful sorcerer dictators, one country banded together (with the help of a few powerful sorcerers who were tired of all the bullshit) to form a free country where powerful sorcerers wouldn’t rule and the small magics of every day folks could be combined to work together. The story revolves around a Captain of the military force on the border who one day has three very powerful sorcerers sent to them by the main government with the hint that just maybe there’s about to be a big invasion (there is) with the implication of take these guys and go deal with this. The world building is extremely complex and very cool...when you can actually understand what the fuck is going on. There is also a murder sheep named Eustace who breathes fire and eats just about everything and is a Very Good Boy and belongs to the most terrifying sorcerer in the world who appears as a little old grandma with knitting. It had one of the most epic badass and wonderfully grotesque battles I’ve ever read. But yeah, it is not what I would call easy reading. Opinions may vary wildly. I did also read the second one (A Succession of Bad Days) in the series which was easier to follow and had a lot more details about the world, but overall I was more meh about it despite some cool aspects. The chapters and chapters of the extreme details of building a house that made up half the novel just weren’t my thing. (novels).

The Space Between Worlds - Micaiah Johnson - In this world parallels universes exist and we’ve discovered how to travel between them, but the catch is you can only go to worlds where the ‘you’ there is already dead. This turns into an uncomfortable look at who would be the people most likely to have died on many worlds and how things like class and race would fit into that and what we would actually use this ability for (if you guessed stealing resources and the stock market you’d be correct). The main character is a queer woc who travels between worlds with the assistance of her handler (another queer woc) who she has the hots for. She accidentally stumbles on a whole lot of mess and conspiracy and gets swept up in that. Really enjoyed it. (novel)

Witchmark - C.L. Polk - Fantasy world reminiscent of Victorian England (I think?) where a young man with magical gifts runs away from his powerful family to avoid being exploited by them. He joins the army and fights in a war and comes home to try and live a quiet life as a doctor, but a murder pulls him into a larger mystery that upturns his life. Also he’s extremely gay and there’s a prevalent m/m romance. This one was a fun-but-not-mind-blowing one for me. (novel, 2 more in the series I haven’t read)

The Priory of the Orange Tree - Samantha Shannon - This was one of those that everyone loved but I couldn’t get into for some reason. I tried twice and only got about halfway through the second time. It’s got dragons and queer ladies and fantasy world and all the things I like, but I wasn’t that invested in the main story (which included the f/f couple) and was more interested in the smaller story about a woman trying to become a dragon rider. There are few things that beat out a lady and her dragon friend story for me and that was the storyline that felt neglected and took a different turn right when we got to the part I’d been waiting for. But, I know a lot of people whose reading opinions I respect who loved it, and if you like epic fantasy with dragons and queens and treachery and pirates and queer characters then I’d say you should definitely give it a try. (novel)

Bonus: I didn’t read these series this year, but if you haven’t read them yet, you should.

Imperial Radch (Ancillary Justice) - Ann Leckie - Spaceship AI stuck in a human body out for revenge for their former captain, but that summary does not come close to doing it justice. Another one examining imperialism and also gender and race.(3 novels)

Kushiel's Legacy Series - Jacqueline Carey - This is two series, six books total, and starts with Kushiel's Dart. Alternate universe Renaissance-y Europe in a fantastical world where sex isn't shameful and sex workers are respected and prized. Lots of political intrigue and mystery. A lot of BDSM and kinky stuff too (the main character is a sexual masochist, oh and also bi!). I first read this series when I was fifteen or sixteen and it definitely made a big impression on me. Same author also wrote the Santa Olivia series which I’d also recommend. (6 novels)

The Locked Tomb (Gideon the Ninth) - Tamsyn Muir - I mean, if you follow me, you know. If you don’t follow me you still probably know. I’d have felt remiss to have left them off though. Lesbian Necormancers in Space. Memes! Skeletons! Biceps! Go read them. (2 novels, 2 forthcoming, 1 short story)

Books On My To Read List:

Fireheart Tiger - Aliette de Bodard

The Order of the Pure Moon Reflected in Water - Zen Cho

Black Sun - Rebecca Roanhorse

This Is How You Lose the TIme War - Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

Ninefox Gambit - Yoon Ha Lee

Also, if anyone has any recs for scifi/fantasy books starring queer men (not necessarily having to do with a queer relationship) and written by queer men I’d love them. There’s a lot written by women, and some of them are great, but I’d love to read a story about queer men from their own perspective.

[hxwks-gf]

─ butterfly, ch 1 

pairing: tamaki amajiki x writer!reader

summary: it’s a rainy day, and you see a familiar face in a local bookstore. where have you seen him before? 

w/c: 2k 

a/n: behold: my second multi-chapter project! i’m hoping it goes smoothly as i’m having so much fun writing it, and i hope you guys enjoy it as well. it’s super fluffy and really wholesome. it’s set about 4-5 years after the big 3 have graduated from UA & u basically fall in love with amajiki all over again 

The bell over the door into the bookstore jingled cheerfully as you stepped inside and shook the rain off your umbrella before leaning it against the window. It was warm and cozy inside the bookstore, full of golden, buttery light, but most importantly: it was dry. You set your bag down and shed your coat to hang it up on the rack nearby. 

“Hello?” you called out, your voice muffled by the rows and rows of shelves filled with books. 

“Is that you, y/n?” 

“It’s me!” You peeked around the corner and saw the old woman who owned the shop come hobbling forward. After greeting her with a polite bow, you rubbed your hands together in anticipation. “Did they come?” 

“That they did,” she replied, making her way behind the counter. She bent down to fetch something, and appeared a moment later with a stack of books. She patted them and pushed them towards you. “Fresh off the press.” 

“You’re a miracle worker,” you said, running a hand over the cover of the book that was at the top of the stack. “How much do I owe you?” 

“Bah,” she said, waving her hands. “I’ll just put it on your tab, eh?” 

“Mrs. Sakura, I insist,” you said, frowning at her as she stepped down from the counter and started towards the back of the store again. 

“You’ll pay me back once you become a best-selling author, right?” she tossed over her shoulder. 

Right. That. Suddenly, your laptop felt like it weighed a hundred pounds in your bag. With a sigh, you took the stack of new books and sat down at one of the small tables by the window to start working on your manuscript again. You had been in a slump for months now, unable to further the plot of your novel. As you flipped through the books and scanned over the seemingly endless array of documents on your computer, you almost didn’t hear the bell jingle over the door. A quick glance upwards and you made a note of a mop of indigo hair, but you quickly returned your focus to your computer screen to keep working.

“Ah, you’re back again!” you heard Mrs. Sakura say to whoever just walked in. “I think you’ve read everything I’ve got already, I’ve never seen anyone go through so many books so quickly!” 

“It’s okay,” a soft, timid voice replied. “I’d like to read them again, if that’s alright.” 

You glanced over the top of your laptop screen again. The back of his head looks familiar, you thought to yourself, your fingers paused over the keyboard. The shade of his hair was an uncommon one; it reminded you of the night sky once the sun had fully disappeared beyond the horizon. That’s a good line, you thought, and you reached for your pen and notepad to scribble it down. Once again, the stranger was forgotten as you became lost in your work. 

You weren’t sure how much time had actually passed until Mrs. Sakura came up to your table and set a steaming cup of tea beside you without a word. 

“Oh, thank you so much,” you breathed, picking up the cup and softly blowing on the steam. “You’re too kind.” 

“And you work too hard,” she chastised, gesturing to your cluttered workstation. “You’re telling me this all makes sense to you?” 

“No,” you admitted, taking a sip of tea. “It doesn’t. But there’s a method to the madness, I assure you.” 

She grumbled something unintelligible before hobbling away. You stretched your arms above your head and sighed, turning to look out the window at the dreary, grey weather. You watched the raindrops slide along the glass, until noticed the reflection of someone sitting at the table next to yours. You blinked, unable to break your gaze away. 

His head was bent gracefully as he balanced a book in his hands, his eyes half-lidded as he languidly scanned the pages before his long, elegant fingers reached up and turned it. His dark, indigo hair fell over his forehead and into his eyes, but he barely seemed to mind. Peeking out of the strands on the side of his head was a long, pointed ear. But it was the way his lips were slightly parted as he read his book that made you continue to stare at the reflection in the window, completely enraptured by him. He looked so familiar to you, though. Where had you seen him before? 

“Would you like some tea, dear?” Mrs. Sakura asked him, and you quickly tore your gaze away from the window, almost embarrassed with how long you had been staring.

“Oh, yes,” he replied, still in that soft manner from before. “Thank you very much.” 

You squeezed your hands into fists in your lap at the sound of his voice. It was so gentle and soothing, like a cool ocean breeze in the middle of the summer. Another good line, your brain reminded you. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him raise the teacup to his lips and take a sip. You wanted to just get back to your work, but curiosity got the better of you and you found yourself slyly sneaking a glance towards him. 

He was even more ethereal in person. You admired the strong yet graceful curve of his jaw, your eyes sliding along the length of his neck as it disappeared beneath a black knit sweater. 

“You’re not being obvious at all,” Mrs. Sakura suddenly whispered to you as she appeared to retrieve your used teacup. 

You blushed furiously and covered your mouth with an awkward hand, turning your face away from him. God, she was right. Here you were, absolutely ogling this complete stranger, with no rational thought in sight. What was wrong with you? You decided you needed to stretch your legs, so you slid from the table and escaped to the shelves to find another book to help you write your novel. 

Once out of sight and in the safety of the stacks, you let out a breath of relief and began searching the spines for something useful. Your fingers trailed along the edges of the books, until you found a section that might be of some help─but they paused on an empty space where the book you needed should have been. Disappointed, you dropped your hand. 

“I think this one goes there,” that soft, gentle voice sounded from behind you. 

You turned around with your mouth open in surprise. The stranger stood just a few feet away from you, holding out a book in his hand. His eyes were the same shade as his hair, and the visualization of the evening sky blossomed in your mind again. A truly extraordinary color. You stared at his face, trying to figure out where you had seen him before. You knew you had seen him before, but it was like someone had covered the memory with a hazy sheet. 

“T-thank you,” you finally replied, taking the book from him and studying the cover. It was exactly what you were looking for: The World Encyclopedia of Butterflies and Moths. You looked back up at him. “Were you reading this for fun?” 

His eyes widened, the tips of his ears and his cheeks turning pink. “Are you going to make fun of me for it?” 

“No!” you said hastily, shaking your head. “I would never, I’m sorry─” You cut yourself off and winced, and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was poking fun at you, I really like butterflies─” 

He was staring at you now, and you realized you were rambling. 

You bit your lip in embarrassment. “Sorry. Thank you for letting me read this─” you gestured to the book, “─and sorry for the terrible first impression.” Before you could humiliate yourself any further, you slipped by him and returned to your seat at the table, trying to hide your heated face. 

“Very smooth,” Mrs. Sakura whispered from the counter. 

Before you could angrily shush her, the stranger emerged from the stacks with a new book in his hands. You dutifully ignored him as he sat down again, but you could feel his eyes on you as you flipped through the encyclopedia of butterflies. 

After some time passed and you had almost forgotten about that awkward encounter, you heard rustling from his table as he stood up and stretched his arms. 

“Done for the day?” Mrs. Sakura asked him as he approached the counter, his back to you. 

He placed the books he had in his possession in front of her and nodded. “Thank you. Have a good afternoon.” 

“You as well,” she said, and both you and she watched him leave the bookstore and step out into the rain. 

He started walking down the street, passing the big open window that you sat in front of. For a fleeting moment, he met your gaze through the rain-pattered glass, and you offered him a small wave. He blinked in surprise, blushed again, and hurriedly disappeared without so much as a smile. 

“Who was that?” you asked Mrs. Sakura immediately, once he was out of sight. 

“He’s a nice young man,” she answered, stamping his books. “He’s a pro-hero--a bit too shy for my tastes, but he’s drummed up quite a following. I’m surprised you don’t know who he is.” 

“I feel like I’ve seen him before,” you murmured, looking out the window again. A pro-hero would explain that strange familiarity; perhaps you had seen him on TV once or something. 

“Tamaki Amajiki,” Mrs. Sakura said. “Although most people know him as Suneater.” 

Your jaw dropped in shock. Tamaki Amajiki? From high school? 

She noticed your expression. “You know him?” 

“I graduated in the same year as him,” you explained, and all of those memories came flooding back. You hadn’t known him that well, but you remembered how much you liked his quiet nature. Compared to Mirio Togata’s loud and outgoing personality and Nejire Hado’s bubbly popularity, Amajiki had always been a nice change of pace. Back then, you had been placed in General Education at UA High School, with no desire to follow the route to becoming a hero. Your Quirk was neither strong nor useful for that field. Instead, you graduated and went on to college to become a writer. Funny how the world always seems to bring people back together. You looked back to Mrs. Sakura. “Does he come in here often?” 

“He’s only been in a few times,” she replied. “Mostly sticks to himself and reads books on butterflies. I think he likes them.” 

“Yeah, I remember something along those lines from school,” you said. “I sat behind him in a creative writing course the summer before our third year….I wonder if he remembers me.” 

“With the way he was looking at you, I’d say he does.” 

“W-what?” you asked, feeling your cheeks turning hot again. “What are you talking about?” 

Mrs. Sakura simply shrugged her shoulders and started towards the back of the store again. “You work too hard!” you heard her call from between the shelves. “Take a break!” 

You shook your head in disbelief and stared at your idle computer screen. Amajiki had been….looking at you? Like you bad been looking at him? Suddenly, it felt like you were back in high school in that creative writing class, staring at the back of his head as he sat at the desk right in front of yours. Maybe that’s why it had looked so familiar when he first walked into the bookstore. You remembered a harmless, silly little crush you had had on him, all those years ago. 

You gazed out of the shop’s window again. The sun was now peeking through the rain clouds, casting its glow over the street and illuminating the drops that slid down the glass. 

You wondered if you would see him again. 

[note: let me know what you guys think!! i have the next chapter lined up, so it’ll be posted soon after this one. 

taglist: @a-monsters-love @luv4kiyoomi-archive @greatbiscuitsword @jennammae @eveninglevi @heydae20 @eitabun @kuurechr @itsjusteunoia​]

[kawaiijohn]

Going Angst Week Day 2: Obsession

Ao3:  Here

WC:  1689

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The scenery behind the door was very... unique Quizz would say.  

“You know, if I wanted space I would just remove a wall.  A room suspended in the endless void is a little... extra, don’t you think?” They asked nobody.

There was a singular platform suspended in an endless inky void of space with a singular pathway to the door.  Nothing sat upon it but a desk- complete with a fancy looking double-monitor setup and roomy drawers underneath.  It looked sleek, modern, tempting.  

Quizz didn’t know why the single point of focus in an otherwise liminal room was so enticing, but hey!  The feeling in their chest hadn’t led them astray.  Yet.

With a shrug they began walking, their saunter turning into a slow but steady glide as they negated gravity.  “Well, only one way to go.  Down it is!!”

The monitors lit up with a strange logo- a devilishly smiling face with red shades and blue flames for hair.  Okay... that looked really cool, but... why was it lighting up?  They tapped the space key and a password entry blinked before them.

“I can’t even remember my name, what makes this place think I’ll remember a fuckin’ password right off the bat?  Sheesh!!”  He pulled the chair out and took a seat, realizing it didn’t need adjusting and was hella comfortable.  

Alright... he could work with this.

With a too-wide grin he began trying to unlock the machine.

-----

It turned out he could not, in fact, work with this.

Quizz had his cheek pressed against the desk, growling lowly at the password box as it flashed tauntingly at him.  It really didn’t help that the damn thing cackled at him with every wrong entry.

“Stupid computer.  Stupid amnesia.  Stupid Quizz... stupid stupid stupid.”  He pried his face off the desk in despair and slammed his forehead on it a few times.  “The fact that nothing seems to hurt me makes me think I’m just having an awful dream.”  Another slam.  “But with my terrible luck I’m in purgatory or something.” Slam.  

“Why is this so damn hard... Always gettin’ myself into so much trouble- way more than it’s worth!!  Gods mom was ri-...”  Quizz paused and thought.  “.... she was... who?  Who was... right??  ACK!”  They grabbed their forehead, talons accidentally scratching the fuck out of their face in the rush.  “I-I... why do things keep.  Leaving me?”

They took a moment to calm, thinking about it- thinking about the trouble they were in; lost and alone with apparently only a locked computer for company.  “Please, I... don’t want to forget her.  I just want to... know...” The pain in their head subsided as the thing in their chest thrummed violently.  “Who was she to me again??”  They had to remember, feelings of both nostalgia and love rushed over them, followed by a single, near debilitating shudder of regret and the gut-wrenching feeling of failure.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t enough... I couldn’t be there for you all...’

Quizz gasped loudly.  “I... someone said I get into trouble... it was familiar, but not angry.  Exasperated... and then I... I left them.  How did I leave?”  Their heard vibrated strangely again.  “I don’t think I left them willingly.  But who were... they?”

A happy, yet tired family sits at a table.  A single chair remains empty yet another day; a small plate covered in frogs sits on a placemat in front of it.  There’s three other people, smiling yet tired.  Pizza steams fresh in the center with two figures talking excitedly about something else.  They’re all smaller besides one more in focus than the others.  They look... older?  The image clears a bit more and reveals a stout woman with slightly greying hair and blank eyes...

Something clicks into place.

"Mom!!!  I remember mom- I think... but who are the others?  Kids, at least maybe?  Ah, what was her name- I can... Her favorite color was peach!!”  They readied themself for pain again, but none came.  “ Ah, so the initial memory sucks when I remember it!!  Noted!  Thanks brain, I hate it!!!”  They tapped their forehead and stood in front of the desk, arms crossed.  “Now, brain, my dear friend- can please you do me a favor and, oh... I don’t know... fuckin’ LET ME UNLOCK THIS FUCKIN’ DESKTOP?? Please???”

The monitor snickered softly at them again after a moment of absolute silence.

“ALRIGHT SMARTASS!!!”  Quizz slammed their fist hard on the keyboard, hearing something click softly underneath.  “There’s literally no need to get sassy with me!  So what do you say, help me out here, bud?  Please???”  They pleaded with the computer, but got a loud raspberry in return.  “Cool.  Just fuckin’ great.”  Another smack to the keyboard made something inside the desk click again, the sound of some sort of mechanism unwinding.  After a moment, a drawer (one he was SURE was locked) glided open gracefully.

Quizz perked up, ignoring the fact they were about ten seconds from slashing the monitor in half with their new claws.  “Alright!  Now that’s the shit I’m talkin’ about!  That’s the shit I’m fuckin’ about!!!”  They turned and saluted the blank space surrounding him.  “Thanks, weird void room.  Thanks weird asshole computer!!  I totally appreciate the help you gave me!!” 

‘Ah, sarcasm.  Never fails to lighten the mood.’

With nimble fingers the amnesiac started shuffling through the drawer.  It had several very... interesting items inside- weirdly shaped pens, a neat collapsable cane he was gonna inspect later, but the best of all was a pair of dope-ass red shades that they absolutely donned immediately- a feeling of pride and rightness filling them as they put them on.

They made it to the bottom of the drawer when their chest thrummed violently.  A lone binder, locked tightly, sat at the bottom.  They grasped their chest with one hand and the book with the other, admiring the intricate silver swirls and black glittering stars covering it.  Quizz placed it on the desk, noticing a small, strangely glittering key hanging off of a chain attached to it.

The room seemed to whisper directly into his mind.

‘Open it.  Inside.  Open... learn about... read... learn...’

With a shaking hand, they unlocked it and read.

They read.

And read.

Memories coming to the forefront and fading away just as soon.  Their eyes scanned words that would pixelate and blur as soon as they glanced at them.  Names and places, numbers and facts- blurred away from his sight.  

‘No.  This is not how it should be.’

A growl bubbled up in his chest as he kept reading.  Names were all universally destroyed, photos for the most part blurred out.  But categories- favorite places and things... birthdays and personality types- all of those were categorized neatly and nicely.  

Some pages had just a few, and those names were less obscured- some even with profile pictures fully visible.

Those pages made his chest rumble happily.  He couldn’t understand why.

But there were three specific pages that stood out.  Just looking at them... it made his blood itch, his chest scream in longing.

He needed to finish them.  If he didn’t... he didn’t know what he would do.  

He poured over the pages over and over and over again.

They all had information filled for the most part, more categories were finished than any other page had been, but things like the person’s name and appearance, as well as the photos were unhelpfully blurred out.

They snarled at the thought of not knowing what it meant.  

“Can’t make anything easy for me, huh?”

One was a page that was rather childish.  Observations were written but he could barely understand them- the letters scrambling before his eyes.  But he noticed something- it seemed the entry was cut short; the only clear thing besides crayon drawings of frogs said ‘entry cut short, just like their time with us.’

The second page was filled with pressed flowers- all different types of lilies and snapdragons.  Everything was written with a glittery peach gel pen.  They ran a claw over the script and felt a tear fall from their eyes.  The writing made them feel something deep and painful- the same pain they’d felt a short while ago.

Their eyes scanned the page, noticing a single clear data entry.

Favorite Color:  Peach

“This was... is this my mom?”

Upon saying that, the page become more readable- some smaller things filling out and the photo less ‘thumb over the camera’ and more ‘they moved while I took this’.

If this was information on people they knew then...

Quizz yelled as their chest spiked in pain, something overcoming their willpower.

If this book was filled with things about the people they loved, then they will... they are going to... uncover all of it- collect all the information and find them.  They’ll collect everyone interesting they meet- ask them... get answers, know things, know all things to... to - 

Protect.

Love.

Learn.

Know. Know them.

After feeling cold pins and needles consume their form, Quizz flipped back to the third and last page that had gathered their interest. 

The very first page in the book.

Their claw ran over the scrawling handwriting- admiring how the writer crossed their sevens with lines, how they looped their letters and underlined things for emphasis.  They felt nostalgic and hollow.

This page had every single category filled, but the descriptions were blackened out; like they’d spilled ink all over the page.  They looked it up and down but couldn’t find a single clue about who page one would have been.

With a sigh they grinned and noticed something peculiar on the inner cover- right next to the bio.  There was a single note, a single clue.

Password:  Page 5′s best friend.

Now that... that tickled Quizz’s fancy.  Page 5... that would be the childish froggie page?  Yes it was.  

Quizz felt the buzzing in their chest become steady, violent yet subdued.  It was telling them this was the right direction- that attaining that information would fill a hunger they didn’t know they had.

Interesting, this was going to just be... delightful.

[trillian-anders]

therapy

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

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

word count: 16k 

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

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

session #1

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

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

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

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

He shook his head to rid himself of the memory. 

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

It was strange. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck this guy. 

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

The Doctor’s eyebrow raised.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wanted to hit him real fucking bad. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s not going to let you sleep tonight. 

You didn’t deserve to.

session #8

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

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

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

It was like being edged.

Ransom was into instant gratification. 

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

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

“No.” 

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

“Yes.” 

Scribbling.

“What is your book about?” Ransom smirked.

“Murder.” The Doctor hummed, 

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

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

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

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

“I would be a terrible salesman.” 

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

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

Harlan wasn’t proud of anyone but himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not my Grandfather.” He said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

session #12

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” The Doctor nodded. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Does she do anything else?” Dowd asked. 

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

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

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

“How long has she worked for you now?” 

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

Next time, he assured himself. Next time. 

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

“I’ve always had stability.” Lies. 

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

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

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

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

“It is.” It wasn’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Any of it.

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

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

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

He just wanted to finish the fucking book already.

 session #26

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Never stopped or tried to feel anything. 

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

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

There’s something wrong with him. 

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

At least then he had something to blame it on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you comfortable right now?” 

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

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

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

Maybe a little.

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

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

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

His routine.

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

“Probably.” Yes.

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

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

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

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

session #31

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s what he deserved, he reasoned. 

He wanted you to hate him. Because you should.

session #52

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

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

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

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

I know what you did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Self-loathing.

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

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

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

You selfish bastard. 

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

You did this. 

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

A gentle knock on the door. 

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

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

He didn’t deserve you. 

He knows that now. 

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

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

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

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

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

His heart panged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marta deserved the money. 

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

So what was it all for?

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

He couldn’t see the big picture.

What a selfish baby. A fucking coward.

This self loathing was all consuming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He still felt sick. 

session #67

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

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

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

He didn’t deserve you. 

You should just leave. 

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

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

He had a roommate in college. 

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

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

This was intimacy. 

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

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

But he knew this was intimacy. 

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

And he didn’t deserve it. 

You were too good for him. 

That was in all of his thoughts. 

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

He should treat you better. 

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

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

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

He writes three chapters that day. 

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

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

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

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

You knew.

But did Dowd?

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

“I feel worse.” 

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

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

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

“I’m still a narcissist.” 

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

session #74

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

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

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

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

He wanted it so badly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It shows.

His Father was just as dismissive.

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

Please don’t leave me. 

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

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

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

“Yes.” He says. “She is.” 

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

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

He’d only been there once. 

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

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

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

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

You were compassionate. 

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

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

“Be better.” The Doctor nodded. 

“Be better.” 

session #86

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

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

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

Nothing really fit you. Not really. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was penance. 

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

But it’s penance. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marta didn’t matter anymore. 

He didn’t matter anymore. 

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

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

Maybe he’ll become a recluse. 

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

It’s his penance. 

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

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

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

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

He really fucking needs you. 

session #95 

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

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

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

He was sure of it. 

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

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

You couldn’t quit. 

Not for another nine weeks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wanted you so bad. 

He wanted you so bad. 

He wanted you so fucking bad. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think he did it, he’s an asshole. 

I don’t like her either. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Therapy today.

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t deserve her.” 

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

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

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

“I’m going out.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

session #104

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was nice.

It was very nice. 

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

Fran’s Mother. 

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

And it was his fault. But she forgave him. Just how he was learning to forgive his parents. 

Forgive himself. That was the hard one. He’ll be working on that maybe until the day he dies he thinks. Maybe. 

“She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Ransom explains. Dowd smiled softly, 

“And she’s not going to leave.”

“Yeah,” Ransom agreed, “She’s not going to leave.” Well she is, but not completely. He was an adult. He could start taking care of himself, but she was still going to technically be his assistant. 

“This is our last session together and before it ends is there anything you’d like to say?” Dowd asked him. The old man had taken on a new light for him over the last two years, Ransom really liked the guy. There was no doubt he helped him a lot, but it was more than that. Dowd was a good man. It was admirable. Ransom had never met a good man in his entire life. 

Dowd loved his family, his wife, he loved his job. He was a good guy and if it wasn’t wildly inappropriate Ransom would have loved to take him golfing. Maybe invite his family over for dinner. Maybe one day. Maybe once the Doctor retires. 

“I don’t think it should be our last session.” Dowd smiled at that.

“That’s exactly how you know you’ve improved.” The man assured, “Cause you’re nowhere near done.” Ransom should have taken offense to that, but he knew. He was still a work in progress. He still needed help, just maybe not as much as before. 

Dowd parted with a cookie tin full of those caramel cookies Ransom loved so much, but he was too excited to care. You were ready to go. You wanted to see your sister more than anything else and he was happy to take you there. 

He smirked as you ran into your sister’s arms. The fourteen year old was taller than you now, her face dotted with acne. She glared at Ransom over your shoulder. 

He deserves it. Honestly. 

Dinner was no better. The teen ignoring him completely as he sat awkwardly in the smallest restaurant he’d even been in. You’d spoke practiced spanish to the server and older woman he’d also seen flipping tortillas on the flat top in the back. You’d placed a paper plate with radishes, limes, and a mix of spicy peppers, onions, and cactus in front of the three of you. 

A mess of plates were served. This little hole in the wall served the best tacos he’d ever had. Acidic ceviche that he’d eaten scooped into chips, the second order he ate with a spoon straight from the bowl. He didn’t interrupt the two of you and your jovial conversation. 

Julia gossiped about a girl at school who was apparently a total bitch and everyone hates her, but she had secretly been dating another girl they went to school with and was now being super nice because she wasn’t closeted anymore. 

There was another story about a teacher who had recently lost a child that your sister and her club had been trying to get money together to help pay for the funeral, “How much do you need?” Ransom interrupted. 

Julia looked at him with wide eyes, almost forgetting he was there for a moment. “Uh… like we’ve raised almost $2,000 but we were trying to get a full ten.” Ransom nodded, squeezing a lime over his taco. 

“Remind me to write you a check before I drop you back off.” He felt your eyes on him, a soft smile. You weren’t going to spring the relationship on your sister quite yet. Not when she still wanted to strangle him. 

“That- You’re going to give me $8,000?” Julia asked incredulously. Ransom nodded, chewing and swallowing. 

“It’s hard to lose a child.” He offered, “It’s hard for everyone.”

“Especially the parents.” Julia bit. He deserved that. He nods. 

“Especially the parents.” 

He was nervous. What if you didn’t like it? He’d sell it he’d suppose. But you had to like it. He broke into your tablet one night and sent screenshots of your Pinterest saves to an interior designer. It should be what you want, how you wanted it. 

“Where are we going?” You asked. You had sat in the back with your sister. The two of you holding hands and talking about how homecoming went and how there was a junior guy in band who had asked her to the prom. 

“We’re almost there.” He pulled into a paved driveway, turning the corner he tapped a few times on his phone the dark house lighting up before him. He heard two collective gasps from the backseat. 

“Ransom, what is this?” You were confused, obviously. He exited the car, the two of you following. 

He stepped up on the porch, not answering. His heart racing in his chest. He dug out the small key chain that had been weighing heavily in his pocket, turning to the two of you and hanging it from a finger. “I know you hate expensive gifts, but I can’t let you go back to that apartment.” His mouth was dry. 

“Ransom.” You breathed. The keys were snatched from his finger, Julia moved past him to unlock the door, rushing inside. 

“Oh my God!” She squealed from inside. Ransom shrugged softly, hand still outstretched towards yours. 

“Please take it.” He whispered. A few seconds ticked by as he watched you decide. Please take it. 

“Y/N,” Julia called, “This house is incredible.” She was panting in the doorway, shoes already discarded. He watched you look past him to her, the smile on her face. And you took his hand. 

You’d been dating for a while when Ransom suggested couples therapy. Pretty much as soon as you’d moved in together. It was a nice break. Six months not seeing each other every minute of every day. He picked you up on real dates. You’d gone to real movies. You’d taken real walks in a real park. You had after dinner drinks at a real bar. One which you’d remembered he had ignored you in what seemed like a lifetime ago. 

Julia had just gone to bed. She had a soccer game in the morning. He’d suggested it while you were getting ready for bed. A box of his clothes sat still packed in the corner. The last box. One you hadn’t quite gotten to yet. 

“There’s nothing wrong,” He defended. “I just think that it would keep us in a healthy relationship.” And you agreed. He was happy you agreed. He didn’t want you to think that he felt as though there were problems. Other than him leaving his dirty socks and coffee mugs around the two of you hadn’t had much of a disagreement.

Yet. 

Dowd was kind enough to still make house calls, something Ransom was fortunate for. He was working hard getting his next novel out. Deadline coming on quick as the two of you sat in a session where the Doctor looked at you and said, 

“He’s treated you fairly poorly over the last two years.” Ransom felt offended. Dowd was supposed to be on his side, but he came out the gate swinging. It didn’t stop it being true. 

You opened and closed your mouth. “I wouldn’t say…” You rubbed your hands down your thighs, drying the sweat on your palms. 

“It’s not okay.” Dowd responded. “We both know him, we know how far he’s come.” He gestured to Ransom and Ransom nodded. 

“He’s right baby.” A hand on your thigh in a way Ransom hoped was comforting. “The way I treated you is not okay. I’ve made a lot of bad decisions.” You sat awkwardly. Ransom wondered if you were beginning to regret this. 

“But Ransom, honey, I just--” You looked so nervous, sinking down into the couch, your eyes fixed on Dowd. “You’ve changed so much, and you’ve never really been…” You gestured with your hands. “You’re a victim of circumstance.” You began, “I don’t believe that if you’d had loving parents you would have ever been in the situation you were in… not that you know, nature versus nurture and I just think, I don’t know, maybe... “

“It’s okay.” Dowd put a hand out. “Listen, this is a lot to start with and it’s okay. We don’t have to get too far into it. The next session I would like to have both of you write a letter to each other, something about how the last two years have affected your life. I think that’s where we should start.” 

Intermingling breaths and hips pushed into the kitchen table, loud moans echoing in the kitchen as Ransom sinks himself into you over and over. “So fucking hot baby.” He breathes. “So fucking hot,” He hitched your leg up onto the table, enabling him to go deeper. “You’ll do anything for me, wont you?” He asked. His snapping hard against your perfect ass, hands roughly gripping the globes, tinted red by the palm of his hand. 

“Yes,” You moaned roughly, “Anything.” Ransom moaned, reaching a hand down to steadily rub your clit, so wet for him. Only him. 

“I love you so fucking much.” He moaned, hips beginning to falter as you came around him. Pussy contracting, milking his cock as he released inside the condom, panting. 

“I love you too.” You whispered heavily into the room. Both of you trying to catch your breath. 

“Thank you for doing this for me.” His fingers tracing softly down your bare spine. “I know it makes you uncomfortable.” He watched as you pulled your discarded shirt back on, shifting your leggings back up your hips as he discarded his condom, pulling his sweats back up over his own. 

“I think it’ll be good for us,” You said, “In the long run.” He nods in agreement. 

“I would hate for us to turn out like my parents.” He whispered. 

“We’re not ever going to be like your parents.” You assured him, gripping his hand softly. 

“I don’t want you to resent me in twenty years.” He looked into your eyes, searching as you replied,

“You think we’ll be together in twenty years?” You asked. He rolled his eyes as you let a watery laugh part your lips. He pressed his lips tightly against yours, fingers tangled in your hair. 

“I sure as hell hope so.” 

The sessions continued. One a month. Each month. 

The two of you worked together to make this relationship work. You tried hard. You grew and you grew together. 

“I think we’d be pretty good parents.” He said once. A few weeks before the marriage proposal. It got the both of you hot for it. The idea. Not something you’d been planning on acting on anytime soon but when he was balls deep inside your tight wet pussy he couldn’t help but imagine you swelling with his child, breasts heavy, firm belly pressing against him as he thrust inside you. 

He was hot for it, always. 

And you were thinking of it too. You’d spin your engagement ring around your finger and stare at him wistfully, tongue coming out to wet your lower lip. 

You were riding him. Hips circling on top of his, panting and moaning. Your body glistening with sweat. Hands curled in your hair, back arched. “You gonna give me a baby?” You asked. He nodded, panting, he wanted to thrust into you but he couldn’t help but love the way you looked right now. Chasing your own release. Selfish. Wanting. 

He fucking loved it. 

You held his wrists to the bed, using your knees to rock back and forth on top of him as you pressed your lips to his. A whisper against his lips. “You gonna cum inside me?” You moaned. 

“Yes, baby.” He braced his feet against the bed grinding his hips against yours, rubbing your clit against his pubic bone until you were shuddering on top of him, moaning into his mouth with your release. You collapse against his chest, his arms coming to wrap around your waist, his braced feet giving him the leverage he needed to fuck you. His hips starting a punishing rhythm. The loud slap of his thighs meeting yours filling the room. 

“I can’t wait.” He breathes, “I love you so fucking much.” Your choked moans did him in, his release spilling inside you, not willing to let you go quite yet as the two of you stilled. The sweat covering your bodies began to chill you. 

“I love you too.” 

The wedding was small. Springtime. For months after the proposal and very quiet. Neither of you had very much family and fewer friends. A small group in your backyard. A cake from your favorite bakery. Promises of a bright future and a new life. Here, together. 

You’d feel the flutter in your belly a few months after that.

.

.

.

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

[shackermanwrites]

Lifetime

Summary: When everything's falling apart in your life, and you don't know what to do anymore, maybe asking the universe for something isn't a bad idea after all. In which Sol Reader finds herself in another reality after begging the universe for something. Everything is going well not until she was put into Levi's squad.

Chapter 2 -> Chapter 3

Lifetime Masterlist

The loud banging on the door made you instantly jolt up from your bed, and you looked at the digital clock beside your bed.

“It's 4:44 am; give me a break.” You mumbled to yourself as you got up from your bed.

It’s the first time in months that you have gotten a night of sleep for more than three hours and only to be interrupted by a loud knock, you could honestly punch a wall right there.

As soon as you open the door, the smile on Petra’s face was immediately replaced by a frown.

“You look terrible, Are you okay?” She invited herself in and placed her bag on the table beside the door.

“Geez, good morning to you too huh, you woke me up, genius” you plopped down back to your bed and hugged your pillow.

“I just want to see you before you go, and also, my mom cooked some food for you and your family. It's not much, but she made your favorite banana bread.”

Petra sat on the side of your bed and lay next to you, not caring if it’ll ruin her hair. You have been like this for almost a year, and you treat each other like sisters since she’s an only child, she confessed that she looks up to you like an older sister. Her family also treats you as their own, and you are beyond thankful for them. You honestly can't imagine how you will survive if it weren’t for them.

“Thank you, Petra. I appreciate it” You gave her a brief smile while you pinch her cheeks for a second before getting up from the bed.

You were supposed to wake up at 5 am, but since you are already awake and it's almost 5, you went to the bathroom to wash your face and take a bath. The faint sound of the television and the running cold water is the only thing you can hear.

-

You arrived at your house around 5 pm that day, the trip was indeed tiring even though there are not many people traveling considering that it is almost the holiday season.

As soon as you stepped inside the house, a blonde girl who’s holding a book came rushing at you with a big smile on her face.

“Historia! You have gotten a lot taller since I last saw you.” You immediately let go of your baggage and hugged the girl. You honestly missed her, and you know she did too. She was left alone in this house, and you know how it must be hard for her to grow up alone.

“I missed you so much, Sol. I have so many stories I want to share with you, mom! Dad! Sol is here!” the excitement and joy are all over her voice.

Your mom greeted you on her apron. She gave you a smile before glancing at the living room.

“Oh honey, you're back. Your dad is in the living room. I'm glad you could make it before Christmas.” your mother smiled at you once again before she went back to the kitchen.

You hate yourself for being mad. The feeling of being unwanted rushes through your body once again.

You didn’t want to face your father, but you're here now, and there's no backing off. You pat Historia’s head before your feet made their way to the living room to where your father is.

“Father, I'm home.” Your father didn’t look at you. He didn’t even try to glance in your direction. Instead, his eyes are glued to the book he is reading.

“I haven't seen you for two years. I forgot I have an older daughter.” The palm of your hands started to turn white as you clench your hands into a fist. You didn’t want to disrespect your parents, so you forced yourself to utter the word ‘sorry’ before excusing yourself.

-

“The fuck are you doing, cadet?! Get the hell up and start running!” The people who pass through the man shouting at a cadet lying on the ground clenched tighter on the rifle they are holding as they run faster in fear that they might get called.

Tired, thirsty, and hungry are the exact words you can describe the soldiers running under the sun while holding a 4kg rifle.

“So, a new batch of brats just graduated last night? How many are they?”

“Not more than 70 but not less than 50, eight from the top 10 decided to join survey corps. Don’t you need three more cadets to annoy you for your squad?”

“Shut it four eyes, and I do need someone who has a great aim at rifle since the last squad you gave me were nothing but shit. One cadet cant even shoots properly, and the other was shaking non-stop tch, pathetic.”

“Yeah, sorry shorty, but say less since they will be here early morning tomorrow. I just hope I get Reader and Ackerman in my squad!”

“Both of them topped their class? Tch, of course, those brats will pick you, considering that being in my squad means leading their own lives to hell. Anyway, I need to go, Hange.”

“Bye, Levi! Keep the weather down there cool!”

Levi Ackerman, one of the most outstanding soldiers on Paradis Island. At the age of 14, he was already in the survey corps after his mother died, he had no choice but to survive and live, and the only thing to survive for a homeless person on the Island is to become a soldier and fight for their home.

Most of the soldiers who joined are because of the ranks, a privileged to every family who has a soldier in survey corps is seen as honorable. Homeless people who want to join the military are a joke to them since they know that they are desperate to keep going in life. Still, Levi isn’t one of them at that time. He’s exceptionally strong, wise, and disciplined. That’s why no one ever challenged him after beating up the section commander in his first year in training.

Levi is an exceptional soldier, his rank went up throughout the years, and he’s currently holding the title of Squad Captain for Special Operations at the age of 26.

The wind danced his green cape that holds the title of his rank while he walks over to a bunch of cadets panting after running laps for hours under the beaming hot sun.

“Take a break and come back after 5 minutes, don’t even bother coming late” Levi watched as the soldier in front of him salute and instantly went to do their business.

He looked up to the sky to see a bunch of birds flying across the sky. He wanted something, yet he can't put the right words into it. Maybe he even needed it instead of want.

Aiming at the sky with his rifle, he shoots at the sky, causing a bird to fall in front of a cadet, making him caught off guard.

‘A bunch of pussies ’ Levi thought.

-

A loud bang from the door causing you and Historia to flinched while lying on the bed on your stomach. The both of you have been catching up with each other for almost an hour now with a bunch of stories about her school.

You heard your mom called you and your sister saying that it's already dinner time, so both of you went down to the kitchen.

Your father was already sitting at the dining table while reading a book while your mom prepares the plates and utensils to the table. You didn’t manage to help since, by the time you have sat, your mother was already finished preparing the table.

As all of you started to eat, no one bothered to engage in a conversation, and it bothers you because you feel awkward the entire time. Luckily for you, your mother is the first one to talk.

“How's college? You didn't come home for almost two years.”

You grip on your fork tightly, you had hoped to yourself that one of them would ask how you are doing, but here they are asking you how college is.

You compose yourself before answering her question. “I'm sorry, I'm just busy, but college is fine. I'm doing great academically, and I am passing my subjects.”

Your mother nods at your response before she returns to her food.

“At least be a responsible sister to Historia, the poor girl kept asking for you last year. I did not raise to be irresponsible,” your father coldly said while giving you a bored stare.

You want to cry at that moment.

No, you want to scream.

You're trying; your mind was filled with thought and screamed inside your head, but you managed to give an apologetic smile to your father.

“I'm sorry, father, I will do better next time.”

You can't look at them in the eyes because if you do, you know youll burst into tears and don’t wanna embarrass yourself in front of your family.

You excused yourself from the dinner by making up an excuse that you're tired.

You are.

Once you entered your room, you quickly took a shower before throwing yourself at your bed to rest.

You're tired from the travel, and you're exhausted from holding yourself back from anything and anyone.

‘fuck you, universe,’ you thought to yourself.

“Take me home, universe, I know I'm not home, take me to my home universe, whatever the cost is,” you softly mumbled to yourself a bunch of times before closing your eyes as you took a deep breath.

You stayed like that until you fall asleep while hugging your pillow.

-

“Sol, I know you're tired from celebrating but get up before the higher ranks get mad” a faint voice made you groan from disturbing your sleep.

You don’t know what time it is, but you want more sleep, so you rolled over to the other side of the bed.

Not a minute had passed, but a pillow was slammed into your arms, and a voice quickly followed it. “Sol, I woke you up, don’t tell me I didn’t, get up and get ready, Armin, and I won't wait for you.”

A couple of silence before footsteps can be heard, then the sound of a door closing.

You stayed in that position for a couple of minutes before opening your eyes wide open and sat on the bed.

You saw a bed beside yours and a bunch of books on the table beside your bed.

You're not in your room.

You don’t know where you are.

[deancas-fanfiction]

A Daydream Away

Chapter 1/?

Summary: After multiple couples go missing from a resort in northern Minnesota, Dean and Cas are forced to pose as a couple to investigate the mysterious entity. As Dean and Cas navigate their fake relationship, it leaves Dean questioning what's real and forces him to confront his feelings for Cas.

A story in which Cas is human, Dean is sometimes an idiot, and Sam acts as matchmaker.

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Tags: fake relationship, case fic, sharing a bed, human!cas, Sam ships Dean and Cas, fluff, eventual smut

available on ao3 Read Ch. 2 Here

“I think I found us a case,” Sam announced, entering the Dean Cave with his nose buried in his laptop.

Dean sighed in irritation, pausing the movie he and Cas were in the middle of watching. “This better be good, if you’re interrupting our movie night. You know we’re in the middle of Half Blood Prince, and Cas hasn’t seen it.”

“Metatron did upload the movie content into my –” Cas argued, but stilled at Dean’s murderous glare.

“Being told what happens and actually experiencing it are two very different things, Cas. You have to experience it firsthand.”

Cas opened his mouth to argue but didn’t get the chance, as Sam interrupted him by loudly clearing his throat.

“Are you two done?” Sam looked at the two of them in irritation and Dean had to stifle a laugh at the almost stern expression on his face.

“Sorry, Sammy. The floor is yours. Tell us about your case.”

“Okay, so get this. There’s this resort called Grand View Lodge in Nisswa, Minnesota where couples have reportedly gone missing. In the past month, three couples have disappeared without a trace. No evidence of foul play and all of their personal belongings were left behind as were their vehicles. None of the other guests saw or heard anything.”

“That does sound suspicious,” Cas agreed. “Did the missing persons have anything in common?”

“All I can ascertain from the articles and social media posts is that the couples were very happily in love and were staying there on their honeymoon. But there isn’t a lot of information out there. I think we need to check it out, but we’ll need to pose as a couple if we want to gather information and attempt to lure whatever entity this is.”

“Go for it,” Dean shrugged. “When are you and Eileen leaving?” Dean noted the sudden look of discomfort on Sam’s face as he awkwardly shifted the laptop to his other hand.

“So that’s the thing…”

Dean groaned. “Of course.  It’s never that simple.”

“Eileen is on a hunt in Ohio right now. She just got there, so she won’t be back in time.”

“What about Jody? Or Donna?”

Sam shook his head. “Neither can get off work. Claire and Kaia are both out on a hunt, too. That leaves just the three of us.”

“So…?”

“So, that means you and Cas will need to pose as newlyweds, and I can come as backup. The resort is looking for temporary help for the holiday season so I can work at the front desk and interview the employees for information, while you guys can lure the entity and interview the guests.”

Dean choked on his beer and barely managed to sputter out a response. “You want me…and Cas… to pose as a couple? Are you serious?”

“Fine.” He shrugged.  “Me and Cas will pose as a couple then, and you can get a job there. I just thought you’d prefer not to work at a customer service desk.”

Dean felt a flash of irritation surge through him at Sam’s suggestion. The idea of Sam and Cas posing as a couple left a bitter taste in his mouth. Imagining them holding hands or having a romantic dinner just the two of them caused him to involuntarily clench his teeth and form a fist. He wasn’t jealous. No really, he wasn’t. It just – wasn’t right, okay? Sam and Cas probably wouldn’t be able to even pull off posing as a couple. So really, for the sake of the case, Dean should agree to pair up with Cas. All for the sake of the case. That’s all.

Suddenly Deans thoughts consisted of posing as a couple with Cas. Well, not just a couple, but Cas’ husband. Dean’s mouth went dry and oh. Okay. That scenario suddenly seemed a lot more pleasant. They’d have to hold hands, but really, that wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe add a few lingering touches and cutesy nicknames into the mix. But that shouldn’t be too bad, he’s used to Cas being in his personal space. In fact, he’s sort of grown accustomed to it at this point. Cas has always gravitated towards Dean’s personal space. While it was a mild irritation at first, it evolved into a comfort as it was something so expected. Besides, since Cas became human with the help of Jack, they’ve spent much more time together. Movie nights were nearly a nightly occurrence at this point. Their thighs always pressed against each other as they fight over the shared bowl of popcorn. Or in the mornings, when Dean rests his hand on Cas’ lower back for balance so he can reach a mug from the top shelf. Or when Dean tries to teach Cas how to properly play pool by standing behind him, helping him aim the cue. Really, the list goes on. So, pretending to be married shouldn’t be that much different than their current dynamic.

Huh. That’s a new revelation. Before that thought can cause too much panic, he buries it deep inside and ignores the way it made his stomach swoop. “No, no. You’re right.” Dean cleared his throat in an attempt to hide the way his voice sounded borderline frantic. “I would be a terrible employee. I would probably be fired for flirting with the guests or yelling at my boss.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Okay, great. So, you and Cas can pose as newlyweds, just as I suggested. I’ll book the cabin and we’ll head out early in the morning.” He stomped out of the room and Dean mirrored his brother, rolling his eyes in return.

Cas wordlessly grabbed the remote and pressed play, leaning back into Dean as the movie resumed.

---

The next morning, they were on the road much too early, in both Dean and Cas' opinion. They stayed up later than was probably wise to finish their movie. Then Cas had questions, to which Dean had to patiently answer and suddenly it was nearly two in the morning. Meanwhile, Sam was bright eyed and happily sipping his thermos of coffee as he lowered himself into the Impala.

"Dean, if you wanted to keep sleeping I could --"

"Don't you dare." Dean warned. "I'm driving, now shut your mouth." He heard Sam sigh in response and turned the key, feeling the car rumble beneath him. He pulled out of the garage and turned onto the road, getting a start on the nine-hour drive to Nisswa.

The first hour of the drive was nearly silent. The radio played quietly in the background as all three occupants took the time to fully wake up. Every now and then Cas would nudge Dean's arm from the backseat, his silent way of asking for Dean's coffee. Dean would roll his eyes, but nevertheless pass him the thermos with a smile tugging at his lips.

The silence wasn't broken until Cas complained that Dean finished the coffee. This, of course, prompted into an argument over who was entitled to the last sip of the coffee, only to be broken by Sam's frustrated interjection.

"Guys. Cut it out. You can get more coffee when we stop for gas."

"Gas station coffee is not the same as bunker coffee."

"Yeah, they don't have almond milk at gas stations, Sam."

"See? Not the same." Dean chirped, enjoying teaming up with Cas against Sam.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's antics and changed the subject. "We should probably discuss the case in more detail before we arrive."

"What's left to discuss? Couples went missing while banging on their honeymoon. Probably a routine salt and burn of some pissed off ghost."

"Delicately put, jackass." Sam scoffed. "I was thinking, we should discuss your relationship with Cas."

"My what?" Dean's pulse quickened and he internally cursed his body for betraying him.

"Your relationship with Cas. You know, for the case. We need to come up with a back story so that way if someone asks how you met, Cas won't say 'I gripped him tight and raised him from perdition.'"

"That is how we met, though." Cas insisted.

"Dude, you can't just tell people that!"

"We just need to think of a way to twist it, so it sounds normal." Sam explained. "So, for example, Dean could say he met Cas during a bad time in his life and Cas saved him."

"That's putting it lightly," Dean commented. "Cas? Does that work with you?"

"Fine."

"You're grumpy today." Dean observed, meeting Cas' eyes in the rearview mirror.

"I'm not grumpy. I'm tired. And I didn't get my full amount of coffee."

"You drank your whole thermos and half of mine. How much do you normally drink?"

"More than that."

"You have a caffeine addiction, you know that?"

"Well, at least you two already have the bickering of a married couple down." Sam half joked.

Dean rolled his eyes and focused back on the road; lips drawn into a straight line.

"What else do we need to cover?" Cas resigned, breaking the silence that once again settled over the car.

"Length of relationship."

"Ten years." Cas answered easily.

Sam pursed his lips. "Why don't we say you've been together for 5 years, and friends for the first 5. That will make you fit the same profile as the other missing couples a little more closely."

"Jesus, Sam. We'll be fine, we've been in situations like this before."

"I just don't want your cover blown. We have no one else to fill in. We need to discuss what your wedding was like, who proposed, how long you were engaged --"

Dean cut him off with a sharp look. "The wedding was small, just close family and friends. No one proposed, we both talked about it and together we agreed to get married. The engagement was short, less than a year. How's that for our cover?"

"That's great. Cas, did you get all that?"

"Yes. Can we stop and get more coffee now?"

"I thought gas station coffee wasn't good enough for you?"

"It's not. There's a Starbucks at this next exit. I saw a sign."

"Cas, we're not even halfway there yet. Dean's not going to stop yet."

But sure enough, Dean was already turning towards the exit, cataloguing the way Cas' lips turned up at the corner.

The remaining hours of the trip passed rather quickly. Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in tune to his Zeppelin tape, Sam read lore in preparation of the case, and Cas happily watched the passing snow-clad landscape while sipping on his venti coffee.

As they neared the town of Nisswa, the scenery gave way from a frozen landscape with nothing but bare trees and the occasional truck stop to boutique shops, rustic restaurants, and log-cabin-like structures that served as hotels and cafes. As they neared their turn off the highway, Sam requested to be dropped off in town so he could secure a car rental and check into his own hotel. Sam would be interviewing for the seasonal front desk position early the next morning, so he couldn't be seen arriving with Dean and Cas.

"Oh! Before I forget --" Sam paused after stepping out of the Impala and dug around in his bag. He retrieved two gold bands and handed one to Dean and Cas. "Your wedding rings."

Dean slipped his on and scowled at his brother. "Where did you get these?"

"A pawn shop," Sam said sheepishly. "I grabbed them when I went out on a supply run last night. Don't lose them - I'm pretty sure they're actually gold."

"It's probably a knock off and will turn our fingers green."

"No, Sam is right," Cas observed. He held the ring close to his face, carefully scrutinizing it. "It's 24k gold. It's actually quite good quality."

"Thank you, Cas." Sam said pointedly. "You two better get going and check in. I made your reservation under "Smith." I'll be at the resort tomorrow morning for my interview. I made a very persuasive resume so I should be hired no problem. Just keep your phones on you and check in with me occasionally, yeah?"

"I know how to do my job, Sam. Cas and I will get settled in then we'll talk to some of the guests at breakfast tomorrow morning. Don't worry about us. Worry about your interview," Dean said with a wink. "Cas, you've been upgraded to shotgun, let's go."

With that, Sam stepped away from the car, making room for Cas to climb in. "Be careful, guys."

"Yeah, you too," Dean replied. Cas then shut the door and Dean pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the highway. "You ready for this?"

Cas nodded, fidgeting with the gold band on his finger. "We met 10 years ago and started dating 5 years ago. A few months ago, we decided to get married and we had a small wedding with our closest family and friends. Now we're on our honeymoon."

"Yeah, that - that's good."

Dean cautiously glanced over at Cas. His hair was tousled from leaning against the window, with the left side matted down and the right side sticking straight out. He had an air of contentment radiating from him, no doubt from the dangerously high levels of caffeine racing through him. Since becoming human, Cas formed a very dependent relationship with both coffee and sleep. Sleeping became his favorite pastime as he was finally able to experience dreams. However, that meant he would often sleep for the better part of the morning, only begrudgingly getting out of bed when Dean would pound on his door to inform him breakfast, and more importantly coffee, was ready. Even then, Cas would be grumpy until he was halfway through his second cup of coffee.

Dean would never admit it to anyone, but he always enjoyed his morning routine with Cas. Cas would silently sit at the table, watching Dean dish up breakfast. Dean would slide a fully loaded plate of eggs and bacon towards him and watch as he took his first bite. Cas would always groan in appreciation (which okay, maybe Dean enjoyed that part a little too much, but he would never admit to that either) and then Dean would refill Cas's mug. At that point Sam would enter the kitchen, just back from his run and openly making a disgusted face at the heaping pile of bacon on Dean's plate. Ignoring him, Dean would sit next to Cas, and Cas would scoot closer to Dean, soaking in his body heat due to the endless cold draft in the bunker. That's the only reason Dean would lean back into him. No other reason, whatsoever, regardless of the knowing look on Sam's face.

Dean ended his train of thought there and signaled for the coming turn which featured a large stone sign with "Grand View Lodge" neatly printed on it. The road was illuminated by string lights and lanterns along it and Dean could see cabins in the trees along the road, with warm yellow lights illuminating the darkness around them. The Impala's headlights shone on a sign directing them towards the main lodge for check-in. The resort grounds seemed beautiful and very quiet. Dean could understand why it was a popular destination for newlyweds. The cold winter air made the glowing cabins seem all the cozier. He could imagine the resort in the summer, filled with families and children running towards the lake with sunscreen and beach towels in tow. It would be quite the opposite than it is now, in mid-December with below zero temps and not a single person in sight.

The first sign of life they saw was the dozen cars parked outside of the main lodge for check in, otherwise no one was out of their cabins. "It's going to be hard to talk to the guests when it's this cold. No one will want to leave their cabin." Dean frowned.

"Sam said there's an optional itinerary over the weekend for all of the guests. We'll have to sign up for some activities so we can interview them."

Dean sighed. "As long as it involves free food, I'm in." He put the car in park and traded the warmth for the frigid cold. It was a sharp cold that hurts your lungs as you breathe it in. It was the kind of cold that you don't spend time in unless you have to. Dean pulled the jacket tight against him and motioned for Cas to follow him inside.

The main lodge was beautiful. There was no other way to describe it. The interior was covered in dark wood, with large leather couches set in front of a roaring stone fireplace. A small gift shop was off to the side and there were large rustic chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Dean could hear silverware clattering and subdued conversation which hinted to the presence of a restaurant down the hall. The front desk was near the doors and they quickly approached to check in.

"Good evening," The receptionist beamed. Her name tag identified her as Brenda. "Welcome to Grand View Lodge. Have either of you stayed with us before?"

"No, Ma'am," Dean responded, leaning against the desk.

"Well, welcome!" She said cheerfully. Dean could already anticipate that she and Sam will get along perfectly once he’s hired. "Here's a map of the resort grounds for your reference. It shows all of our cabins and the four restaurants we have on site. You can dine in or order room service. All of that information is on the back of the map. Now, can I get the name your reservation is under?"

"Dean Smith."

Brenda typed in the name and clicked a few times then looked up at Dean and Cas grinning. "You should have mentioned you were on your Honeymoon! Congratulations, love birds!" Dean felt his face heat up and avoided eye contact with Cas. 'Minnesota Nice' was very real and it was making Dean very uncomfortable.

"Thank you," Dean choked out. "Could we get our keys now? We just had a really long drive and we're tired."

"Oh, of course! I don't want to delay your honeymoon activities," she stated not-so-subtly. She opened a drawer and handed Dean two key cards. Then she grabbed their resort map and circled their cabin number.

"Do you have a list of activities you offer?" Cas questioned.

"Oh! Yes! This weekend we offer both wine and bourbon tasting, depending on your preferences. We also offer couples' cooking classes, and our spa is open for couples' massages. I see you’re staying for a week so here's a pamphlet of all the activities we're offering this month," She explained as she handed over a brochure. "We also have an ice rink which is open until 8pm and free to all guests."

Cas opened his mouth to assumingely ask a question that would only drag out the check-in process, so Dean interrupted him.

"Great, thank you. We appreciate your help," He then grabbed Cas by the hand and pulled him back into the cold.

"She seemed nice," Cas observed.

"Too chipper. Sam will love her."

Cas laughed at that. It was the kind of laugh that shows his perfectly white teeth and makes his eyes slightly crinkle. It was the kind of laugh that was Dean's absolute favorite.

Dean glanced at the map, noting where to drive to get to their cabin. It appeared to be a short drive from the main lodge. He started the car and turned back onto the gravel road they entered on. Following the signs, they were led along a winding road towards the south end of the grounds, where the now frozen lake is located. The trees were dense, and the cabins were growing sparser as they continued along the road. At last, they pulled up to a quaint log cabin that matched the number on their keys. The cabin had large windows and a wrap-around porch that would be perfect to utilize in the summer and fall. The porch light was on, illuminating the front yard which was littered with large pine trees.

He put the Impala in park, and they grabbed their bags out of the backseat. The night was still and silent. There were no lights except for those on the porch. A large expanse of stars and sky nearly took Dean’s breath away. Growing up, Dean would always take solace in the night sky littered with millions of stars. With the ever-constant change of living on the road, the stars were always there. When John would drink too much or be gone too long on a hunt thereby forcing Dean to parent Sam, he would step outside of their usual run-down motel and take a deep breath, taking in the stars. As they got older and Sam’s nerd tendencies began to develop, he would tell Dean all about the constellation. They’d sit on the sidewalk with their backs against the brick motel and Sam would just talk. He’d point out the shapes in the stars and talk about the history and the namesakes behind each one. It was a most welcoming distraction from the constant shit in Dean’s life.

Even now, as he looks up at the brilliant set of stars unhindered by city lights, Dean can’t help but feel grateful for where his life is. Sure, his kid is basically God. And he’s helplessly in love with his best friend who was an angel but is now a human and probably doesn’t feel the same way about him and now he has to pretend to be his husband at a romantic resort, which can only go poorly. Then there’s the fact that his mom was dead, then she was alive, and then she was dead again. Really, just piles and piles of trauma that he’s had to deal with. But God, Dean still feels lucky. Because he has a family. He has Sam, Cas, Jack, Eileen, Jody and the girls. During those years growing up he always assumed he’d be dead before living a life like this.

A gust of wind whips across the yard, stinging all exposed skin which pulls Dean out of his spiraling thoughts. Cas is mirroring Dean from moments ago, also gazing up at the night sky. “I’ve been alive for so long yet the beauty and wonders of this life will never cease to amaze me.” Cas simply states, as if that wasn’t the most poetic shit to ever come out of someone’s mouth.

At a loss for words, Dean clasps Cas’ shoulder and leads him through the snow and into the cabin. He unlocks the door and welcomes the immediate warmth radiating from inside the cabin. The cabin is incredibly cozy. The walls are a dark wood, with leather sofas next to a large electric fireplace and a big fluffy rug. The kitchen is off of the living room, which on a normal occasion would be perfect to cook some proper meals. Then there is a beautiful wooden table in the dining room with dim lighting that would be perfect for a romantic meal. Dean cut off that dangerous train of thought before it went anywhere that made this situation even more complicated.

Speaking of complicated, Cas was no longer by Dean’s side. Frowning, he walked down the hallway that led towards the bathroom and bedroom. It was in the bedroom that he found Cas hovering in the doorway and oh.

Oh.

There was a king size bed in the center of the room with rose petals scattered over it. An ice bucket with a bottle of champagne rested in the center of the bed with a box of chocolate next to it.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Cas looked at Dean questioningly. “Who?”

“Sam. He told them it was our honeymoon! Then this happened.” He gestured at the array of items in the room.

“I see no problem with this behavior. They needed to know we were on our honeymoon for the sake of the case. And we got free champagne and sweets. Usually, you’re all about the free stuff.”

Dean sighed. “No, you’re right. It’s just – never mind. It’s late and I’ve been driving all day. Guess I’m tired.” Cas just nodded and set his bag down. “So, uh –” Dean started, rubbing his hand over his face. “Want me to take the couch tonight? We can switch off every night or something.”

“Dean,” He sighed. ”You said yourself that you’re getting too old to be sleeping on couches and pull outs. Hence, the memory foam in the bunker. Besides, we’re playing the role of a newlywed couple this weekend. We should probably keep up with appearances and not make it seem like we’re already sleeping in separate beds like unhappy middle-aged couples who are too stubborn to admit they need a divorce.”

Dean barked out a surprised laugh. He loves when Cas goes on his weird tangents. “Yeah, okay Cas. That bed is huge, so it shouldn’t be a problem anyway.”

Cas just nodded and began digging around in his duffel bag. Meanwhile, Dean removed the ice bucket with champagne from the bed and set it on the dresser. Then he brushed off as many rose petals as he could, determined to clear the bed of any romantic connotation. When he was satisfied, he began stripping out of his jeans and flannel. It was a long day of driving and his body was no longer accustomed to sitting for so long, so he was ready for bed at this point.

Dean stopped mid-action, catching sight of Cas doing the same. Cas removed his jeans and then lifted his shirt over his head. Dean swallowed, trying to

tear his eyes away from his best friend’s body but holy shit – Cas is toned. As he bent over to put his discarded clothes back in his bag, the muscles in his back and legs jumped out. His golden skin was completely on display and as a result Dean’s brain was short circuiting. Panicking, he grabbed his toothbrush and locked himself in the bathroom as an attempt to get his breathing and body back under control.

So much for uncomplicated.