#He is 104 years old just let that sink in
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I posted 441 times in 2022
204 posts created (46%)
237 posts reblogged (54%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@mppmaraudergirl
@thequibblah
@kay-elle-cee
@emeralddoeadeer
@blvnk-art
I tagged 389 of my posts in 2022
Only 12% of my posts had no tags
#jily - 161 posts
#writing - 154 posts
#fic - 136 posts
#asks - 122 posts
#fic rec - 100 posts
#tpwp - 55 posts
#jple - 55 posts
#lovely people being lovely - 39 posts
#james potter - 35 posts
#lily evans - 33 posts
Longest Tag: 89 characters
#in fact interacting with this is a great way of telling us you don’t hate us lol!!!!!1!1!
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
Sequel/follow up fic to the way you left me. James returns, and has to find his footing in a life that's completely changed.
The room was too much: things moving, ticking, mutters and colours and not a single thing in rest, apart from him.
Him, and the phoenix.
He watched it; watched, because that was all he had the energy to do—to find one thing, to stare at it, and to let the rest fade out around him.
Continue reading on AO3 -- FFN.
89 notes - Posted July 25, 2022
#4
There's a rule at his school that teachers are strictly not allowed to date the parents of pupils. James has never minded this rule before...
Read on AO3 -- FFN.
103 notes - Posted August 2, 2022
#3
JILY CHALLENGE @jilychallenge | @possessingtheproperspirit vs @thatpinkjacket 'Be My Valentine?' + "it's just an innocent kiss"
Mary drags Lily along to the ten year school reunion at Hogwarts.
Thank you to Lauren/@mppmaraudergirl, who is my sister in exhaustion and was very encouraging as I blurted this fic out into the world. <3
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”
Mary’s answering smile is cherubic, all sweetness and light, as if she hadn’t had to drag Lily kicking and screaming from the sofa to the wardrobe, from the wardrobe to the Floo, from the Floo to Hogsmeade proper and then along the long walk up to the castle, familiar somehow even in the slowly sinking darkness. “And yet you did, and you’re here now, so let’s stop muttering and enjoy ourselves, shall we?”
Lily casts her gaze up at the imposing oak doors; it’s strange how, even so long after those formative years here, she still feels that twisting of excitement in her stomach—the possibility of this place, the hum of magic in every stone. Sometimes she thinks back to that time, the innocence of youth, with a wistfulness that surely belongs to someone far older than her.
Being back here is strange. She knew it would be. That was part of the reason why she hadn’t wanted to come along.
Continue reading on AO3 -- FFN.
104 notes - Posted February 12, 2022
#2
Table-Mates
James Potter loves weddings, and he's determined to enjoy this one, even if he's attending alone.
Perhaps it wasn’t a cool opinion to have, but James had always thought that weddings were wonderful. In fact, he couldn’t think of a single wedding he’d been to that he hadn’t enjoyed, and by the ripe old age of thirty-one, he’d been to a few. He had very fond memories of his cousin’s big day just a year ago: drinking, dancing, spending time with people he didn’t get to see often enough. There was just always such a good feeling at a wedding, he thought. Everyone was happy and excited for the couple; the love that they shared was always tangible, a warming, positive force that buoyed him.
Okay, yes, he could admit it—he was a soppy romantic.
This wedding was slightly different, but he was determined not to let it ruin his enjoyment of the day. He only knew two people there, and they happened to be a bit busy, given that they were the bride and groom. He had briefly considered just sending an expensive present and making an excuse, but Sirius had talked him around, reminding James of his love of “romance and heart-eyes and all that shite”.
Continue reading on AO3.
135 notes - Posted May 27, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
James is approached by a beautiful stranger in a bar. Rated E.
Read on AO3 -- FFN.
144 notes - Posted March 19, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
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Now this article pretty much sums up that moment in ep 4. Very well written and a lot of stans need to read this to get the whole picture.
Funny how the same people advocating for Bucky had nothing to say about Isaiah's narrative/cops scene.
#Stans are wearing their selective empathy goggles again#SHURI WASNT EVEN IN THE EP#I'm so tired#tfatws#fatws ep 4#Winter soldier#Marvel#Mcu#bucky#The amount of Ayo and shuri hate I've been seeing on this app#It's the Bucky infantalization for me#He is 104 years old just let that sink in#dora milaje#shuri#fatws spoilers#bucky barnes
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a new look - b.barnes
pairing - bucky barnes x fem!reader
synopsis - in which you convince bucky to let you try something new with his hair, and the results are not what he was expecting
see also - how to celebrate a birthday with an 104 year old semi stable man.
notes; it's been way too long since i wrote anything so here's a little drabble and what better way than to write a little something for our favorite metal armed man
━━━━━━━━━━━━━
"Psst, Bucky."
A twitch of the nose is the only response you receive from the metal armed man who continues to sleep away, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.
It almost makes you feel bad for disturbing the peace.
Almost.
"Hey, Buckaroo."
"Barnes."
"WiEnEr SoLdIeR"
For fucks sake.
With a sigh heavy enough to sink in your chest, you stand up from your crouched position and with all the strength you can muster you place your hands against him and shove, sending the man to the ground with a loud thud.
"What the actual fuck."
You grin at the familiar tone of anger, watching as Bucky rises dramatically the pattern of the carpet stamped into his face from his unfortunate meeting with it.
Not giving Bucky the chance to go on about 'respect your elders, back in my day-' you produce a small hostess chocolate cupcake with a singular candle in it from behind your back.
Immediately the anger washes away and is replaced with a confused frown as Bucky looks to you in question.
You roll your eyes in disbelief of how one could manage to forget their own birthday.
"Look at the calendar, old man. I put it there for a reason."
Bucky glares at you but does as told and you watch as his facial features contort from confusion, to excitement, bewilderment and lastly disbelief.
"You remembered?"
You just shrug and hold out the cupcake, watching as he goes to pick the candle out leaving you to protest.
"No! You have to make a wish first. It's tradition."
Bucky relents, closing his eyes for a minute before he reopens them and blows the flame out, immediately handing you the candle as he devours the sweet.
"Thanks doll. You didn't have to bring me anything though."
You wave it off and grin, the mischievous twinkle in your eye enough to have Bucky on alert.
"What did you do?"
"Nothing! Can't I just smile because I'm happy?"
Blue eyes narrow, waiting.
"...alright so I noticed your hair has been getting longer-"
"No."
"What! You didn't even let me-"
"No."
"Please i-"
"No."
"Please just let me trim it, we could even tie it up a little so it's not in your way when you train."
A pause, then.
"Fine, but you try any of that color dye stuff or whatever and I will kill you."
You beam, pleased and grab Bucky's hand dragging him to your bedroom with frosting stained fingertips.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━
"Ouch, woman! Are you trying to leave me bald?"
"Oh, calm down. You've had your arm cut off and you're whining about your hair getting pulled."
Another glare this one more intent.
You try to smother a laugh as a multitude of hair ties hold Bucky's hair together so you can focus on a section at a time to make sure there isn't any split ends before you start trimming.
You can't help but find the man adorable as he sits looking completely dead inside while his hair stays atop his head in a cute display.
Discreetly reaching for your phone you silence the camera and snap a few pictures, unfortunately your giggling gives you away.
Blue eyes snap to you and narrow when they notice the phone in your hand.
In a split second you dance away as a metal arm reaches for your phone.
"No! Bucky please, I'm sorry. But you look so cute here." You plead, holding the phone to your chest.
You manage to catch a slight pink hue that covers his face and you gasp softly.
"Bucky, are you blushing?"
"What? No. You're delusional, just give me the phone." You both wrestle with it for a few seconds before you stuff the phone in your bra laughing as Bucky retreats, grumbling with red stained cheeks.
He returned to his seat begrudgingly as you silently trimmed away at his hair, resisting the urge to run your fingers through the soft strands.
"Hey Bucky, what did you wish for?" You ask after a few minutes of silence, hoping to ease the tension.
You feel Bucky tense a bit, his eyes glancing down as he hesitates.
"To spend every birthday like this."
You pause, your hand hovering in the air.
Did he mean, to spend time with you?
"What?"
Bucky lifts his head, a soft look in his eye and you flush under his stare.
"I'd look forward to my birthday more often if it meant getting to spend the day with you doll."
You grin, removing the scissors from your hands and leaning in to place a small kiss on his cheek.
"I have to say the same sarge, especially with your hair all dressed up for me." You tease.
"You know, it's kinda growing on me."
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes birthday#happy birthday bucky#sebastian stan x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#marvel fandom
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Heidi {Edward Cullen x Heidi}
@little-diable and I have come together to bring you the smut you never dreamed Edward Cullen capable of. A co-written three-part series, born from this short story, detailing the love affairs of Edward before Bella, because there are no 104-year-old virgins in this house.
Read the Short Story
Read Part One - Tanya
Read Part Two - Diana
Summary: Aro summoned Carlisle and Edward to Volterra when he’d heard of Edward’s extraordinary gifts. Aro surmised from Edward’s thoughts that beautiful brunettes were his weakness, and sent for Heidi, in hopes of luring Edward into the fold of the Volturi Guard.
Warnings: smut, 18+
A giddy smile was tugging on Heidi's lips, still high on the adrenaline of killing that majestic brown bear. “You did wonderfully, I’m proud of you” Edward turned towards her, cupping her cheek as he ran his thumb along her lower lip, eyes switching between hers and her mouth, fighting against the will to connect their lips. “Edward” his name rolled oh so effortlessly off her tongue, arms slung around his neck, trying to pull him closer, “kiss me”.
Both had been by each other's side for a few months by now, exploring Europe as they’d get to know one another, slowly but surely their feelings grew, binding them closer together with every passing day. They had settled in Paris; Edward enjoyed the culture, Heidi enjoyed the French - as cuisine. Though Edward still refused to hunt the proper way a vampire should, and so Heidi indulged him in his request to join him on a ‘vegetarian’ hunt through the mountains of Switzerland.
He froze for a moment, pondering over his next move, overthinking it like Edward would always do. He kissed her passionately and the feeling of her soft lips made his eyes flutter closed, hands grasping her sides as he pushed her against the nearest wall of their apartment.
Edward almost didn’t notice how his fingers naturally danced along the buttons of Heidi's trousers, undoing them as a deep growl rumbled through the female vampire. Both switched places, Heidi had him pressed against the wall, dropping to her knees as she pulled his trousers down his legs, hands instantly finding his growing length. Her eyes wouldn’t leave his as she pumped him. Heidi loved every inch of Edward’s body, loved the way his skin felt underneath her fingertips as she’d take care of him. She pressed her lips against his thighs, kissing her way to the base of his shaft, tongue dancing along the velvety skin, “Is this what you want?”
Edward had almost missed the words she spoke, eyes hooked on hers, lips parted as he let Heidi have her way with him, “yes” he rasped out, hands balled into fists as he tried to compose himself. He couldn’t lose his focus, at least not now. Her tongue ghosted over his tip, already finding pleasure in his hungry gaze, thighs pressed close, desperately trying to create some friction. He gave it a few moments, relishing in the heavenly feeling that flooded through him before he ripped her onto her own two feet, shoving her down on the bed.
A gasp spilled from her lips, the lips he connected his to, hands hastily undressing her, driven by the throbbing of his length, the need to part her folds as he’d sink into her tightness. Heidi moaned into his mouth, raising her hips for him, squealing as Edward flipped her now naked frame around, face pressed into the pillow, ass high in the air. Edward wasn’t quite sure why, but something inside of him snapped, made his eyes darken, hand suddenly coming down onto her behind, desperate to burn his handprint into her cold skin. “Oh god” Heidi pressed out, hands grasping the covers, moaning with every slap to her behind.
Her moans were like music to his ears, urging the vampire on to take her. Edward had never been this way with her. She was sure Edward had never been this way. She was whimpering underneath his big frame. Edward didn’t give her a warning, he parted her dripping folds with the tip of his length, eyebrows knitted, teeth piercing through his lips, she felt much tighter than he had thought, warmer, cozier than anything he had ever experienced. “You’re so big”, Heidi was a mess, confused by the different sensations that took over her body, the heat, the pleasure and the love she felt for Edward.
Love, she thought. Hadn’t she known months ago that this was what she was feeling? Heidi had not been able to put the word to the emotions that surrounded her when she looked at Edward. But she knew she was consumed, every thought circling around Edward Cullen, desperate to call him hers. Had Aro seen something that Heidi didn’t? Was this chore of hers more than just a ploy to keep Edward entertained, more than just a seduction that would lead him to join her in the Volturi guard? Had Aro known that Edward was meant for her?
As Edward moved around her in a blur, Heidi’s thoughts drowned her. She was in love and suddenly everything seemed clear. She loved Edward, deeply, but how could she know if he truly loved her? She had been clouding his judgment from the moment they’d met. She decided then, as Edward continued to sway her body back and forth with his, that she needed him to see her the way she saw him.
Suddenly, Heidi let go, locking her deep red eyes on Edward’s burning golden irises; Edward didn’t stop. A loud moan ripped through Heidi, screaming into the night air as she parted the clouds on his feelings for her, removing the spell her talents produced. Edward heard it in her thoughts then, how she wanted him to feel how pure their connection really was.
Edward warred with his body, still crashing into Heidi in rolling waves, both clinging to each other, the physical pleasure outweighing the emotional damage. Heidi’s eyes were hopeful; there was no doubt in her mind that Edward would feel what she was feeling now. But Edward’s eyes were solemn, reflecting the inner turmoil he felt.
Edward had known all along that Heidi was nothing more than a distraction from the monotony of a damned eternity. Edward had decided to welcome distractions, especially the beautiful brunette ones; that’s how Aro had come up with this ruse in the first place. But now, without the draw of Heidi’s gift, he suddenly felt hollow again. Even inside her, Edward felt lost, detached.
Edward pushed on, letting a fierce growl cross his lips as he continued thrusting into her. He heard in her thoughts that she had mistaken this passion for an agreement. Heidi tumbled over the edge, screaming his name as Edward continued his rhythm through her high. She clung to him with every ounce of strength she had, overwhelmed by the love and acceptance she felt.
But Edward was still as soon as she had finished; he hovered over her with wide, expressionless eyes. “Edward?” she asked, horror seeping into her voice.
“I’m sorry, Heidi,” Edward’s voice was course velvet. “I think it’s time I go.”
Edward planted a soft kiss on Heidi’s frozen lips before disappearing from the bed. Heidi stayed still, a perfect statue, cemented by her crippling loss. Oh, how she wanted to speak, to scream, to yell, to clutch at his skin and hold him there; if only she could cry.
___
Chiara is a magical and ever-enchanting writer who is entirely responsible for this smutty little addition to my short story. Check her out at @little-diable.
You can read the short that inspired this work here: Unrequited
Part One: Tanya
Part Two: Diana
#edward cullen#edwardcullen#edward cullen smut#edward cullen imagine#edward cullen x heidi#heidi volturi#heidi twilight#twilightfanfic#twilight fan fiction#twilight fanfiction#twilight saga#twilight#twilight renaissance#twilight resurgance#twilight revival#bookofthels
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therapy
pairing: ransom drysdale x reader
warnings: angst, fluff, mental illness, eventual smut && SPOILERS
word count: 16k
description: part 4 of 5. SPOILERS; DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE FILM -- ransom’s therapy sessions during the assitant && four christmases and a little bit beyond.
note: so this took me forever and i was originally going to write couples therapy at the end, but it just didn’t flow as nicely. i’m probably only going to write one more part for this, but i hope you guys enjoy it. honestly. i’m writing this for you.
session #1
“Court mandated therapy,” He scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest. “What a fucking joke.” He looked across the dining table at you, noticing how you were growing impatient. This whole situation, you moving in and encroaching on his bachelor pad, the house arrest, was fucking annoying. And now therapy. Your jaw twitched in annoyance, a tell tale sign he knew well.
“You’re getting off easy,” you would remind him, “I’m taking your punishment after all.” Taking his punishment, sure, and getting paid almost 210k a year to do it. There’s no sympathy there. You’re getting your money and his life goes on, almost, as normal.
To be fair he was pretty fond of you. You were the only consistent thing in his life for the past two years as much as he’d hate to admit it, nothing would get done if you weren’t around. Not a damn thing. He’d never tell you that though. Especially not now when you’re rearranging his unused study for use of him and the therapist who would be arriving soon, setting out water, a couple snacks, and optimistically tissues.
“Just in case.” You told him. Ransom doesn’t cry. He remembers the last time he really cried, like really cried and it was when he was a kid. His father had laid into him for playing with his novelty golf clubs. Screaming, red faced, spittle landed on his own hot cheeks.
He shook his head to rid himself of the memory.
“I don’t want to do this.” He sounded like a child, whining. He knew. But to be fair, he really didn’t want to fucking do this. He watched you walk away towards the kitchen to clean up what you’d made for lunch. You’d only lived with him for a week, but it was longer than any other woman had ever stayed with him.
It was strange.
He felt his cock twitch in his pants as he stared at your ass while you wiped down the counter, catching crumbs. You hated him, he knew. Not completely, which he also knew, but enough that you’d never fuck him. Why would you want to?
He couldn’t resist, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you rinse the rag off in the sink. “You can tell them I’m sick, can’t come down.” Muffled into her shoulder. He really sounded like a child now, Mommy please make the bad guy go away, I don’t want to see him.
“This could be really good for you Ransom.” Her damp hands covering yours. “Go get changed, he’ll be here soon.” He was still in his gym clothes, sweat ring dried around his neck. He was sure he smelled pretty foul too, about thirty minutes later and a quick jerk in the shower left him a little more relaxed than before.
The man was older, bald, glasses. He looked like he just stepped off the screen typecast as a therapist in a psych ward. Tweed. So much tweed. He started a tape recorder, “My name is Henry Dowd.” You had greeted Dr. Dowd with a pleasant smile and shook his hand. Ransom had immediately felt a vein of envy, you’d never smiled at him like that. “I’m fifty-seven years old, I’ve been practicing for just about 25 years now—“
“Fantastic doc,” Ransom sunk back into his chair, “Listen, what do I have to pay you to make you go away?” The Doctor froze, adjusting his glasses before leaning back in his own chair.
“Do you often use money to eliminate things that make your life uncomfortable?” Of course he did. He immediately thought of you, sitting not more than twenty feet away probably unironically watching Forensic Files on the couch while folding his laundry.
“I don’t need therapy.” Ransom scoffed, “C’mon.” He smirked at the Doctor, “You don’t wanna make this drive every week just like I don’t wanna sit in this room and whine to you about my problems.”
“So are you admitting you have problems?” The Doctor asked, fingers meeting his chin.
Ransom didn’t like this guy. Fuck this guy. Ransom stared at him in silence for a minute.
“What’s your plan here Doc?” Legs spread wide, sunk in the armchair, Ransom mimicked studying the man just as he was studying Ransom.
“Hopefully we will discuss what in your life led you to murdering someone simply because you weren’t going to get you allowance anymore.” The Doctor was slick. He said it with an air of superiority.
Fuck this guy.
“You wanna know?” Ransom asked, sitting up and leaning forward in his seat. “You really wanna know why I murdered her [Fran]?”
The Doctor’s eyebrow raised.
“She didn’t tuck in the corners of my sheets how I like em.” Ransom smirked.
The Doctor hummed in response, taking a notepad and scribbling something down.
“What’re you writing?” Ransom tried to peer at the legal pad in the man’s lap. Dowd lifted it away from his gaze. “This is fucking pointless.”
“Whether you like it or not I’ll be with you for an hour every Thursday for the next 104 weeks.” Dowd smiled, “Whether you take this seriously or not is up to you, but I’m sure someone as intelligent as you knows that you will get as good as you give. The whole reason for me being here is because you have no money, isn’t that correct?” Ransom’s jaw clenched. “So I’m not going to take your bribe, but you can go ahead and try next week if you’d like. Maybe between now and then you can think of something to talk about.” Dowd packed his belongings, shoving the tape recorder in a side pocket of his bag and scribbling once more on his legal pad before storing that too.
“That’s it?” Ransom looked at the clock. It had only been twenty minutes. Dowd smiled at him.
“I’m going to give your babysitter out there some homework for you in preparation for a week from today.” Dowd went to leave the room, “Let her know I’ll take a tea next time.”
Ransom’s knuckles were white, fisted at his sides, he stood up from the chair a minute later, peeking out into the living room to watch you talk to the Doctor, a soft smile on your face. He wanted to hit him.
He wanted to hit him real fucking bad.
He watched you gently place a hand on the Doctor’s arm and guide him from the house. “We’ll see you next week!” The door shut and the smile fell from your face, turning to meet his eyes in the doorway of the study. You let out a heavy sigh and rubbed your temples.
“You can’t try and bribe a court mandated therapist Ransom!” There was a fire in your eyes, it made his cock twitch. He had a brief thought about biting your bottom lip, “He can actually help you!” You continued as you approached, walking by him to clean up the snacks and water that went untouched.
“I don’t need help.” He claimed. You gave him a disbelieving look.
“You need help.” He felt his neck flush with anger.
“Fuck you.” He watched as you walked away from him, not responding. “You need help. What kind of fucking person agrees to take someone’s house arrest huh?” He asked, following you into the kitchen. “You’ve got to have some kind of fucking issues doing something like that.” You’d slammed the tray on the counter, turning to look at him angrily. He was at half mast.
“Why don’t you go out Ransom?” You seethed, “Go have a drink.” He could feel his face heat up, he’s not going to let you win this.
“You know what?” He spat, “I think I will. I’m going to take my untethered ass out. Have fun sitting inside these four walls for the next two years you ungrateful bitch.” He could tell you were holding back, but he didn’t wait for the response, grabbing his coat and slamming the door on the way out.
Later that night, drunk and speech slurring he slammed the body of a girl against your door. Rutting his sloppy hips against her panty clad core.
He’s not going to let you sleep tonight.
You didn’t deserve to.
session #8
“We can sit here for the entire hour in silence, just like all the others,” Dowd started, “Or you can choose to talk today.” Ransom wouldn’t meet his eyes. He was still pissed that you’d taken his phone so he couldn’t sit here and stare at it like he had been for the last few weeks.
“He told me that you’re on your phone the entire time!” You had shouted, “It’s disrespectful.” He’d rolled his eyes heavily, “He’s gonna come back every week whether you do something or not.” You seemed brave. Your started putting your foot down more lately. Ransom wasn’t going to lie to himself and say he didn’t like it.
He was itching to do something else, anything else. The beginning of the manuscript that sat open on the desk behind him and he was pretty pissed he’d been disturbed right when he started chapter six. He found that if he was stopped in the middle of a chapter it was hard to get back into the flow of it, the words pouring from his mind out onto the computer screen faster than he could keep up with.
It was like being edged.
Ransom was into instant gratification.
He could hear an old clock he’d taken from his Grandfather’s study ticking on the bookshelf to his left.
“I see you’ve begun writing.” The Doctor offered, “Have you always thought about writing a novel?” Ransom’s jaw twitched.
“No.”
The Doctor gave him a forced smile. “Have you found it enjoyable so far?” This was a waste of time.
“Yes.”
Scribbling.
“What is your book about?” Ransom smirked.
“Murder.” The Doctor hummed,
“Following in your Grandfather's footsteps then?” Ransom studied the Doctor for a minute.
“What did your Grandfather do?” He asked the man. The Doctor tapped his pen against the armrest.
“He was a traveling salesman.” Dowd humored him. “Much more lucrative business before the internet and the home shopping network.”
“Didn’t know I’d be good at it.” Ransom admitted gruffly, “You wouldn’t be a good salesman.” Dowd gave him a real smile.
“I would be a terrible salesman.”
Silence for a few minutes more. The ticking of the clock driving an ice pick into Ransom’s brain.
“Do you think he would be proud of you?” Dowd asked. “Your Grandfather?”
Harlan wasn’t proud of anyone but himself.
Linda had built a real estate empire and he still wouldn’t give her the validation of knowing she’d done a good job. His last dying action was letting her know her husband was fucking someone else. What kind of father was that?
Harlan wouldn’t have cared if Ransom had begun writing before his death. He would have dismissed him. Not even competition.
Ransom scoffed at the man’s question, not answering.
“So he wouldn’t?” Ransom felt uncomfortable now. He watched the guy out the corner of his eye lift the tea cup you’d gently placed beside him before they began and raise it to his lips. Ransom had let his guard down. The guy was playing with him.
“His opinion doesn’t matter to me.” Ransom spat, eyes flickering over to the clock. They still had thirty minutes left.
“Seems like it does.” The Doc rubbed his fingers together, thinking. “What was Harlan Thrombey like?” Ransom sucked his teeth,
“Why? You a fan?” He laughed, his hand gestures to the bookshelf beside him. “I got a couple signed copies up there if you want one.”
The Doc shook his head, “He must have been pretty distant. I’ve heard writers tend to be.”
“You’re basing your analysis off of rumor?”
“Well, you’re a writer,” he smirked, “You’re plenty distant.” Ransom’s knuckles grew white at his sides,
“I’m not my Grandfather.” He said.
“No,” Dowd assured him, “You’re not. But we all bear the scars of our own upbringing in one way or another.” The timer went off.
“Time to go, doc.” Ransom stared at him as though daring him to continue, but he didn’t. He turned the tape recorder off and packed his bag as usual. Ransom didn’t raise to watch him leave, but he heard him through the open door thank you for the tea.
“We have a couple different kinds if you’d like something different next time.” He hated the sound of you being pleasant right now, especially to that man. The fucking prick.
“No, no. It was perfectly fine thank you.” The door shutting and the quiet ramble of the tv. Ransom shot from his seat, walking to the bar cart he’d had you set up in his room, he poured himself two fingers of whiskey and shot it back before pouring four.
He’d heard you clear your throat from the doorway, coming in to clean up the doctor’s empty teacup and his own untouched coffee. “How was your session?” You asked him.
He felt heat creep up his neck. “Get out.”
He could feel your eyes on his back, the rattling of the cups as you gathered them with one hand, your other coming to rest on the middle of his back.
“Ransom, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” He slowly turned, taking a sip of his whiskey and grabbed your arm, the promise of never hurting you again that he’d made after his birthday dinner alerting him somewhere in the back of his mind.
He attentively grabbed your arm in a soft grip, “Get out.” Whether it was a plea or demand he didn’t know. He held direct eye contact, your face held a flash of fear. Somewhere he would feel guilty about this. He’d released your arm and watched you walk from the room, casting him one more glance before he none to gently slammed the door behind you.
Later that night he could swear he had alcohol poisoning. An angel had rolled him into his side as he’d vomited. She’d gotten him into bed, she’d even undressed him and was kind enough to leave a glass of water and two aspirin on his night stand.
It must have been a dream, because his study was spotless the next day and the bottle of whiskey he’d sworn he’d reached the bottom of sat full on his bar cart. He looked over to you for a moment, hand holding the cup of coffee you’d wordlessly prepared for him, before entering his study and shutting the door.
It was your job, why would he be surprised that you’d done it? And why should he thank you?
session #12
“Let's talk about something else today.” Dowd started, “You’re not giving me much headway for your family so let’s talk about something you love talking about.” He gave a playful smirk, “Yourself.”
Ransom rolled his eyes, cocking his head to the side looking at the Doctor across from him. The door had just shut and the prick was starting straight out the gate. It’s been four months and he hadn’t gotten anything out of this yet, other than being irritated and his monthly liquor consumption increasing exponentially. He’ll humor him.
“Why not?” Ransom shrugged, sinking into his seat, resting his ankle on his knee. “Whatcha got Doc?”
“What did you like to do before the trial?” He asked, “Give me a day in the life.” Ransom traced his bottom lip with his tongue before starting.
“I would wake up, go to the gym, come home, eat breakfast, watch some tv, go out with friends.” He shrugged. “The usual.”
“Do you still have contact with these friends?” No. He didn’t. He jaw locked.
“No.” The Doctor nodded.
“So where does Y/N come into this day?” Ransom shifted in his seat.
“She would work 9 am to 9 pm, Tuesday through Saturday.” He picked a piece of lint off of his pants.
“And what does she do for you?” What do you not do for him?
“Cook.” He stated. “Clean.” A smirk pulled across his lips, “Take out the trash.” By trash he meant whatever girl he brought home the night before a joke he loved but you hated,
“They’re real people with real feelings Ransom.” You would tell him.
“Does she do anything else?” Dowd asked.
Ransom thought about the house arrest bracelet on your ankle, “She’s my assistant, so she does whatever I need her to.” He shrugged.
“And how does she fit into your day?” Ransom shook his head,
“She’s just there.” He gently bit the inside of his cheek. “She’s always just there.” The Doctor scribbled something into his notepad.
“How long has she worked for you now?”
“A little over two years.” Ransom fingered the handle of his coffee mug before decidedly bringing it up to his lips, he woefully realized that he could go for some whiskey in it.
Next time, he assured himself. Next time.
“Does she provide some stability for you?” The coffee mug clanged heavily on the end table next to him.
“I’ve always had stability.” Lies.
The Doctor took a sip of his tea, “But surely having companionship on a daily, consistent, basis must give you some comfort seeing as you no longer have contact with your friends.” It was jab wasn’t it. The friends not being there anymore.
To be fair as soon as Ransom was arrested and the news of the will broke he's not surprisingly had no longer been invited out. His so called friends seemed to be surprisingly absent in his time of need, but he reasoned if it had been any of them in his situation he would have done the same. They all knew they were parasites sucking off of each other, he didn’t need them anyway. He’d found a new source.
“Why are you making a big deal out of it?” Ransom snapped. “She works for me, that’s that.” The Doctor shrugged,
“If that’s how you feel.” Ransom scoffed, shaking his head.
“It is.” It wasn’t.
The two of you had been living together for four months now. He’d seen you wet from the shower. He knew what your perfume smelled like, distinctively. He figured he could pick you out of a crowd by scent alone. Everything you cooked tasted better than any food he’d ever had in his entire life. Sometimes when you were in an especially good mood you made these cookies with caramel in the middle and he’d eat three straight from the oven. Tongue being burned by molten caramel be damned.
He found himself looking at you sometimes, like really looking at you. Your brows would pull in concentration as you read the pages he gave you. Watching how you always slowly clicked the pen cap, sometimes sticking the pen in your ponytail when you’d get up to go make yourself your second cup of coffee. You always had two. Every morning.
He found himself not knowing why it mattered so much. Why your opinion mattered so much. His novel was almost finished but he had the feeling if you didn’t like it he would throw it straight into the garbage. Himself with it.
There was something about it, the contact. You didn’t seem to mind so he began taking different liberties. It’d started with hugs. He cringed at the thought of him sitting in your living room when you still lived in that god awful apartment. The scent of the building a mix of different foods seeping through the walls that almost made him sick. He hadn’t known what possessed him to do it, but pulling you into his lap had been one of the most comforting moments of his life.
He was touch starved he’d supposed, but it didn’t make much sense. He got plenty of touch from whoever was spreading their thighs for him. He had scratches down his back to prove it. Something was just different.
He would feel almost high with his arms wrapped around you. God forbid there was skin to skin contact somewhere. He would get lost in it. Hugs turned into thighs pressed against one another on the couch. An arm slung over the back, twirling a strand of your hair around his fingers.
“Do you feel like you’ve always had stability?” The Doctor brought his attention back, Ransom blinked twice as if in a daze.
“Of course.” He shrugged, “I had routine before all of this. I did the same thing every day and while those things changed, I have a consistent routine now.” The Doctor scribbled.
“Have you always had a routine or is it something that’s developed over time?” Truth he told his routine formed the day you walked through his front door the first time. The constant schedule that you’d laid out for him, right up to you finishing the dishes and leaving at 9 pm on the dot. He would follow you out into his own car and leave for the evening. A bar, a club, a dinner party.
“Over time.” He’d answered. He looked at the door, as though he could look through it and see you sitting on the sofa playing a game on your tablet, whatever show you were bingeing playing in the background.
The Doctor hummed. The timer went off. The session was over.
Tikka Masala. That’s what you’d made for dinner. He’d been smelling it for the last hour sitting in the study still typing, two glasses of whiskey in. Not enough to be drunk but enough to feel it.
“Are you going to eat here, or the dining room?” His eyes met yours in the doorway, you looked so soft.
“Here.” He said, not having room for much else as you disappeared from the doorway, reappearing a minute later with a steaming bowl and placing it in front of him. You lay a hand on his shoulder, he found his head tilting to the side to rest against it almost instinctively.
“How’s it coming along?” You’d stopped asking him about the therapy sessions. He thinks he probably scared you the last time you asked but that was just fine with him. He didn’t want to talk about it.
Any of it.
“I’m gonna have another chapter for you to read in an hour or so.” He brought a steaming forkful to his lips.
“It’s hot.” But too late, in his mouth, trying to rapidly cool it like an idiot, but fuck if it wasn’t delicious. He saw you roll your eyes at him and he turned to watch you leave. He’d found a small joy in seeing your ass in yoga pants. A skirt. Jeans. Sweats. Whatever you’d decided to wear around the house. His dick stiffened at the thought of grabbing it.
But he was a little tipsy. And he was getting tired.
He just wanted to finish the fucking book already.
session #26
Ransom was not having a good day today. He’d stubbed his toe getting out of bed, his cursing woke up the redhead who was still tangled in his sheets. She tried to pull him back into bed which caused him to yell at her. So she cried and angrily threw her clothes on cursing him all the way out the door. He got to the gym and realized he’d forgotten his AirPods and had to do his workout without music. Then to top it all off someone had the audacity to have all of this happen on a Thursday. Fucking court-mandated therapy day.
He irritatingly wondered what color tweed Dr. Dowd would be wearing today. The fucking loser. His wife probably cucks him. He’s probably got a fucking micro. The lunatic.
Ransom was seething. He’d already snapped on you twice, but to be fair you’d made him eggs when he wasn’t in the mood for eggs and then you were really calm about making him oatmeal. Too fucking calm. What was your problem? Jaw locked as he paced his bedroom. He wasn’t coming down. He wasn’t doing a session. He didn’t fucking want to. And no one could make him.
He was wearing a hole in the carpet when you’d knocked. His anger flaring. Why couldn’t you just leave him alone? Why did you always have to be right there no matter where he went? He wretched the door open, “What?” He felt crazy. Maybe he was.
You were staring at him with what looked like vague fear in your eyes, arms wrapped around yourself defensively. “Dr. Dowd is downstairs.”
“I’m not coming down.” You sighed heavily, looking down the hall at the stairwell.
“Ransom you have-” Door slammed he stared at the other side of it.
“I don’t have to do shit.” He screamed, locking the door and sitting on the floor in front of it. He felt like a child. His anger while still bubbling in his chest, was slowly ebbing away to a simmer. He felt like an idiot. He heard your footsteps disappear down the hall. Now he was fighting with his pride. He lay back against the floor, two vertebrae cracking as he stretched it out, staring at the ceiling.
It was silent for a minute. Then two. Then three. His breaths evening out as he lay on the rug, he could almost imagine himself sinking into the rug, becoming part of the stitching. His body dissolving into nothing. Was this depression?
Ransom would swear he’s never been depressed a day in his life. He has everything he could ever want. Including his freedom. He’s always had nice clothes, nice cars, there was never a lack of sex or money. If he wanted something it was his. So why did he feel so shitty? Right now in this moment. He’s never stopped to think about it before he figures.
Never stopped or tried to feel anything.
And right now as he was imagining himself decomposing into the floor he reasoned it must be because of depression.
“A lot of people get depressed, Ransom.” You’d explained to him once, “There’s no shame in it.” He’d been having a bad day, but those days just happen. He had scoffed at you for even assuming he was depressed, but right now he thinks you’re probably right.
There’s something wrong with him.
His book had just been published and it was doing well. Selling really well. He made the bestseller list this week. So there was really no reason for him to be feeling like such garbage right now. It was the only logical explanation, being depressed.
At least then he had something to blame it on.
Another gentle knock, “Ransom.” You voice called to him, breaking him from his reverie. “Dr. Dowd would like to come up and talk to you, is that okay?” Your voice was various, a little guilt formed in his chest. His voice cracked when he replied,
“Yes.” His face felt hot and the room felt stuffy. You had kept the windows open with the nice weather you’d been having lately. Airing out the house, a candle always burning with a calming scent. Ransom regrets telling you not to open his windows. He wanted to open them, but found himself unable to move from the carpet.
“How are you feeling today Hugh?” The Doctor’s voice came from the other side of the door. Ransom heard your soft footsteps retreating, the third step down the stairs creaking as you made your descent. Ransom’s heart began to steadily raise in pace.
“Just great Doc,” He bit, “Can’t you tell?”
“Are you feeling the need to harm yourself or others?” He asked, suddenly very serious. Ransom thought for a moment. Who would he hurt? You? No. Definitely not. Himself? He’s too vain for that.
“No.” His voice cracked again, why does it keep doing that? “No harm to myself or others.” The other side of the door was quiet for a moment more before the Doctor spoke again,
“Are you comfortable right now?”
“Yes.” Laying on the floor felt great on his back truthfully.
“Emotionally.” What is that supposed to mean? The turmoil churning in his gut screamed at him. Playing dumb won’t help him here. “What happened today that you won’t meet me downstairs? You haven’t missed a session yet.”
Ransom shook his head wordlessly. He’d been fighting the Doctor. Every week, skating around questions, not answering them all together. He felt an urge to let it go. To just spill everything that was churning around in his gut. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
Maybe a little.
“It’s just a bad day.” That was enough. It should be.
“What happened?” There was a creak on the other side of the door. A settling sound.
Ransom explained. His morning was just frustrating. One thing compounded on another causing his whole routine to be thrown off.
His routine.
“Is it possible that all of this frustration and anger have come out due to your routine being interrupted.” Yes.
“Probably.” Yes.
Silence, then the doctor spoke, “You can’t change the world around you, Hugh. You have no control. You will never have control.” Something was tight in Ransom’s chest. Fists clenched. “The only thing you can control is how you react to the world.” Hands relaxed, he felt his eyes prickle.
What the fuck is wrong with him? He shook his head. He felt out of control. He was completely out of control. He hated this. But maybe the Doc knew what he was talking about. Maybe this explains the disruption he’s felt. The anger that had ebbed away to a dull ache in his heart.
“Listen, Hugh.” The Doctor spoke kindly from the other side of the door, “Routine is good for you, it’s good for everyone. It’s beneficial for us to stick to our routines, however, if something happens that we can’t control it doesn’t mean the whole day is ruined.” The fan spun idly on the ceiling, Ransom dazed looking at the steady rotations as Dowd continued, “Get off the floor and move on.” His eyes dragged from the fan to stare at the door. “Get on with your day and try to do better next time because that’s all we can really do, try to do better.”
His hand met the knob and turned, shifting up to his feet as he met the sight of the older man on the other side who was leaning against the wall opposite the door. Ransom stared at him silently for a minute before opening his mouth to ask, “How?”
session #31
It was just there. Your wrist, open to him. And he wanted to kiss it, so he did. You’d stalled above him, hand still hovering where you’d just placed his cup of coffee next to him on his desk. He did it almost without thinking, gently wrapping his hand around your forearm and bringing your wrist to his lips, “Thank you.” He’d murmured, eyes not leaving the screen.
His second book has become much harder to write. He’d started three books. A couple chapters written for each, a path split. Where would he go? He was unsure. But the coffee you’d placed next to him that was made exactly how he likes it, it helped. A lot.
After the soft kiss placed on your wrist, the one that he’d not realized he’d even done until it was over, you’d gently rubbed his back for a moment before leaving, “Dowd will be here in about an hour if you need anything.” Your soft voice as you left. He’d wished you would have sat down for a bit, but he knows you have your own routine to follow.
“Describe your Mother to me.” Ransom scoffed, chest tight.
“Getting right to it.” He joked, Dowd smiled and nodded,
“We’ve been meeting for about eight months now and you’ve yet to talk about her.” Had it really been 8 months? Ransom’s palms suddenly felt very sweaty.
“She’s…” Ransom shrugged, eyes drifting to stare at something, anything else but meeting Dowd’s eyes. “She’s a Real estate Broker. She owns a company that is fairly successful. She’s recently divorced my Father for his infidelity—“
“Hugh, what about you?” Dowd asked, “How was she when you were a child?” Ransom hated this. He didn’t want to do it. Why did it matter?
“She was busy.” He said simply. “Always working, on the phone, both her and my Father.” Why did it matter? Dowd nodded, scribbling.
“Do you have some good memories of her?��� Ransom didn’t. He knew his Mom loved him. He was her only child. There were pictures, her holding him when he was a baby, red faced and mucus covered in birth. His first birthday, she was sitting on the floor in the background, Ransom in the foreground standing, smiling with a ball in his pudgy baby hands. A picture of them in front of Niagara Falls when he was three. But none of that he can remember. Not really.
What he can remember is his first Nanny. A blonde named Samantha. She was young and sweet. She used to make him pancakes with blueberries in them. He wonders now if she left because of his prowling Father.
A different nanny, older had taken her place. He couldn’t remember her name but he could remember, vaguely, the crack of a ruler on his knuckles. His Mother had flipped her kid when she came home and seen them. Knuckles ripped open and clotted.
She’d given him a Nintendo 64 for that. It still sits upstairs in the bedroom you now occupied. He thought and he thought hard before replying, “No.”
He’d felt cheap. “Every good memory of her involves money in some way.” He stated plainly. The Doctor had told him instances of money bought happiness didn’t count. Ransom had always been rich of course, money as a substitute for the love of his Mother, Dowd explained. He wondered if his Mother paying you to take his house arrest was an apology for his parent’s quick divorce. As if he even cared.
“It’s okay to be hurt by her,” Dowd started, “She didn’t provide the love and affection a Mother should. Children need nurturing to form themselves as they mature into adults. The lack of nurturing in no doubt has affected you in some way.” Ransom felt uneasy. He didn’t like talking about this. But Dowd has told him time and time again, he’s not going to like talking about anything. Just try.
Ransom tugged his bottom lip into his mouth, looking at the empty coffee cup beside him.
“Do you think that maybe,” Dowd started, “You saw money as love and when that money was being taken from you then you realized that you’d have nothing left?” The Doctor rubbed his own chin. “Murder seemed like the only viable option?”
A chill ran down Ransom’s spine. A shake of the head. “I can’t do this today.” Dowd nodded.
“Okay,” he shifted in his seat, “What is Y/N making for dinner tonight?” This was how they had been cooling down. Every session since the one where Ransom has broken on the floor of his bedroom. A weekly distraction, bringing him back down from reaching his threshold. His hard limit. A little farther every week.
“I think she’s making—“ Ransom shrugged, “I mentioned wanting chicken parm, so that’s probably what she’s making.” That’s all he did. He would mention craving something and you would make it. The ingredients ordered through the local grocery store’s delivery app. You kept him happy and fed. His pants felt a little tighter around the waist recently. He’d have to work harder at the gym it seems.
Dowd nodded, “Sounds good.” He looked at the door that separated them from you. “She’s a sweet girl.” Ransom looked at the door as well,
“Yeah, she is.” The two sat in silence for a moment. The clock ticking. Ransom felt uncomfortable. Which wasn’t a new sensation in these conversations. He felt this sense of foreboding on Thursdays. Not that he didn’t when the sessions first started, but now that he’s actually talking in them acid was rolling in his gut on Wednesday night. The turmoil drowned in vodka sodas and a girl he thinks was named Bethany sucking his dick in the kitchen last night. His mind blissfully blank as she swallowed his cum. Her giggling mouth as her tangy lips met his.
His cock twitched at the thought, thinking about where he’s going to go tonight. Thinking about the girl he’d be bringing back here. The anger in your eyes tomorrow morning as you hand him his coffee after the gym, bitching about throwing the girl out and not so subtlety telling him that he’s an asshole. He really liked that. Your cheeks flushed. Eyes in a steady glare.
It’s what he deserved, he reasoned.
He wanted you to hate him. Because you should.
session #52
“Ransom.” Your gentle voice called to him, your back was facing him, chopping something by the stove.
“Yeah?” He called back, watching your arm move up and down, knife chopping steady against the butcher block cutting board.
“Something strange happened today, and,” You paused, huffing quietly. He watched your back tense, “There’s a letter on the table.” It wasn’t uncommon for you to open his mail. You sorted through it daily and it was something, frankly, he couldn’t be bothered with. He only wanted mail deemed important, didn’t care much for any Christmas cards or invitations to parties. Not that much came anymore.
The envelope sat ominous in the dining table. The top slit open in a straight line, white paper peeking from within. He picked it up, no return address. It reminded him of one thing and one thing only.
I know what you did.
He felt his neck grow hot, the chopping had stopped from behind him. What kind of joke was this? It had been a little over a year since his verdict. A little over a year since he…
He swallowed heavily, opening the letter, the bold black marker bleeding through the page.
You took her from us and you got away with it. You sick bastard. I hope you burn in hell.
And that was all of it. He carefully folded the paper back up, slipping it inside the envelope. The house was silent. No chopping. His hands braced on the back of the dining chair, he turns his head to look at you. You’re standing there in anticipation. For what?
Maybe he’ll scream. Shout. Bellow with anger so loud that the neighbor, closest one half a mile away, could hear him. Maybe he’ll break something. The four glass jugs that used to be five until he used one to commit arson. Maybe he’ll pull glasses out of the cabinets and shatter them on the ground by your feet. Maybe he’ll just collapse on the floor right here and cry.
For once in his entire pitiful life, a strange feeling brewed in his gut. A sick feeling he couldn’t place. Later on in the session, Dowd would tell him it’s guilt. But right now as he places the letter back down on the table, he walks to the downstairs bathroom and shuts the door before turning the sink on full blast and emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet.
He grips the porcelain sides, coughing and sputtering. Eyes only watering from vomiting he’s sure as a choked sob echoes in the bowl. He spits, and spits again. Bare knees cold against the tile he stares at his vomit for a moment, before flushing the toilet and watching it disappear. The sick feeling is still there but he’s left with nothing but bile.
He stands, taking two stumbling steps to the sink and washing his face. Swishing around some mouthwash as he stares blankly at himself in the mirror. He knows another feeling. He knows this one. Disgust.
Self-loathing.
His knuckles gripping the sink and white. If he were any stronger it would have shattered under his grip.
He was in a state down with himself. Daring himself to move. Do anything. Move.
You pathetic piece of shit. You fucking baby. You really couldn’t do anything for yourself could you? So fucking scared and worthless that you had to try to fucking kill someone to keep some fucking money? And you were fucking stupid because you got caught. You were so fucking selfish because you killed her so you wouldn’t get caught.
You selfish bastard.
You worthless piece of shit. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve any of this. You should be where she is now. Rotting in a fucking grave. Maggots feasting on your flesh.
You did this.
His reflection looked pale. He felt sick again but all he did was dry heave. This was the worst feeling he’d ever felt in his life and he didn’t know what to do.
A gentle knock on the door.
“Ransom,” Your soft voice, “I have some ginger ale, it’ll help your stomach.” He hadn’t been as quiet as he thought. He unlocked the door, stepping from the bathroom. Suddenly tired. The glass was gently handed to him and he took a small sip. Eyes not meeting yours.
“I need to lay down for a bit.” A mumbled sentence. You nodded. Gentle hands grasped his biceps, rubbing soothingly as his head found your shoulder. Arms wrapping around each other you both stood there for a moment. Not saying anything.
He didn’t deserve you.
He knows that now.
“Has the family tried to contact you before?” Dowd asked later on that day.
Ransom felt unwell. He hated this. “No.” He shrugged. He must have been a sight. Still in his gym shorts and sweat stained t shirt. He was sunk down into his chair, hand covering his mouth, eyes blankly staring at a spot somewhere in the room past Dowd.
“So why suddenly do you feel this way?” Dowd asked, “You’ve not brought it up the entire year we’ve been talking.” A year since he murdered Fran. A whole year.
“I just haven’t thought about it.” He said. Why would he want to think about it? Dowd hummed, scribbling on his legal pad.
“They’re never going to be okay,” Dowd started, “They lost a daughter, a sister. Someone they can never get back.” Ransom was sure that made sense, the loss of someone you love. But he didn’t love anyone. Only himself.
His heart panged.
He couldn’t reason at the time because if any of his family members died it wouldn’t make a difference.
“What if someone had done the same to Y/N.” Ransom’s heart stopped, eyes finally looking at the doctor’s. “If she was working for someone else and they murdered her to cover up a scheme that wasn’t even successful in the first place.” Ransom’s neck grew hot. His hand at his side clenched in a fist.
“I would be angry.” He reasoned. Dowd nodded.
“That’s what they’re feeling right now.” He explained. “They’re angry because you took her away from them.”
Ransom’s throat felt like it was closing up. What was he supposed to do. He couldn’t change anything. He couldn’t go back.
“It’s a good thing,” Dowd assured him, “That you’re feeling this way.” Ransom felt sick. “This guilt, the remorse you’re feeling. You’ve come a long way in the last year Hugh.” Tears pricked at the corners of Ransom’s eyes. He willed them to stay put. “You can’t change what you’ve done. You’ve murdered someone, you took a life, for what was no reason. And you’ll have to live with that for the rest of your days, but you can try to do something for them. Anything. Nothing will ever make up for it, but you can try.”
He didn’t want to. He wanted to go to bed. He wanted to sink into his sheets and disappear. Maybe he could convince you to leave him there until he just wasted away. That sounds nice right now.
It was for no reason. Fran’s death. He could have just paid her off and gotten rid of her. There was no real proof that he’d done anything. The toxicology reports came back clean. His little switching of the bottle trick did nothing. Harlan skit his own throat.
Marta deserved the money.
He saw that now. And it didn’t matter if he’d been cut off or not because now he had his own money and his bank account was acquiring more every day.
So what was it all for?
It seemed so important at the time. He needed to do this. He had to. He needed the money. More than anything in the world. He was so focused on the one object before him. Tunnel vision. He didn’t see the details around the edges.
He couldn’t see the big picture.
What a selfish baby. A fucking coward.
This self loathing was all consuming.
He hadn’t left his bed in two days since the session. Since the letter. He knows you’re concerned. You check on him every once in a while. You trade out his picked at food and bring him fresh glasses of water. You’ve rubbed his back a couple times until he’s shrugged you off.
“Leave me alone.” Biting. He doesn’t mean it but he couldn’t stop it from coming out.
He was angry. Depressed. He didn’t know what to do. What can you possibly do?
It was snowing. The chill permeating from the glass. Contemporary floor to ceiling windows meant cold. It was falling in thick sheets, almost a foot overnight. And he was just staring at it fall. He’d been staring at it fall all night.
A clinking of a tray. The gentle click of the door closing, you rounded the bed, placing down a cup of coffee and some toast, removing the dishes from the end table.
“Ransom.” You whispered, brushing his greasy hair off his forehead. “You’re gonna finish this coffee, eat this toast, and take a shower before you come downstairs.” Your tone was authoritative. “You smell like shit.”
You sat there for a moment longer. He could feel you staring at him. He parted his chapped lips, “I killed her.” A whisper in a quiet room. His eyes red and blankly watching the snow fall. Voice raspy. “For nothing.”
“Yeah,” Your voice soft and sad, “You did.”
He wrote a letter. Put in a clause on the contract of his next book. Nothing would make it right, but he apologized. And Fran’s family was going to get a percentage of royalties from here on out.
He still felt sick.
session #67
He doesn’t remember what it feels like not to be hungover. The self loathing was drowned out with alcohol. It was the only thing he knew to do. The bottom of a bottle felt very comforting until the next morning when his sticky eyes couldn’t pry themselves open. The sick rolling in his stomach as he untangled himself from the mess of limbs. A sweat slick body in his sheets. A girl he couldn’t recognize. Sleepy, stumbling, hand coming down to unstick his balls from his thigh as he found the light switch.
Wincing and collapsing in front of the toilet to empty his stomach. Dizzy with it. Head spinning. He blindly reached for the clean blue towels you had placed next to the sink. Wiping his mouth and pulling himself up to brush his teeth, drinking water bent over, slurping loudly from the tap. There was a gentle relief to his body, like finally some water.
He shuffled back into the room, not casting a passing glance at the woman still asleep in his bed and he dressed to leave. He’ll go sweat this out in the sauna and she’ll be removed by the time he gets back.
He didn’t deserve you.
You should just leave.
He wants you to leave. He wants to be alone. Forever. It’s why he tries to make your job as hard as he possibly can. Never ending guilt churning in his stomach. The sickness sweats out in the sauna and when he pulls back up to the house the only car that sits in the driveway is yours, unused.
You’re humming when he enters the house and his cock twitches at the sight. It had just begun getting warmer outside. You’d ditched your cozy cardigans and wool socks for sundresses and tank tops. The appreciation shows. He adjusts himself in his shorts as he passes you, the knowing hand wordlessly giving him a cup of coffee made exactly how he likes it. He appreciates you. The comfort he’d not felt with anyone else.
He had a roommate in college.
A guy he had been friends with up until the trial. Another rich boy. Just like him. His name was Jeremy.
Ransom hated living with him. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the guy, he just liked his own space. Heading off to college he thought his parents would splurge for a private apartment. He remembered being so angry when the three of them arrived and he found out that they booked him on campus housing with another fucking kid. Furious. He didn’t talk to his parents for the first half of the semester. Not until they withheld his money and forced him to contact them.
This was intimacy.
He’d read that in a book. Dowd had recommended some to him. At first he’d scoffed about ‘self-help’ books, but Dowd convinced him that he’s the only person that could really help himself in the end. It didn’t help that Dowd had handed you the list and you’d bought all of them. You’d been reading them too. A quiet understanding that Ransom’s pride was still fragile and neither of you would talk about what you’d read, but just knowing that you’ve both read the same words. You’ve learned the same things.
Whether you put them into practice or not was another story.
But he knew this was intimacy.
It didn’t have to be romantic intimacy. There was a familiar soft intimacy. Just from knowing each other. Truth be told you were the longest relationship he’d ever had. Even if it was just a boss/employee… but sort of friend relationship. You knew him. You really knew him. More than even his own parents. You knew when he wanted to be touched and when he wanted to be left alone. You knew his routine and every variation of it. You knew what he liked to eat. You anticipated each and every one of his needs.
And he didn’t deserve it.
You were too good for him.
That was in all of his thoughts.
Every time you handed him a cup of coffee. Even a second cup when mentally he had been debating having a second. You’d bake cookies or brownies or these cinnamon buns just when his sweet tooth was really kicking in. You knew every craving. He swears you could even sense when he was getting sick. An extra order of tissues, ginger ale, and cough drops delivered to the house a day before he’d even started coughing.
He should treat you better.
That’s what he thinks while he fucks his fist in the shower. Hand slapped against the tile, soft groans as he thrusts his hips into his soaped up hand, thinking about how all he really wants to do is bend you over the sink.
He imagines it, your perfect ass, panties pulled to the side.
As he cums he can’t help but feel the emptiness he feels every night. The vacancy of emotion that leaves his mind void and desolate.
He writes three chapters that day.
“How do you feel about medication?” Dowd asks. The room is quiet. It’s been very quiet this session, Ransom wasn’t feeling very talkative lately.
“I’m not fucking crazy.” He scoffed. Dowd shook his head,
“No, but you’re depressed.” Dowd explained. “Medication will help with your moods, make you more level.” Ransom nodded, sighing heavily. “The guilt may never go away Hugh, you have to learn to live with it. You’ve taken responsibility for your actions.” Ransom rolled his eyes, partially.
“There’s more work to do.” The Doctor explained. “It’s not going to miraculously fix itself overnight, but medication will at least make it a little easier to go throughout your day. Might help you rely less heavily on drinking too.” He knew. Of course he knew. Ransom wondered if Dowd could smell the alcohol still in his sweat. Did he know Ransom popped four ibuprofen right before the session? Did he know that he washed it down by taking a pull of whiskey straight from the bottle?
You knew.
But did Dowd?
“I’m proud of you.” That caused Ransom to look up from his own lap to look at the old man sitting across from him. “You’ve come a long way since we first started.” Ransom shook his head.
“I feel worse.”
“Yeah, but you’ve made a breakthrough.” He explained, “The guilt, remorse, you’re feeling is a good thing. Even if you hate it.”
“It doesn’t feel like a good thing.” Ransom whispered. He picked at the sweats he was wearing.
“It’s not going to,” Dowd assured him, “Not for a while, but the fact that you even feel guilty means you’ve come a long way from being the self-centered narcissist you were when we met.” Ransom chuckled,
“I’m still a narcissist.”
The Doc started him on an antidepressant and a mood stabilizer. The two pills waited for him with his morning coffee from that day forward.
session #74
“You look like you’re having a good day.” Dowd smiled. Ransom was having a good day. He hadn’t drank a lot last night, had pretty descent sex with a pretty red head twice, you’d made him his favorite breakfast and had baked those really good caramel cookies he loved. You were in a good mood, so he was in a good mood.
His mind drifts back to you singing softly as you pulled the cookies from the oven, he was trying to be nonchalant standing off to the side, stealing a cookie as you set the baking sheet on top of the stove, ripping it open, molten caramel burning the tips of his fingers as he shoved the sweet morsel into his mouth. Tongue scorched but worth it.
The quiet hum as you rinse the bowl of cookie dough, his fingers finding your waist, pulling you against his chest as the soft rambling of music played in the background. The two of you rocked from side to side. The endorphins of skin to skin. The chemicals that flood his system giving him comfort.
He didn’t deserve it, but he wanted it.
He wanted it so badly.
So he just took it. Your soft hands covering his as some acoustic version of a pop song played over the wireless speaker in the kitchen. Cheek pressed to yours, ever aware of your ass nestled softly against his hips. Innocently. So innocently.
The light was soft through the windows and Ransom tried desperately to commit this to memory. The way it shines through your hair, the way it makes your skin glow. Your hands are so soft. So soft. He could almost taste it on his lips. Your skin.
“Thank you for the cookies baby.” A whisper. You allowed it, him calling you baby. A soft sweet pet name for someone he didn’t deserve.
“You’re welcome.” He had brought the plate of them in here, in the session.
“I’m doing alright,” He breathes, breaking another cookie open, letting the strings of caramel wrap around each other as he shoved half a cookie in his mouth. “The meds are finally working, so…” He shrugs, “I’m not feeling quite as down.” There were still bad days, but this wasn’t one of them.
“Can we talk about something hard today then?” The Doctor asked, “Is that okay?” Ransom was apprehensive. But… what could it hurt? Only himself. And he still deserved to be hurt so,
“Sure.” A sip of coffee and he settled back into his chair, resting his right ankle resting on his knee.
“I want to talk to you about your family.” He thought of Harlan with his throat slit and a Mother who contacts him once a month. The last time she called him it lasted, according to his phone records, two minutes and forty-four seconds. A ‘how are you?--good, good--is y/n taking care of you--good,good--gotta go. Bye-bye.’ She resented him and Ransom knew that. She’d told him once, drunk of chardonnay that she never wanted to be a Mother.
It shows.
His Father was just as dismissive.
He thinks about the money clip. One that he was gifted when he turned 18 was a match to his father’s. He waved it around plenty of times. Ransom thinks back to the first Christmas you’d spent with his family. The fear, tears in your eyes as you stood there dumbly holding his registration information for the police who didn’t care after he’d slipped them a couple of Benjamin's each and they were on their way. The wad he had handed you from his own money clip silently begging you not to leave him, hoping you’ll return after your long weekend.
Please don’t leave me.
He didn’t say that, but that’s what he meant.
“I don’t know how real people act.” He says, eyes not meeting the Doctor’s. “The whole family…” Harlan, Will, his parents. “None of them are real people,” Shaking his head.
“Is Y/N real?” Dowd asks. Ransom nods, looking down at the cookies. A whisper against his ear. Comfort.
“Yes.” He says. “She is.”
“Have you learned anything from her in the past… how long have you known each other now?”
“Close to three years now.” Ransom smiled softly, really smiled, “The first year she worked for my Grandfather as a tutor for my cousin, Meg. The past two she’s worked for me.” He thinks about your apartment. The one you lived in with your sister.
He’d only been there once.
It felt more like a home and he thinks about how you and your sister acted together. You truly loved one another. The little bickering laced with affection. No fight was ever a real one. Not even when you were yelling at her over the phone, defending him for no real reason. He never understood why someone would say a house is not always a home until he stepped into that apartment.
Yes, it smelled like the curry your neighbor was cooking and yes, it was for lack of a better word crowded. You would say it’s cozy. The furniture worn and much more comfortable than any he’d ever sat in. The way the two of you just steadily accepted him moodily sitting in the corner, in a chair, as their night went on. Even if your sister kind of hated him.
You were kind. You were forgiving. You were welcoming. And you’d taught your sister to be that way too. Even if she was a teenager and hated everyone and everything. To be fair he deserved to be hated and he was confused, but grateful that you didn’t hate him yourself. You said you did, but he knows you didn’t mean it. Not really.
You treated him like he mattered. You believed in him and supported him when he had the idea to write his novel. You picked him up off the ground when he was too drunk to walk. You gave him a shoulder to lean on when he needed a place to lay his head.
You were compassionate.
“I don’t deserve anything she does for me.” Ransom whispered into the quiet study. He shook his head, “She’s going to leave me as soon as the house arrest is over.” Dowd shook his head,
“You’ve done something that is irreversibly wrong.” He stated, “You can never take it back,” Ransom felt the guilt pooling into his stomach. A rain cloud over a sunny day, “The only thing you can do is try every day to do a little better. Put something good into the world. Create something good.”
“Be better.” The Doctor nodded.
“Be better.”
session #86
He was trying. Really trying. A stipend from his books goes to Fran’s family. A monthly donation to Planned Parenthood and another towards a local domestic violence nonprofit. It soothed his soul somewhat, but still didn’t feel like enough. He started looking at houses. For you.
You deserved it. When you left him. When you went back to your normal life. The normal routine. When he was left in his empty house, alone again. Like he wanted. Like he deserved. He was meeting a realtor for lunch tomorrow, but his hobby lately has been browsing house sites looking for a house for you.
Some were too big, some too small. Some too modern, some too old.
Nothing really fit you. Not really.
“Ransom,” You called from the living room, “Are you hungry?”
A few clicks and his computer screen was back on a word document. You poked your head into the study a minute later, a sandwich, cheese toasted on the bread, melted ham and swiss. A sliced apple and the sweet grapes you’d been craving that he had brought home yesterday and two little cinnamon sugar dusted cookies. A glass of water.
“Yeah,” He smiled. You placed the dish next to him, peering over his shoulder at the words typed on the page. “Thank you.” Always thank you, always please. Please love me, please care about me, please, please, I’m trying to be a good person. Please see that. A kiss to your wrist, arms wrapped around his shoulders, chin resting there.
“How’s it going?” You ask. He rubs the bare skin of your arm with his thumb, sighing,
“It’s getting there.” He typed a few more words, flipping through two different word documents. “I’m not sure which story I want to work on, I’m kind of stuck here.” He felt you nod, silently scanning the open page before you before laying a hand over his on the mouse and clicking over to the other one.
“You’re a little farther on this one I think.” It was a story about a situation similar to his own, yet very different. A woman in it that may or may not be referenced heavily by the woman beside him. By you. Who's to say? All likeness to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.
“Do you like this one?” He asked. You had to. Your opinion matters the most. Say the word and he’ll delete the whole thing right now. He felt pathetic. What kind of man was he? Definitely not his father, never his father.
“I do,” He could feel your grin, “You should finish this one next.” He didn’t know what to do with you. Half of him knew you would never love him, not the way he wanted you to. Those girls he buried himself in every night were proof of that. He started imagining they were you, lusty and breathless.
He could never do that to you. Ruin yourself with him. He just couldn’t.
“Thank you for lunch.” Another kiss to your wrist.
“You already said that,” You laughed, melodic. His heart skipped. “Don’t forget you have therapy later.” How could he?
“I won’t.” A bite into his sandwich and he was back looking at houses. Maybe he could find a fixer upper. Dowd said he needed a hobby, right?
“What’s on your mind today Hugh?” Dowd was in a good mood. Not that he wasn’t always in a good mood, but today he was in a very good mood. He showed up to the session and very unprofessionally showed you pictures of his newborn grandchild. A little rosy cheeked, baby girl named Ellie. Ransom admired how your eyes softened and lips pulled into a bright smile. He wished you would smile at him like that.
“I’m gonna buy a house.” Giddy almost. “Fix it up.” He nods, “My hobby right? Work with my hands.” Dowd looked at him skeptically.
“That’s a lot of work,” He laughed, “Have you ever lifted a hammer?” Ransom shrugged.
“Can’t be that hard.” It would be… very hard. But he’ll find that out later. “Lots of people do it, right?” Dowd gave a weird grin.
“Yeah but most of them have had some prior teaching or are professionals.” Ransom’s mouth opened and then closed again, eyes squinting as he thought. Surely he could do it, right? He had to.
It was penance.
“I’ll figure something out.” Ransom took a sip of coffee, “I’ve been journalling a bit.” He said, pulling a leather moleskine from the seat cushion. He’s learning to deal with the guilt. The regret. He gets emails about how his contributions have been saving lives, women who need free healthcare, domestic violence victims that have been rehoused thanks to his donations. It doesn’t make it better, he reasons, the murder.
But it’s penance.
“Are you almost done?” Dowd asked, “With the second book?” The first book he’d published he had given Dowd a signed copy, he would willingly give him a signed copy of the second one too.
“Yeah, just about.” He sighed, “A few more chapters.” Dowd nodded.
“Do you want to talk about the self-loathing you’ve been feeling?” Dowd was perceptive. Ransom knew this, but the question still blindsided him. He wonders if you’ve mentioned anything to the Doctor while scrolling through the 200 pictures and cooing over the newborn in a hundred different outfits. Ransom knows you’ve seen it too. You’re perceptive too.
“Not really.” Ransom answered honestly. It made Dowd laugh, “I know you say I have to learn to live with it, I have to live with the guilt for murdering Fran, but I don’t know…” He stared at the Doctor, eyes betraying the sadness he felt in his soul. The despair. “How does anyone live like this? How does anyone live after they’ve murdered someone?” The last question was a whisper, eyes glazing over and staring at the floor.
He should have just gone to jail. He should have been in jail for the rest of his life, but he couldn’t. He didn’t. He’s not. He’s here. Double jeopardy. He could write a book right now on how he killed Fran, how he set up Marta, how he pushed his Grandfather to suicide and you know what would happen? Nothing.
You can’t be tried for a crime you were acquitted from. The jury found him not guilty. Only six people really knew the whole truth. The three detectives, Marta, himself, and you. The three detectives didn’t matter anymore.
Marta didn’t matter anymore.
He didn’t matter anymore.
You never brought it up. The murder. Not unless he brought it up first. It was a hard limit. A line not crossed. You had to forgive him. You just had to. Didn’t you already? Did you hate him? Were you secretly seething with the fact that you had that house arrest bracelet on? Were you really only here for the money?
He wouldn’t be able to take it, he doesn’t think.
Maybe he’ll become a recluse.
Everything is digital now, ordering groceries, maybe he’ll just get a maid to clean up once a week. You can go, take your money and leave him. It’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He will survive.
It’s his penance.
He watched you make dinner, Dowd’s words ringing in his ears, bouncing from one to the other, “You can’t hate yourself forever for this, nothing you can do will make it right, you’ve become a better person. An empathetic person, just be better. Every day, try and do better.” He thinks you’re beautiful.
You’d asked him what he wanted to eat and always was his reply of whatever he’d been craving that day, but tonight he said, “Whatever you feel like eating.” So he didn’t know, but it smelled amazing. He’d eat garbage if you put it in front of him. Whatever it was, it was delicious. Some kind of soup. A couple of heated rolls straight from the oven and a green salad, drizzled with a vinaigrette you’d seemed nervous about.
“I found it on Pinterest.” You had explained, “If you don’t like it--” It was delicious. Everything you made him was delicious. He didn’t care.
“It’s good.” He said. He meant it. He wondered now, with less than five months left of his sentence, how soon after it was over would you leave him? And would you never want to see him again? Because he doesn’t know if he could handle it. He needs you.
He really fucking needs you.
session #95
The girl came back. The one you had kicked out of his bed while he was gone. He told you he was at the gym, but what he was really doing was checking on the work done on the beautiful dark cherry wood Victorian with wrap around porch he’d recently purchased. He couldn’t fix it up on his own, that was the truth. Dowd was right, but he was working with a contractor and small crew.
One day a week he would go over there and help them rip out cabinets or tear down walls. Not too many because the house, he reasoned seemed more like something you would like if it wasn’t completely open concept.
He’d sat there, in the early morning light, watching the sun come through the windows. Dust filtered through the air from where they had sanded the floors, refinishing them. They’ll lay down the stain and seal them today. The windows caught the light perfectly. The sun rose and set over this house beautifully, glowing with natural light. You were going to love it.
He was sure of it.
A shout, stumbling in the gravel of the driveway, “FUCK YOU RANSOM.” A laugh drowned in his coffee.
“What’s on the agenda today Ransom,” He watched you shut the door, irritated with him, “Because if I have to do that again tomorrow I’ll quit.” Lies.
You couldn’t quit.
Not for another nine weeks.
“Don’t worry,” He said, “I’ve got a deadline to meet.” It’s true. He did. Four more chapters and the book was done. He coffee mug in your hand. An emptiness in his heart with the realization of you leaving. Nine weeks. And you’re gone.
He threw himself into it. He was going to finish it this week. The frustration he felt, he just wanted to be done with this book. He was over it, but he was so close to finishing. Doesn’t mean he’s not still a liar.
He needed a fucking break. His head was pounding and you’d come in the office in thin worn out black leggings. When you bent over to pick up the pillow that fell on the floor, he could see the thong you were wearing. His dick was hard.
A promise, “I’ll kick her out myself.” And he was gone.
The girl he brought home, she looked a bit like you. Enough like you when she rubbed her ass against his lap that he’d drug her home. Her lips were attached to his neck. He could imagine her as you. Faintly. Almost.
He felt passive aggressive. He was sort of taking out the anger of not being able to have you on you, not realizing, or not caring? His back met your bedroom door, the girl moaning enthusiastically as her lips trailed down his chest, button down splayed open. Belt clinking and his dick was in her mouth.
Fuck. Head hitting the door. He whispered your name in his head.
He wanted you so bad.
He wanted you so bad.
He wanted you so fucking bad.
He pulled the girl off him by her hair. He was going to cum too soon if he thought about it. He could do this.
As he lost himself in her body, bed rocking, hips swinging in a punishing rhythm, the girl’s loud moans drowned out the whisper of your name on his lips.
You were a sight. Sleepy, red marked paper in front of you. You’d found the chapter’s he’d finished just hours before. The ones he had forgotten to give to you. Your hair was messy and your cozy sweater had fallen from your shoulder. He wanted to press a kiss to the exposed skin, but obviously he couldn’t.
“What do you think?” He asked. He watched you jump in your seat, hand pressed quickly to your chest.
“You scared the shit out of me.” You laughed nervously, “It’s good,” You cleared your throat, “I’m not sure how much longer I can wait for you to finish to be honest.”
“Let me see.” The packet was scribbled over.
I think he did it, he’s an asshole.
I don’t like her either.
Ew, why would anyone ever say that to anyone else?
Add more detail here, I can’t picture it well enough.
“What are you doing out of bed?” You asked, you rolled the chair side to side. It was cute. Endearing.
“I told you I was going to kick her out.” She wasn’t happy about it. She tried to get him to go another round, but he felt empty. He didn’t want to. You were waiting downstairs after all.
“And you couldn’t start doing this sooner?” He smiled, he liked that you hated it. It maybe made him think you could be jealous. In some universe. Maybe not this one.
“I like how much it bothers you,” He answers honestly.
“It’s annoying,” you snarked back quickly, “Worst way to start my day.” You were being funny.
“That’s the only reason?” Ransom responds, he leant back in his chair, throwing the packet onto the desk. Please say you want to be with me. Give me permission here.
“You’re such an asshole, you know that?” You scoffed, angry with him. Clearly. You made to walk by him, to leave the room. He reached out and grabbed your arm to stop you, softly.
“If you want to take their place, just let me know.” A wink, a playful slap on his shoulder and you were gone.
“Dick.” Reverberated in the office. A playful laugh.
Therapy today.
He hadn’t slept a whole lot, four hours total. He was tired. And grumpy.
“She loves you, you know that right?” Dowd said halfway through the session. Ransom was deep in his self-loathing today. Probably from the lack of sleep.
Definitely not because each day got closer and closer to you leaving him. Definitely not that.
He shook his head, “She works for me, she gets paid to be nice to me.” Dowd frowned.
“You can’t really believe that Hugh.” Ransom shook his head,
“I don’t deserve her.”
“Men don’t deserve women,” Dowd said, “Period.” He laughs, straightening his tie. “My wife, we’ve been married for thirty years now and I can’t honestly remember life without her in it. She worked to help me get through school and now with my practice I’ve been able to let her do whatever heart desires.” He was smiling fondly, thinking about it. “She’s given me three beautiful daughters, we have a beautiful granddaughter now. A beautiful home, she can’t cook to save her life, but that’s what I’m for… she’s the love of my life, truly.” Ransom looked at the grey old man across from him, the Doctor’s eyes were misty. “She helps me run my practice.” He says, “I would be lost without her and I will work hard to even be close to the man she deserves.”
“It’s just not meant for me Doc.” Ransom swallowed heavily. “It’s not.”
He needed to get out of this fucking house. He couldn’t look at you. He got rid of Dowd. A little harshly. He felt bad about it. You looked up at him from the couch.
“I’m going out.”
Was this love? Yes. He knew he loved you. He’s no a fucking idiot. But you were too good for him. Who forgives a murderer? Who? Why did you have to be like that? So fucking perfect.
You were. So fucking perfect. This house he was fixing for you, the car he was going to buy you after the next book. You deserved all of it.
You and your sister will be taken care of. You’ll never want for anything. You were talking about going back to school maybe, once it’s over. You could do that. He’d do anything for you if you’d ask. He’d pay for all of it. Anything. It’s yours.
How does he resolve this? He doesn’t know.
The donuts, the latte, and his mouth between your thighs a day later. He doesn’t know how to be a good man, but he’s going to fucking try, and try until he gets it right. Until he makes everything right. For the both of you.
“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever loved.” You’re so receptive beneath him. He loves you so much. The only person he’s ever felt this intense affection for. Not even his own parents he’s loved.
He buries himself between your thighs twice that morning. Panting into your mouth the first time, into your neck the second as he rocks his hips into your tight wet heat from behind. Ass nestled against his hips how he’s always dreamed, teeth biting into his thumb as the two of you lay on your sides.
“I don’t deserve you.” He whispered against your neck. His heart racing from his recent orgasm. “I’m sorry.”
session #104
This was it. The last day. Ransom noticed your ankle looked pale, empty now that the bracelet was gone. He would have to fix that. “What am I gonna do now that the dumb bracelet isn’t taking out my ankle anymore?” He whispered into your ear. The damn think had knocked against his ankle bone multiple times in sleep or during sex, enough to make him wince and comment on it multiple times.
Your laugh was melodic to his ears. It was just the two of you now. His Mother stopped by with the same man who had placed the damn ankle monitor on you two years prior to remove it. She made a big show about staying for breakfast.
“So I’m assuming she’ll be moved out by dinner,” She had laughed, “She’s probably sick of you.” Ransom felt a little hurt by that, but his Mother also didn’t know the two of you were now together and ‘moved out by dinner’ was actually going to be him taking you and your sister to dinner and then to your new house that was just finished this morning.
The two of you shared a look and agreed not to say anything.
He dried the dishes as you washed. This oddly domestic moment giving him true belief that maybe this could work. He could have it. He could have what other people have and be okay.
“I love you too.” You’d whispered into his mouth last night. You hadn’t said it back yet, it was the first time. Hands tangled in his hair as you angled his face down. “Please don’t hurt me.” He could never, would never. Not if he could help it.
He brushed his hip against yours as the soft crooning melody played in the background. After the therapy session today the two of you were going to go pick your sister up early from school and drive down to the harbor. He wanted to take you both to dinner. Somewhere you’d wanted to eat for the past two years. A little hole in the wall Spanish place that had ‘the best ceviche and sopas you’ll ever have’ you’ve been talking about it for two weeks now.
Things had changed a lot in the past nine weeks. And not just because the two of you began to have sex on a regular basis. The house seemed more calm. There was an ease now, a tension that had left Ransom’s shoulders. You seemed more at ease too from what he could tell. You’d begun showering him with more affection, sweet lingering kisses down his spine before you left the bed, a press of your lips to his as you enter or exit a room. Thumb releasing the tension in his brow when he was too focused on writing, a kiss wishing it away.
The two of you fell into step as though this was a two year anniversary instead of a two month.
It was nice.
It was very nice.
“It’s good to see you happy.” Dowd said. “I’m very proud of you. You’ve come a long way in the last two years.” Ransom nodded. He felt proud. He did. The guilt still gnawed at him sometimes. But he’d received a letter about a week ago.
Fran’s Mother.
Forgiveness is a tricky thing. And while the two of them would never meet, and probably never speak again. Fran’s Mother believed that God was telling her to forgive him. She thanked him for the royalty checks she’d been receiving in the mail. It helped with her husband’s increasing medical bills. But she will never have her little girl back.
And it was his fault. But she forgave him. Just how he was learning to forgive his parents.
Forgive himself. That was the hard one. He’ll be working on that maybe until the day he dies he thinks. Maybe.
“She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Ransom explains. Dowd smiled softly,
“And she’s not going to leave.”
“Yeah,” Ransom agreed, “She’s not going to leave.” Well she is, but not completely. He was an adult. He could start taking care of himself, but she was still going to technically be his assistant.
“This is our last session together and before it ends is there anything you’d like to say?” Dowd asked him. The old man had taken on a new light for him over the last two years, Ransom really liked the guy. There was no doubt he helped him a lot, but it was more than that. Dowd was a good man. It was admirable. Ransom had never met a good man in his entire life.
Dowd loved his family, his wife, he loved his job. He was a good guy and if it wasn’t wildly inappropriate Ransom would have loved to take him golfing. Maybe invite his family over for dinner. Maybe one day. Maybe once the Doctor retires.
“I don’t think it should be our last session.” Dowd smiled at that.
“That’s exactly how you know you’ve improved.” The man assured, “Cause you’re nowhere near done.” Ransom should have taken offense to that, but he knew. He was still a work in progress. He still needed help, just maybe not as much as before.
Dowd parted with a cookie tin full of those caramel cookies Ransom loved so much, but he was too excited to care. You were ready to go. You wanted to see your sister more than anything else and he was happy to take you there.
He smirked as you ran into your sister’s arms. The fourteen year old was taller than you now, her face dotted with acne. She glared at Ransom over your shoulder.
He deserves it. Honestly.
Dinner was no better. The teen ignoring him completely as he sat awkwardly in the smallest restaurant he’d even been in. You’d spoke practiced spanish to the server and older woman he’d also seen flipping tortillas on the flat top in the back. You’d placed a paper plate with radishes, limes, and a mix of spicy peppers, onions, and cactus in front of the three of you.
A mess of plates were served. This little hole in the wall served the best tacos he’d ever had. Acidic ceviche that he’d eaten scooped into chips, the second order he ate with a spoon straight from the bowl. He didn’t interrupt the two of you and your jovial conversation.
Julia gossiped about a girl at school who was apparently a total bitch and everyone hates her, but she had secretly been dating another girl they went to school with and was now being super nice because she wasn’t closeted anymore.
There was another story about a teacher who had recently lost a child that your sister and her club had been trying to get money together to help pay for the funeral, “How much do you need?” Ransom interrupted.
Julia looked at him with wide eyes, almost forgetting he was there for a moment. “Uh… like we’ve raised almost $2,000 but we were trying to get a full ten.” Ransom nodded, squeezing a lime over his taco.
“Remind me to write you a check before I drop you back off.” He felt your eyes on him, a soft smile. You weren’t going to spring the relationship on your sister quite yet. Not when she still wanted to strangle him.
“That- You’re going to give me $8,000?” Julia asked incredulously. Ransom nodded, chewing and swallowing.
“It’s hard to lose a child.” He offered, “It’s hard for everyone.”
“Especially the parents.” Julia bit. He deserved that. He nods.
“Especially the parents.”
He was nervous. What if you didn’t like it? He’d sell it he’d suppose. But you had to like it. He broke into your tablet one night and sent screenshots of your Pinterest saves to an interior designer. It should be what you want, how you wanted it.
“Where are we going?” You asked. You had sat in the back with your sister. The two of you holding hands and talking about how homecoming went and how there was a junior guy in band who had asked her to the prom.
“We’re almost there.” He pulled into a paved driveway, turning the corner he tapped a few times on his phone the dark house lighting up before him. He heard two collective gasps from the backseat.
“Ransom, what is this?” You were confused, obviously. He exited the car, the two of you following.
He stepped up on the porch, not answering. His heart racing in his chest. He dug out the small key chain that had been weighing heavily in his pocket, turning to the two of you and hanging it from a finger. “I know you hate expensive gifts, but I can’t let you go back to that apartment.” His mouth was dry.
“Ransom.” You breathed. The keys were snatched from his finger, Julia moved past him to unlock the door, rushing inside.
“Oh my God!” She squealed from inside. Ransom shrugged softly, hand still outstretched towards yours.
“Please take it.” He whispered. A few seconds ticked by as he watched you decide. Please take it.
“Y/N,” Julia called, “This house is incredible.” She was panting in the doorway, shoes already discarded. He watched you look past him to her, the smile on her face. And you took his hand.
You’d been dating for a while when Ransom suggested couples therapy. Pretty much as soon as you’d moved in together. It was a nice break. Six months not seeing each other every minute of every day. He picked you up on real dates. You’d gone to real movies. You’d taken real walks in a real park. You had after dinner drinks at a real bar. One which you’d remembered he had ignored you in what seemed like a lifetime ago.
Julia had just gone to bed. She had a soccer game in the morning. He’d suggested it while you were getting ready for bed. A box of his clothes sat still packed in the corner. The last box. One you hadn’t quite gotten to yet.
“There’s nothing wrong,” He defended. “I just think that it would keep us in a healthy relationship.” And you agreed. He was happy you agreed. He didn’t want you to think that he felt as though there were problems. Other than him leaving his dirty socks and coffee mugs around the two of you hadn’t had much of a disagreement.
Yet.
Dowd was kind enough to still make house calls, something Ransom was fortunate for. He was working hard getting his next novel out. Deadline coming on quick as the two of you sat in a session where the Doctor looked at you and said,
“He’s treated you fairly poorly over the last two years.” Ransom felt offended. Dowd was supposed to be on his side, but he came out the gate swinging. It didn’t stop it being true.
You opened and closed your mouth. “I wouldn’t say…” You rubbed your hands down your thighs, drying the sweat on your palms.
“It’s not okay.” Dowd responded. “We both know him, we know how far he’s come.” He gestured to Ransom and Ransom nodded.
“He’s right baby.” A hand on your thigh in a way Ransom hoped was comforting. “The way I treated you is not okay. I’ve made a lot of bad decisions.” You sat awkwardly. Ransom wondered if you were beginning to regret this.
“But Ransom, honey, I just--” You looked so nervous, sinking down into the couch, your eyes fixed on Dowd. “You’ve changed so much, and you’ve never really been…” You gestured with your hands. “You’re a victim of circumstance.” You began, “I don’t believe that if you’d had loving parents you would have ever been in the situation you were in… not that you know, nature versus nurture and I just think, I don’t know, maybe... “
“It’s okay.” Dowd put a hand out. “Listen, this is a lot to start with and it’s okay. We don’t have to get too far into it. The next session I would like to have both of you write a letter to each other, something about how the last two years have affected your life. I think that’s where we should start.”
Intermingling breaths and hips pushed into the kitchen table, loud moans echoing in the kitchen as Ransom sinks himself into you over and over. “So fucking hot baby.” He breathes. “So fucking hot,” He hitched your leg up onto the table, enabling him to go deeper. “You’ll do anything for me, wont you?” He asked. His snapping hard against your perfect ass, hands roughly gripping the globes, tinted red by the palm of his hand.
“Yes,” You moaned roughly, “Anything.” Ransom moaned, reaching a hand down to steadily rub your clit, so wet for him. Only him.
“I love you so fucking much.” He moaned, hips beginning to falter as you came around him. Pussy contracting, milking his cock as he released inside the condom, panting.
“I love you too.” You whispered heavily into the room. Both of you trying to catch your breath.
“Thank you for doing this for me.” His fingers tracing softly down your bare spine. “I know it makes you uncomfortable.” He watched as you pulled your discarded shirt back on, shifting your leggings back up your hips as he discarded his condom, pulling his sweats back up over his own.
“I think it’ll be good for us,” You said, “In the long run.” He nods in agreement.
“I would hate for us to turn out like my parents.” He whispered.
“We’re not ever going to be like your parents.” You assured him, gripping his hand softly.
“I don’t want you to resent me in twenty years.” He looked into your eyes, searching as you replied,
“You think we’ll be together in twenty years?” You asked. He rolled his eyes as you let a watery laugh part your lips. He pressed his lips tightly against yours, fingers tangled in your hair.
“I sure as hell hope so.”
The sessions continued. One a month. Each month.
The two of you worked together to make this relationship work. You tried hard. You grew and you grew together.
“I think we’d be pretty good parents.” He said once. A few weeks before the marriage proposal. It got the both of you hot for it. The idea. Not something you’d been planning on acting on anytime soon but when he was balls deep inside your tight wet pussy he couldn’t help but imagine you swelling with his child, breasts heavy, firm belly pressing against him as he thrust inside you.
He was hot for it, always.
And you were thinking of it too. You’d spin your engagement ring around your finger and stare at him wistfully, tongue coming out to wet your lower lip.
You were riding him. Hips circling on top of his, panting and moaning. Your body glistening with sweat. Hands curled in your hair, back arched. “You gonna give me a baby?” You asked. He nodded, panting, he wanted to thrust into you but he couldn’t help but love the way you looked right now. Chasing your own release. Selfish. Wanting.
He fucking loved it.
You held his wrists to the bed, using your knees to rock back and forth on top of him as you pressed your lips to his. A whisper against his lips. “You gonna cum inside me?” You moaned.
“Yes, baby.” He braced his feet against the bed grinding his hips against yours, rubbing your clit against his pubic bone until you were shuddering on top of him, moaning into his mouth with your release. You collapse against his chest, his arms coming to wrap around your waist, his braced feet giving him the leverage he needed to fuck you. His hips starting a punishing rhythm. The loud slap of his thighs meeting yours filling the room.
“I can’t wait.” He breathes, “I love you so fucking much.” Your choked moans did him in, his release spilling inside you, not willing to let you go quite yet as the two of you stilled. The sweat covering your bodies began to chill you.
“I love you too.”
The wedding was small. Springtime. For months after the proposal and very quiet. Neither of you had very much family and fewer friends. A small group in your backyard. A cake from your favorite bakery. Promises of a bright future and a new life. Here, together.
You’d feel the flutter in your belly a few months after that.
.
.
.
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Bring Me Home // Harry Styles
Steps From The Past (4)
Just one chapter from ya boi’s big debut!
T/W: brief gross teacher
/the past/
It’s been three weeks since Eli’s death, a week ago they declared him a missing person. I haven't spoken in five days, haven't left my bed in three. I watch the sun rise and set, rise and set like a melody that if maybe I can get it just right, I won't have to hear it anymore. I won't have to hear anything, not my sister crying in the room across the hall or my parents arguing in hushed tones in the dead of night. I won't have to hear my ragged breaths or the stomach pains from not eating. But I do hear. In the mornings when the birds wake I try to find comfort in their tunes and the warmth of the sun but I'm so frozen over that it can't penetrate my ozone. I like to think I have gravity as if the dust is being pulled down, settling over my body, and sinking into my skin. I imagine it trying to absorb my energies and become whole again but I tell it if that were possible then I wouldn't be lying here. At night I don't hear anything for long periods. Time is broken up by sirens and stray animals foraging in trash cans. I try to listen for whispers that come from just out of reach in case he wants to speak to me or to let me explain. But I know that if he didn't want to listen in life then he's definitely not going to in death.
It's the middle of the day and my mom brings me another sandwich I will not eat. My sister's room is loud and heavy with her music. She sets the plate on my night stand and picks up the old one. My eyes are closed but I can feel her staring at me as she makes her way to the door. I let out a breath as I think she's left, but she puts the plate on my dresser and crawls into bed. She wraps her arms around me and pulls me close and tight. She smells of lavender and honey and I feel her warmth trying to seep into my bones. I want to cry and scream and make her hurt because I can't make anyone else hurt. I need somewhere to direct it but there's no one to blame but myself.
I watch myself thrash, yell, and cry. The snot from my nose is uncontrollable. I am inconsolable. I watch as I lash out at her, she feels my pain but she doesn't run away like I want. I want her to be afraid, to leave me, but she pulls me in hard. I push back harder. I want someone to hurt. If the anger can't escape what will be left of me in the end? Will the heat melt my ice? Boil me over and spill my secrets?
But I am frozen. My anger and pain are locked away under my cold skin and a sunken face. Moving would give way to screams and emotions that I don't deserve. So I let my mother hold me and do the only thing she thinks she can. I let her warmth radiate as it tries to thaw me. When the tears come silently, still with enough coldness to become snow, I slowly bury us alive. The thing with moms is that even as I bury us here I know she won't flinch.
On day eight I find myself in the kitchen standing in front of the stove. The blueing hues from the window tells me the sun will soon rise. I shuffle around maybe aimlessly, maybe not. I'm not sure. I don't realize my hands have a plan until I'm sitting at the table with them wrapping around a steaming mug of hot chocolate. The smell is dark and sweet, making my mouth water. I take a sip and let it scald my mouth and warm my belly. More shuffling comes from behind me.
"Josie?" I croak, slightly startled by my voice.
"Mmm," She sits at the table across from me and stares at the mug. I can see her thinking it over before she grabs her own. I watch her pour the boiling water and mix it with chocolate powder. When we were younger we tried to eat the packets with a spoon and ended up choking.
I want to talk to her. Or do I just want to hear her voice? I don't know. Either way she doesn't speak and neither do I. She pulls my chair away from the table and climbs on my lap. I wrap my arm around my sister's waist and press my face into her side, letting out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. She slides her arm around my shoulder, resting her head on mine. I sip my drink. She sips hers.
"We should shower today," She softly says after a long while. We do smell.
"I haven't cared,"
"Me either,"
"You do smell pretty bad," I say. I might be grinning. She lifts her head up and makes a pained sound. I finish my hot chocolate. We don't take a shower, just walk to her bed and fall asleep until the sun sets again.
I finally take my mom's advice to run but I don't initially start this first time out of the house. I take labored step after labored step and push my legs forward like a puppet. I'm groggy and hazy and the world won't slow down. It's kept going at the same pace it always has. It didn't take time to mourn or review it's checks and balances to see if it made the right choice. It just kept going and now we have to find our way back in like jumping on a train at full speed. I don't check my footing or where I'm placing my hands as I Jump, I go blindly.
Being in the everyday motions feels like hitting the train car at full speed. My palms are sweaty and my breath comes like a punch to the gut. I find things to latch on to. I sit on the bench at the library we use to go to and pretend we're all there people watching. "That woman over there looks like she tells the birds her life as she feeds them," Mia once said, I can hear us laugh but I can hear Elijah laugh the loudest. When I see my reflection in the library's windows, it's just me. I walk away.
I find myself at the skate park where Josie taught me to skateboard. I wiped out, taking most of the blow to my knees. I think there's still a rock in there somewhere. In high school I watched Isaac ask Allie to be his girlfriend before Isaac realized he actually liked Jonah. We joked that Allie must have been a bad girlfriend. When Mia was 13 she told me that a neighborhood guy tried to feel her up behind the drop in ramp without asking. Elijah overheard and the next day we saw him with busted knuckles; when we asked him about it he just winked and shrugged. Mia blushed.
I walk by the elementary school we grew up in, only a mile or so from the high school we graduated from years ago. I wonder if our names are still under the desk in math, room 104. There was a scandal there about a teacher seducing a student and allegedly trying with others. No one found out who the girl was, they kept the information closed. But I can't see the science building without remembering how Allie never went back for Mr. Samuel's lessons after he asked to see her after class, she wouldn't tell me why. It wasn't until my sister broke down his classroom door after school that I realized. She saw his hand on my thigh and kicked the chair from under him. She pushed his chest down, "You'll get what you deserve." And he did.
The ice cream shop across town was walking distance from where my father worked and he would give us money on Fridays to get some, so long as we brought him back one after. That's where, in 10th grade, Jonah and Isaac found a dog with three legs wandering around eating from the garbage. They managed to entice it with ice cream and take it back to Isaac's. He had a dog already but his parents took him in anyway. They named him Berry after the strawberry flavor they captured him with.
Once at a roller rink Jonah fell and Josie accidentally ran over his finger. She stumbled to a stop and crawled back to him, screaming. He was laughing so hard from her reaction, and probably the shock, that he hadn't cared about the blood coming from his fingers. I sped us to the hospital while Elijah called his dad. By the time we got there the shock had worn off, leaving him with the pain. We called him hook for the rest of the year on account of how the bandages made his hand look. He just smiled as Isaac held his other one.
Once Sam told me I should be nicer because no one would want me. Sam is three years older than Elijah. Josie is two years older than me. Sam and Josie used to spend a lot of time together in her room listening to music really loudly. I knew what they were doing but I was still angry that she didn't ever want me to hangout with them together. So when Sam came over I went to see Elijah. Two can play that game, I thought. And two, they played.
Elijah kissed me one afternoon on winter break after we played outside for hours. My whole body was freezing but his lips were soft, albeit cold. As he took my hand and brought me back inside I thought of Mia and her secret glances his way. Blushing when he'd sit next to her, how she always seemed to have just what he needed, when he needed it. I couldn't look at her the next time I saw her but Elijah acted like nothing happened so eventually I let myself think nothing did. That following summer he took her to the movies and she told me that when they went back to his house they had sex. I smiled and told her that as long as she wanted to, then I was happy for her. On the drive home I thought of his bed.
When I got back I wanted to talk to my sister but as usual, Sam was there so her door was shut. I banged and banged until finally she opened it. "What?" She asked annoyed and out of breath. I guess she could see my youthful confusion and anger, I was 16 and she was 18. I knew what they were doing but I didn't know what I was doing. She sighed and opened the door wider, Sam looked annoyed. I shot him a dirty look and he stood up defensively. She was my sister.
"What's your problem?" He asked. My sister raised her eyebrows at him.
"You're my problem," I sneered.
"I was just sitting here,"
"Yeah well now you're not, so you can leave," I threw him his sweater.
He laughs, "You know what?" he snatches his shoes, "No one's going to want you if you're going to be such a bitch all the time," With that my sister smacked him across the back of the head and pushed him from her room. He whirled around, "Why do you think Eli didn't choose you?"
"Because he was too busy hiding from you!" I screamed at him, slamming her door in his face.
I leaped face down on her bed and screamed into the pillow. Asking what happened, she crawled on the bed and rested her body on mine. "He slept with Mia," I told her through pillows and tears. But I didn't tell her that on that winter day on break, I did also.
(1) / (2) / (3) / 4 / (5) / (6)
#harry styles#harry 1d#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fanfiction#liam payne#niall horan#zayn mailk#louis tomlinson#larry stylinson#larries#fanfic#1directionfanfic#one direction fanfic#fanfiction#onedirection#lovestory#sweetcreature#bring me home
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Legends
Chapter Nine ~
AO3 ~~
Pairings: Armin x Annie/ Eren x Mikasa (other pairings will be added as the story goes on)
Words count: 3157
* spoilers for chapter 127 and up
Summary:
an injury
a miracle
an understanding
and maybe 'everything happens for a reason' holds some truth in it, and all of it leads to that tingle of emotions with unsolvable maze that hypnotize its victims
~a story of broken hearts who are searching for a cure while mending each other’s wounds
“You did what?!” Armin’s eyes widened, he thought he didn’t hear right because there was no way Eren actually-
“I asked her to marry me,” Eren said once again, not turning or moving in the slightest.
“Are you fucking serious?!” Armin paced around, his hands on his head, his eyes flickering to Eren then to the sky then to the ground.
“What were you thinking?” Armin asked, appalled and at the same time grateful that he was the one in this situation; not Jean. Armin took two steps forward, sat beside Eren, more like dropped beside him, and for the first time got a good look of his face.
Eren’s beard was growing out, though uneven; some places on his chin were empty, or did he pluck these hairs out? His hair was growing past his shoulders. He had a poker face on, and that frustrated Armin even more.
“Did you really…” Armin said through his teeth, surprised that his own voice sounded breathy and compressed, “d-did you really think she’d just… she’d just say yes?!”
Eren didn’t respond, but he did fidget for the first time, and Armin could tell that he was getting uncomfortable. Armin wanted Eren to beg the earth to split and swallow him.
“Eren, you’re… you’re…” Armin was trying to look for a suitable word, but his mind went blank, and he couldn’t think of anything to say, so he blurted out: “y-you’re stupid!”
Eren cracked a smirk at that, the corners of his eyes crinkled, and Armin noticed that his eyes were blood shot, just like Mikasa’s.
“Okay, uh, w-what else did you say to her?” Armin asked, both his hands on his head, ruffling his hair.
Eren took a few seconds to answer, as if he was having trouble remembering: “I apologized to her.”
“Yeah no shit! You don’t say you actually did that!”
Eren didn’t reply to Armin’s sarcastic comment, instead he watched the stream, a golden fish was thrashing its tail against the flow, fighting versus the undeterred water, flipping on its back countless times.
Armin wanted Eren to look him straight in the eyes and tell him that all of this is a joke, but Eren didn’t, and Armin had no idea what he was supposed to do with him.
“At least… you could’ve at least waited! you can’t just straight up ask her that. God, Eren I know you’re a hopeless romantic, but that’s just… stupid!”
“Well, I don’t really know what to do!” Eren said, exasperation interfering with his monotone voice.
“You could’ve asked for advice, dammit!”
“Advice?”
“I don’t know! Anything! But not straight up proposing!” Armin took a deep breath, “you know Jean is waiting for a chance to kill you, and you just gave him the perfect opening.”
“You think he’s better for Mikasa, don’t you?” Eren asked out of nowhere, chewing on the inside of his cheek, making his cheekbones prominent.
“I…” started Armin, but he didn’t know how to finish his sentence, “I don’t know…”
“We both know that Jean would treat Mikasa better, he’d never hurt her like I did,” Eren hugged his knees to his chest, burying his face between them, he looked small and weak.
Armin’s lips opened the tiniest bit at how Eren’s hunched back reminded him of their days on the streets, before they joined the training corps. Back then, Eren was just a weak kid with anger boiling inside of him.
Chaotic times, but much simpler than these days.
Armin closed his eyes, let out a long sigh, then said: “Jean would never hurt Mikasa in any way, everyone knows that.”
Eren sank more into himself.
“But,” Armin continued, “it’s not about Jean, it’s about Mikasa, she’d never want to be with Jean, because…” Armin rolled his eyes over his own feeble choice of words, “everyone knows… how much she cares for you.”
After a few moments of silence, Eren sighed, the sigh weighted and labored, then he whispered: “I’m not begging for atonement, what I did is… irredeemable, but…” He threw his hands in the air, “Mikasa has nothing to do with it! I-”
Eren stopped, he looked at his hands, those hands that did horrible, atrocious acts. Red moisture oozed from between his fingers, tracking down a path of crimson down his wrist.
Thud, thud…
They dripped on the dirt, puddling into a damp darkened spot.
Eren swallowed and shook his head; this is not real. He lowered them, tilting his head down to his feet, and whispered: “I just want to make it up for her…”
The sounds of the stream accompanied with the wind rustling the leaves, creating a harmony, a tone orchestrated by nature… forming a relatively calming blend.
“Would you forgive me?” Eren asked, his eyes not wavering from the rocks underneath his shoes.
Armin wondered; would he be able to forgive Eren? Can he forget what happened and move forward?
Did he want to forgive Eren?
Armin’s eyes darted to the stream, the golden fish was still fighting the current, writhing in the water, until another golden fish wrestled its way to it, then nudged it with its head several times. Then, both turned and swam together with the stream, further away from Eren and Armin, where the water wasn’t violent, but it was tranquil and undisturbed.
“I’ll try…” Armin finally answered, still watching the trace of the two golden fishes. He confessed these words from the bottom of his heart, no lies, just a naked truth.
“Thanks…” Eren muttered, hugging himself.
Insecurity and uncertainty draped over Eren. Armin gawked at him, dozens of questions swirling in his head about the rumbling, the founder, the past and the future, but at the same time he had the sudden urge to hug Eren and forget all about it. Instead, Armin stretched a hand and patted Eren twice on the back.
“So, uh…” Armin started, the memory he saw also took a considerate space in his mind; the one with himself standing on an altar by the beach, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it, so he dodged his own thoughts and resumed: “did you had a ring?”
Not the best dodge.
Eren snorted, and Armin saw him smiling the first genuine smile in months, if not years.
They spoke with hushed voices, not wanting to disturb the nature around them, and they didn’t get back to the cottage until sunset.
When Armin walked into the cottage with Eren by his side, Jean threw daggers with his eyes at them, Armin rose his eyebrows, gesturing for Jean to not do anything reckless, but he didn’t seem like he planned anything; Mikasa probably told him so.
The next morning, Magath, Hanji and Gabi sat off towards the harbor, leaving the rest with nothing to do but wait.
~~~
Annie had a plenty of time on her hands to observe everyone as much as she wanted.
Connie was remarkably taller; she vividly remembers him being the dwarf of the 104th squad. Jean’s long hair suited him, and he looked older than his age, he looked like the type of guy to live in a fancy apartment and have wine on breakfast on Mondays.
Mikasa seemed… charming, but now it’s more prominent than ever, her hair alone was gorgeous, and Annie wondered how it would look like if it was longer…
Historia was and would always be the goddess.
Annie tried to avoid Levi as much as she could.
Annie talked to Reiner, but they avoided the heavy topics. An inaudible deal was shared between them to never talk about any sensitive matters, to never talk about what happened after she crystalized herself, about Bert’s death…
Eren was completely different too, the eager kid she remembered seems to have never existed. His forests glinting eyes were substituted with dull orbs, dark circles framing them, protruding them, sinking them more into their sockets, however, he seemed to get his spark back the more he spent time with Armin.
And yeah, Armin.
Now the dwarf of the group.
After some time thinking about it, Annie decided, from behind, he looked like a tough man, with broad shoulders, but the moment he’d turn and she laid her eyes on his face, the 15 years old kid with the weakest muscles is all she could see.
Armin’s face never changed, even with his new haircut, his baby face is something that would never change about him.
Armin would catch Annie staring sometimes; when he’d be sitting up the table, Annie would be on the farthest couch tracking each of his movements, and when Armin catches her, he’d smile and continue whatever he was doing.
Annie wondered if he thought of her as a creep.
But one day, Annie was the one to catch Armin staring.
Annie was outside, it was her turn to hang the laundry, and in the middle of it, she turned around and saw Armin standing at the threshold of the cottage, a basket filled with laundry in his hands. Armin’s cheeks immediately flushed red, and he stuttered some intangible words before he thrusted the basket in Annie’s arms and hurried inside.
It seemed that someone else noticed this ‘glances’ contest going on between them.
Mr. Leonhart.
Incontrovertibly, Mr. Leonhart would never be fine with someone he barely knew glancing at his daughter, and what triggered him more is that his daughter was stealing looks at him too.
And that was the same person who ratted his daughter out four years ago.
One evening, Mr. Leonhart followed Armin outside when he left to get wood for the fire.
“Good evening, young man.” Mr. Leonhart greeted.
Armin jumped and the wood he was carrying fell, missing his toes by an inch, he didn’t bend down to pick them up, instead, he stood erected and stuttered out: “O-oh Mr. Leonhart! Good evening t-to you too!”, his voice was a few notches higher.
“I was meaning to talk to you.” Mr. Leonhart said, one hand behind his back, the other clutched around the cane handle.
“Y-yeah sure! Is something wrong?” Armin rubbed his hands together; it was chilly outside.
“No, nothing is wrong… yet,” Mr. Leonhart took a step forward, “I was just thinking that I should inform you that…” He tapped his cane twice on the dirt, “after all of this is over, me and my daughter, Annie, are going back to Marley. We are aiming to compensate all those lost years and live in peace for the rest of our lives.”
Armin didn’t know what Mr. Leonhart expected him to say: “Yeah, sure, I want Annie to be happy-”
“Annie being happy or not has nothing to do with you, or this place.”
Armin’s brain paused, he blinked thrice trying to catch up with what Mr. Leonhart just chucked at him, he wanted to say something but couldn’t risk it, he knew he would stutter and make a fool of himself.
But when Mr. Leonhart turned his back and walked leisurely to the cottage, his chest puffed up despite leaning on his cane for support, the words flew out of Armin’s mouth, as if he had practiced them a million times before: “Annie’s happiness isn’t associated with someone or with a place, her happiness can only come from within herself.”
Mr. Leonhart halted in his steps, turned his head to the side, examining Armin from the corner of his eyes, but he didn’t reply, he merely drew circles with his cane on the dirt, got a better footing for it, and with deliberate steps, headed inside the cottage, leaving Armin standing there, looking down at the wood scattered by his feet.
~~~
Armin kept an eye on Mikasa, and he realized that he was the only one who knew that Eren proposed to her, but everyone was aware that something was up with her; she was distracted all the time. One time, she almost spilled boiling soup all over herself, after it, no one trusted Mikasa with anything that could hurt her.
Jean was the most irritated about this, but each time he tried to talk it out with Mikasa, she’d politely shove him away, and told him that she’s okay.
Jean never believed her.
The way Mikasa would dodge Eren was almost unbearable, she’d sit on the farthest available spot away from him, never look at his direction or acknowledge him in anyway. She would turn around if she crossed paths with him, she would distract herself with the hem of her shirt if the conversation involved Eren.
Until one night…
Just like they got used to; everyone shared the living room as a bedroom. The only two bedrooms were occupied with the two people in need of a bed; Historia and her kid, and Levi.
As always, Mikasa would lay her sleeping bag in the farthest available spot from Eren.
That night, Armin sleeping with Eren on his side, his mind never shut down, his thoughts were buzzing in his head, one time he would be thinking about Mikasa and Eren…
Armin was clueless of what to do with his two childhood friends, a part of him wanted to lock them in a room until they figured it out, but the other part told him to let them be, maybe it was better if he should let them find their way back to each other, even if it would take years.
Another time Armin would think about Annie, he had so many things to tell her, he wanted to sit by her side all day, he wanted to be with her, but some concealed barrier was holding him back.
Something in him told him to stay away.
And what was he supposed to do with her father?
Armin understood where Mr. Leonhart was coming from; Annie is his only daughter whom whereabouts were unknown for nine years. Any father would be protective over his daughter…
But Armin didn’t want any harm to Annie, hell, he would rather hurt himself than see a tear down her cheeks.
Annie went through enough.
She deserved peace.
She deserved happiness.
And if her happiness meant to stay away from Armin, then he would gladly vanish from her life.
Even if it would shatter him…
Armin’s thoughts would jump to Hanji and the rest who still didn’t come back-
Armin heard the shuffling of someone getting up.
Then he saw Mikasa tiptoe carefully across the room, slithering between sleeping bags, and when she got closer to him, he closed his eyes and pretended to be fast asleep.
However, Mikasa didn’t stop by him, she sneaked to the person sleeping next to him.
Eren.
Mikasa slowly lifted Eren’s blanket and slid beside him. Eren stirred, opening his eyes, which widened the moment he saw Mikasa’s eyes right in front of his face, he blinked twice, not sure if he was still dreaming.
“Mikasa…?” Eren whispered, his voice hoarse and thick with sleep, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion, the pupil in his eyes doubling in size, trying to figure out Mikasa’s silhouette in the pitch-black room.
“Yes,” Mikasa said, her voice a little bit louder than Eren’s.
“Yes…?” he asked, then his eyebrows gradually rose up his forehead.
“I mean… if your… proposal… is still up…” Mikasa said, regret seeped into her mind, snickering in a corner, and she started to question if it was too late now to hop back into her sleeping bag.
“Yes!” Eren said, suddenly enthusiastic, shooting up on his elbow, Mikasa put her finger on his mouth, shushing him, then he laid down again and repeated in a lower voice, nodding his head, “yes, yes...”
Eren glanced at Mikasa’s finger on his mouth, and she immediately withdrew it. Her cheeks were heating up with each time her heart pumped blood into her veins, she didn’t know if Eren could see her face, but she was sure he would feel the heat radiating from the embarrassment she inserted herself in.
Eren’s mouth was agape, he couldn’t see Mikasa in the dark, but he saw the unmistakable shiny black orbs of hers. He kept his hands by his sides, his fingers trembling, yearning to run in her hair. Eren wouldn’t want to creep her away, he still didn’t believe if she was by his side or if his desperate desire to hold her close had finally turned him into a lunatic.
“Good,” Mikasa muttered, she sighed and sank deeper into the blankets, Eren only stared at her, and she avoided his eyes because one look at them and she’d really run back to her own sleeping bag.
A moment of silence passed, Eren’s eyes still wide and unbelieving.
After two hesitant failed attempts, Eren wrapped both his arms around Mikasa, and with equal hesitance, she hugged him back, burying her face in his chest, hiding her flaming cheeks.
Armin heard everything, and he was smiling at himself like an idiot, he was using all the power he had to not shoot up and hug both of his childhood friends.
The fog in Armin’s mind cleared up, and slowly the excitement he felt was wearing off, and sleep was taking over him.
That night, Armin slept with a bunch of ‘I love you’s muttered behind his back until they faded out, and everything was tranquil and quiet.
The next morning, it was a shock, to say the least, for everyone to wake up to Eren and Mikasa sleeping on the same pillow, with their bodies pressed together.
It was Historia who found them; she was an early riser and the first to wake up, and when she checked on everyone else, she noticed that Mikasa’s sleeping bag was vacant.
Historia didn’t give it much thought, Mikasa would probably be outside already, working out or something, but when Historia got to where Eren was sleeping, she saw that he seemed… curled on himself, she got concerned if he was in pain, but she couldn’t tell because the covers were over his face.
Historia crouched beside him and slowly lifted the blanket up.
Her squeal woke Armin up.
Armin shot up from his blankets, ready to strike, but froze when he saw Historia peaking at Eren with her eyes even more significant than they already are, her hand covering her mouth.
Historia only motioned between the two heads under the blanket.
A laugh escaped Armin, and it wasn’t at Historia’s childish behavior; he too felt like squealing, but that Eren and Mikasa were in an unstirred sleep to the point where everyone woke up and was staring at them; they didn’t even fidget.
Mikasa wouldn’t look into anyone’s eyes for the next week, probably, Armin thought, folding his blankets.
After the shock wore off, everyone decided that it would be better if they let them sleep some more, they both were undoubtedly sleep deprived for being out of it during all the chaos.
They slept until noon.
.
.
~~~
uh, are you guys enjoying this?
#aruani#armin arlert#Annie Leonhardt#armin x annie#eremika#Eren Jaeger#Mikasa Ackerman#eren x mikasa#aot#snk#fanfiction
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Old Thing Back (2)
Erik Killmonger x Reader
Erik runs into his old high school girlfriend and realizes how much love he still has for her.
Please Note: In this series, there was never a fight for the thrown between Erik and T’Challa. It’s all good between them. Erik became a Seal and used his pull to go to Wakanda in the hopes of just finding his family. Together, he and T’Challa founded the Wakandan Outreach Center in Oakland.
Thanks for the feedback and love. :) excuse any mistakes. enjoy.
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It had been weeks since you ran into Erik… or since he literally ran into you. Good thing you only went running on the weekends. That made it easier to avoid him if you spotted him again. But luckily, you didn’t. You purposely waited until about 9am to go running and you were sure that was why. If he was an early bird, he wouldn’t catch you.
The weekend at come to an end and you were successful yet again at not being run over by your past. You were ready to get back to work to be with your favorite mini humans. You had been a kindergarten teacher for five years and each year, you’d fall in love with your tribe of five year olds like they were your own. This year, your God Daughter, Bella was one of your students. You wouldn’t let Kelly enroll her into any other school. You practically demanded that little Bella be your student.
You had just picked up your daily Chai Tea Latte from the cafe near Kelly’s house and you were arriving at her home to pick Bella up for school. You were running behind. Your class would be taking a field trip today and you took it upon yourself to make lunches for each student.
As you pulled into Kelly’s driveway, she was rushing out the door with Bella, running late herself. She was called into work early this morning.
“Thank you so much for picking her up, girl. I needed this morning shift.” Kelly says, strapping Bella into her carseat.
“Not a problem. Bella is my baby too.” You smile at the toddler. “Ain’t that right baby girl?”
“Yes.” Bella was all smiles.
“Alright.” Kelly sighed. “You will be a good girl today on your trip.”
“I will, mommy.”
Kelly kisses Bella and closes her door. She waves at you and you pull off, going to school.
When you get there, the bus taking your class on their first ever field trip was there waiting. You get Bella and the lunches out of the car and rush over to find your other students and your teaching assistant, Liza getting settled. You do a headcount to make sure everyone is there before the bus heads to its destination.
“I’ve heard so much about this place and what they’ve done over the summer for kids.” your TA states.
“Hmm?” You were zoned out, enjoying your morning drink.
“The Outreach Center.”
“Oh yeah. Me too. When I heard they were opening this Early Child Development Studio, I knew I had to bring our babies to see what it’s about.”
“I wonder if the King of Wakanda will be there today.” Liza sticks her tongue out making you laugh.
“He is fine ain’t he?” you smirk. “I would not mind becoming a Queen for him.”
“Miss Y/N? Are we there yet?” a small voice from behind you asks you. It’s Tyler. He’s one of your busy body students. He doesn’t like sitting in one spot for too long and is always asking a lot of questions.
You smile at him. “Almost Tyler.” You stretch your neck over the driver's seat to get a good look at the road. “We’re a few blocks away.”
And in just a few minutes, the bus turns into a parking lot next to the building. Glowing blue letters sitting above large, glass doors reading, Wakandan Outreach Center.
“Okay boys and girls. We’re here. Is everyone listening?”
“Yes!” they all answer you.
“Great. We're going to be good guests here. We will stay in line and stay together. Today will be a very fun day. If any of you have to use the restroom, come to me or Miss. Liza and we will find the nearest restroom. Are you guys ready?”
“Yes, Miss. Y/N.”
One by one, the kids jumped off the bottom step of the bus. They made a single file line and followed you into the building with Liza behind them, carrying the lunches. You were met with a beautiful, tall woman in red. Her smile was as bright as the sun. Her presence was breathtaking and even the kids noticed her. You and them were in awe of this gorgeous woman.
“Hello, I’m Mia. You must be the kindergarten class that’s supposed to visit the new Studio today?”
“Yes.” you excitedly shake her hand. Which was amazingly smooth and warm. “I’m Y/N. This is Liza and these are our shining stars.” You turn to your students. “Class 104, this Mia.”
“Hi Mia.” their tiny voices rung out, echoing through the lobby.
“Hello Class 104. Nice to meet you all.” Mia turns to you again. “We’re excited to have you today. Unfortunately, our tour guide, Sasha won't be in today but our Director of Youth Development is here and he’s offered to show you guys around today.”
“Okay, that’s fine. Who is--”
Mia looks to her left. “Here he is now. Mr. Stevens.”
Her words shocked you like lightening. But the person she referred to as Mr. Stevens, made your heart sink into the pit of your belly.
“Good Morning.” his deep voice boomed in your ears. The smile on his face was just as bright as Mia’s. He reaches out to take the box of lunches from Liza. “Could you take this to the cafeteria, Mia?”
You took a few deep breaths, calming your nerves. How is this happening? Why is this happening? You look to Liza who is gazing at him. He reaches his hand out to Liza.
“Good morning. I’m Erik.”
She shakes his hand and her bright cheeks begin turning red. “Um, hi. I’m Liza.”
Erik turns to you with a smirk and his hand out. “Y/N.” he states your name so matter factly.
“Hi, Erik.”
Liza looks confused now. How did you two know each other? She thought.
The smile on Erik’s face was contagious and you couldn’t help but to smile too. Your cheeks going against you. Allegedly. You playfully roll your eyes and avoid meeting his eyes. Your eyes meet with one of your students, Jonathan. He bounces his little brows up at you and winks. You bite back the laughter that threatens to come out.
“Class 104, this is…” You turn back to Erik. “Do you prefer Mr. Erik or Mr. Stevens?”
Erik drags his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes trained on you. He's aware of your struggles. “Mr. Erik is fine.”
“Class… Mr. Erik.”
“Hi, Mr. Erik.” your class sings in unison.
“He’s going to be showing us around today. Are you guys and gals excited?”
“Yes!” the cheery five year olds jump and clap.
A small girl from the back of the group makes her way to the front. She introduces herself to Erik.
“Hi, Mr. Erik. I’m Melody. I’m the line leader, so you can just show me where to go and I’ll take it from here.”
She places her small hand into Erik, shocking him. He didn’t know five year olds could be so damn bold. But he smiled at her and decided he’d go along with it. He gives you a knowing look. You shake your head and look over to Liza, who is trying everything in her to hold back her laugh.
Melody snaps at her class. “Get in line. Me and Mr. Erik will lead the way.” Her class follows her demanding instructions. Erik begins walking with Melody down a large hallway. You watch in disbelief at how your young student took charge as the line began walking away from you. You and Liza catch eyes again and this time, snickers escape from the both of you.
“I can’t lie,” Liza began, “Melody has game. I respect it. She just took your man right under your nose.”
“My what!” your words coming out a bit louder than expected. You see Erik peak behind him to you and Liza. The two of you were trailing the line of jumping kids.
Liza cuts her eyes at you. “You can play stupid with these babies but you can’t play stupid with me Y/N. I peeped how y’all were looking at each other. All cheesy and shit.” Liza swayed her body adding emphasis on her words.
“That’s a bad word, Miss Liza.” Tyler barked.
“My apologies, Tyler.”
You and Liza bite back more laughter.
-----------------------
Erik leads the class to two large doors with glowing blue lights and Wakandan symbols engraved on them. Early Childhood Development Studio. When Erik opened the doors, it was like a kindergarten teacher's dream classroom. It was neat with a modern decor style but still colorful to draw in a child's attention. The ceiling mimicked a dome with animated visuals playing on the tiles. Rows of white tables with small stability ball chairs. Each table paired with a collection of Crayola Crayons, Markers, Pencils and Erasers. In front of each seat, sat an iPad full of learning apps. To the right of the room, there’s a dry erase board and learning posters. To the left, shelves and shelves of children's books, neatly placed toys--Including a play kitchen, salon, tool boxes. There was an open space covered with a mat that would glow with the same blue color that was on the entry doors.
You and Liza were intrigued to say the least. Your students were in aw as well and being very vocal about it. Erik was pleased to see everyone approving of his design.
“As you can see here,” Erik began explaining, “each student would have their own iPad to stay up to date with the new learning apps that we are developing. We have plenty of utensils here for drawing and expression. The dome is designed for the children to gain an understanding of how the sky and the galaxy works.” he takes a step back to grab an iPad. He taps a few buttons and suddenly the room is darkened and stars and planets paint the ceiling. It’s so realistic that even you, for a second, thought that you were just casted into space. The children voiced their ohs and aws.
“Wow.” you mouthed, looking around you watching a meteorite pass by you.
Erik taps the iPad again and the ceiling goes back to normal. He walks over to the glowing mat, tapping on it and holographic visuals of a young woman with braids pop up. She jumps with joy.
“Hey Shuri, meet Class 104.”
“Hello class.” Shuri waves. The students are bouncing with excitement and wave back to Shuri.
“We have an experiment set up for you.” He tells the class. “Are you ready?”
“YES!” their screams bounce off the walls.
“They’re ready, Shuri.”
“Alright you little geniuses. Have you ever seen a volcano erupt?” Shuri asks as she walks over to a table.
You and Liza are completely mute. You couldn’t believe what your eyes were seeing. Is this real? Like live footage?
Shuri pours a liquid into the top of the volcano and it explodes a lava colored foam.
“Oh my gosh!” one kid yells out.
“My mama won’t believe this.” another says.
Erik laughs at the joyful reactions.
“There’s more where that came from when you guys come and see me later.” Shuri smiles.
“Thanks Shuri. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to come down.” Erik says.
She gives him a thumbs up and Erik taps the mat again and the hologram disappears.
“Erik!” you were stunned. “That was live?”
“Yes. We use holograms to do most of our communication. The mat is designed with vibranium, so it can’t be destroyed and we can use it for science experiments, communication, building blocks… I could go on but I’d rather show you over time.”
“Wow. This is perfect. More kids that come here and we’ll have hella little scientists running around Oakland.” Liza says.
“Why don’t we get them started.” Erik leads the children to the tables. Each of them picking a seat and tapping on the iPads. Erik gets each of them set up with a different app to explore their little brains.
You and Liza help with the set up and before you knew it, each student was in their own little world learning and actually enjoying it. You and Liza were probably enjoying the Studio more than the children.
------------
To reward your shining stars for being the amazing little learners they were, you and Liza figured that they should have some play time. This would be good for them to use up the rest of their energy before lunch, as well as give you and Liza a break.
As the children played with all of the high tech toys, Liza couldn’t help but to notice the set of eyes trained on you. She hid a knowing smile behind her water bottle as she pretended to take a sip and pretending even harder at listening to whatever you were talking about.
“Mhmm.” is all Liza offered to you.
Liza always has commentary to whatever topic you were babbling about so the lack there of caught your attention.
“Liza, are you listening to me?” you snapped with a bit of attitude.
Her eyes meet yours. “I’m not understanding how you are able to listen to you right now.”
“Excuse me?”
Liza scrunches her nose up. “You don’t sense the demon eyes glaring at you from across the room? Melody may have Mr. Erik,” she adds emphasis to his name, “wrapped around her little finger, but that man has been hawking you since we got here.”
You scoff. “No he hasn’t.” You look up and lock eyes with Erik. He’s sitting on the floor with Melody playing in his dreads like she’s his hairstylist. Just before you could react, Bella approaches you.
“God Mommy… I’m hungry.” she whines.
Saved by the Bella.
You look at your Apple Watch noticing that it’s just passed 11a.m. Lunch Time!
“Okay, baby girl. It’s lunch time anyways.”
Bella waste no time turning back to her fellow classmates and yells, “IT’S LUNCH TIME!”
The children go up on roars. It was adorable how thrilled they were about food. That’s something you could relate to on a soul level. The students line up with joy in their eyes. Erik walks toward you and Liza. Your heart begins picking up its pace.
“Hey. So, I figured we could squeeze some time in to visit our labs after lunch before y’all have to go. That’s cool?” he asked mainly you.
You simply nodded your head. You snapped your neck at Liza when you heard her snickering. Of course Erik noticed and he gave you a very toothy smile. His dimples were on full display and you did the only thing you thought you could… run!
“Alright 104,” you step around Erik and Liza. “Mr. Erik here is going to take us to the cafeteria.”
Bella takes your hand into hers. She looks up at Erik. “Hurry Mr. Erik. I’m dying.”
“Let’s go.” he leads you, Liza and the class to the enormace cafeteria. You were impressed. It was like a mini airport in there. Multiple food options. You immediately set your mind on Stir Fry. Liza’s eyes were glued to the pizza.
Mia met all of you with the class’s lunches. As the children got settled in their seats. you and Liza handed out each lunch and watched as they dug in. You and Liza sat at the end of the table to keep a good eye on the kids. As you began eating your food, a large presence approached behind you. You hear a clearing of a throat. You look up and see Erik with sly smirk painted on his lips. His hands were behind his back.
“Do you ladies mind if I join you?” he asks.
“Nope. Y/N doesn’t mind at all if you join her.” she winks at you. She doesn’t care that you were shooting daggers at her. “My baby-loves need me anyway.”
She rises from her seat next to you and she joins the class. Erik takes ownshipship of her chair.
“I have something for you.” In his hands held a box of brand new AirPods.
“Erik… You really didn’t have to do that.”
Ignoring your protest. “I was expecting to give them to you weeks ago but I guess I scared you away from the park.”
The disappointment in his eyes made you feel bad. “Thank you…”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
It was more of a statement than a question.
“No--No. It’s just… you have to admit, it was kinda weird. Ya’ know, with the way things were the last time we saw each other.” You found the courage to look in his eyes again. Guilt. Regret. “You were the last person I thought I’d see. A lot of feelings that I thought were dead, surfaced and I--.”
“I understand.” he bit the side of his cheek. He felt the awkwardness between you two when he ran into you. He couldn’t deny it if he wanted to.
“But, the universe has a funny way of doing things.” you added.
“Yeah… I’ve always lived with that regret though. I wish I would’ve said something. Ran after you. I don’t know.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Where did you go?” you finally spoke up.
“College... Naval Academy and MIT.”
“Damn, Erik. I knew you were smart but I didn’t know you were that smart to just go to college at 16.”
A low chuckle escapes his mouth. “Yeah, “he continued, “When I became a SEAL, I got curious. I knew I had family in Africa so I decided to go find them. When I got to the Wakanda… they uh, they accepted me with open arms. My uncle--”
“Wait, wait.” you interjected. “You’re Wakandan?”
“Yeah.” a sly smile crept onto his face. “T’Challa is my cousin.”
“WHAT THE FUCK!”
Your shock took over you. You had forgotten where you were and who you were with.
“Ohhhh, Ms. Y/N. That’s a bad word.” one of your students yelled out, bringing you back to reality.
You slap your hand over your mouth. “I am so sorry. I will not say it again. I promise.”
“You have to go in the time out chair, Ms. Y/N.”
You felt foolish for not keeping it together in front of your students. “I’m sorry guys, okay? Forgive me.”
Bella approached you. “I forgive you God Mommy.”
You rub her big puff on top of her head. “Thank You, Bella.”
“God Mommy?” Erik looks between the two of you.
“Yes. This is my GodDaughter who is also my student. This is Kelly’s daughter.”
“Kelly! Big mouth Kelly?”
“My mommy doesn’t have a big mouth.” Bella gathered Erik very nicely.
Erik throws his hands up in surrender. “My bad Miss Bella. She doesn't. I’m sorry.”
You send Bella back to sit with her class. You and Erik play catch up until lunch time was over. He took all of you to Shuri’s lab. Shuri showed the kids some of her gadgets. Before you knew it, it was time for you to load your class up on the school bus and take them back to school for them to be released to their parents. Strangely, you weren’t ready for the trip to be over. You internally told yourself that it wasn’t because of Erik but Liza made sure to constantly remind you that Erik was definitely the reason. You felt butterflies every time your eyes met his. It was like no time had been missed between you two. Yes, there was still an elephant in the room between you but this felt nice and if you had to be honest, that could wait. You liked the way he was making you feel.
You were doing your head count when Erik made his presence known just outside of the buses doors. You kindly asked Liza to make sure all of your students were counted for and you stepped off to talk to Erik… again.
He laid down a fly away from your bun. That took you by surprise.
“It was nice seeing you, Y/N. For real this time.”
“Same. I’m glad we were able to talk and things not be, ya’ know, weird.”
They exchange smiles before Erik spoke again.
“I know I’m shooting for the moon right now but I don’t want to miss this moment.”
You waited for him to continue.
“But um, I would like to link up with you again. Minus the work and students.”
He immediately noticed the look of uncertainty forming over your features. He was definitely shooting for the moon, you thought.
“I don’t know, Erik.”
“Hear me out. It’ll be just two old friends catching up and plus… I want to formally apologize for some things.” He slipped a folded piece of paper into your hands, making sure to allow his fingers to linger over yours. He looked you dead in the eye. “You don’t have to figure it out now. Just promise me that you’ll at least think about it, okay?”
A nod was all that you could produce as a reply.
He leaves you with a wink.
When you joined your class on the bus, Liza made kissy faces at you. You blew her off. Unfolding the paper revealed Erik’s phone number. You would think about it. It was the least you could do.
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You were arriving at Kelly’s to drop your God daughter off to her. Bella was great on her first field trip and you wanted to tell Kelly all about her growing little genius.
You relaxed back onto her couch, cuddling up with Bella. Kelly joined you two, thrilled to hear about their adventure. You went on and on about the Children’s studio, the amazing food and science labs. Kelly loved the futuristic things you were telling her. She wanted so badly to take a personal trip to the Outreach Center just for herself. She was a science lover and that was right up her alley.
“Oh my goodness, Bella baby. It sounds like you had so much fun today.” Kelly doted on her young daughter.
“I did, mommy. I even got to meet God Mommy’s boyfriend.”
Your head snapped to look at Bella like she had six heads.
“Her what!”
“Yeah. Mr. Erik.”
“Bella!”
“Mr. Erik huh?” Kelly looks at you with raised eyebrows. “Tell me more Bella.”
“He was nice. He let me and Melody do his hair. He took us all around and showed us a volcano.”
“That’s nice baby, but tell me. How do you know Mr. Erik is God Mommy’s boyfriend?”
“You’re going to listen to a five year old, Kelly?” you question.
“Hush up! Let the child talk.”
“Well,” Bella throws her hands up. “They were looking at each other like this.” She dramatically blinks her eyes and smiles really big.
You cover your face with your hands. You couldn’t believe your god daughter was throwing you under the bus like this. It really be your own people.
“Bella, why don’t you go change out of your school clothes and let me God Mommy talk.”
Bella runs upstairs to her room. You peak between your fingers to see if Kelly was looking at you. Of course she was with a devious smirk, waiting for you to spill the tea.
“Spill it bitch and don’t leave nothing out.”
You sit still in the hopes that you’ll disappear and she won’t press the issue anymore. But no luck. You were still very visible and your best friend was extremely patient. You pull yourself up on the couch.
“Fuck it. There’s no way out of this.” you say to yourself. “Mr. Erik is Erik Stevens.”
Kelly’s eyes damn near pops out of her head. “Erik fucking Stevens? You are lying to me.”
#Erik Stevens x black!reader#erik stevens x reader#Erik killmonger x Reader#Erik Killmonger#black panther fic#shaebewriting
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Queen on Love
1) “All your letters in the sand cannot heal me like your hand” (’39, A Night At The Opera)
2) “You’ve got the power to love, to live, you can’t say it ain’t right” (Action This Day, Hot Space)
3) “Her ways are always with me” (All Dead, All Dead, News Of The World)
4) “Rule with your heart, live with your conscience” (All God’s People, Innuendo)
5) “You took me for everything that I had, and kicked me out on my own” (Another One Bites The Dust, The Game)
6) “You and me are destined” (Bijou, Innuendo)
7) “Just give me your body” (Body Language, Hot Space)
8) “So you think you can love me and leave me to die, oh baby, can’t do this to me baby” (Bohemian Rhapsody, A Night At The Opera)
9) “Your smile, speaks books to me” (Breakthru, The Miracle)
10) “Oh rock of ages, do not crumble, love is breathing still” (Brighton Rock, Sheer Heart Attack)
11) “This message is love” (Calling All Girls, Hot Space)
12) “This thing called love, I just can’t handle it” (Crazy Little Thing Called Love, The Game)
13) “It took me all night to get hold of the right introduction, blew me out of sight” (Dancer, Hot Space)
14) “From all this gloom life can start anew” (Dear Friends, Sheer Heart Attack)
15) “You make me smile when I’m just about to cry” (Delilah, Innuendo)
16) “Remember love’s stronger, remember love conquers all” (Don’t Lose Your Head, A Kind Of Magic)
17) “She don’t take no prisoners” (Dragon Attack, The Game)
18) “If I can’t have you when I’m waking, I’ll go to sleep and dream I’m with you” (Dreamers Ball, Jazz)
19) “Oh, won’t you take me home tonight” (Fat Bottomed Girls, Jazz)
20) “Oh now that I’m here, I’ve got to give you all that I ever had” (Feelings Feelings, News Of The World)
21) “Friends will be friends, when you’re in need of love they give you care and attention” (Friends Will Be Friends, A Kind Of Magic)
22) “Get your kicks, get your tricks with me, get up and dance honey” (Fun It, Jazz)
23) “Funny how love is the end of lies when the truth begins” (Funny How Love Is, Queen II)
24) “You say it’s enough, in fact it’s too much” (Get Down Make Love, News Of The World)
25) “Come marry me, for evermore we’ll be good company” (Good Company, A Night At The Opera)
26) “When I’m not with you, I think of you always” (Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy, A Day At The Races)
27) “When a red hot man meets a white hot lady” (Headlong, Innuendo)
28) “Love, love, love, this could be heaven for everyone” (Heaven For Everyone, Made In Heaven)
29) “Cause I’ve never seen anything to compare with your smile, I’ve never seen anything that came within miles” (Hijack My Heart, The Miracle sessions [non-album song])
30) “I’ll be your hitman, a fool for your love” (The Hitman, Innuendo)
31) “I can’t live without you” (I Can’t Live With You, Innuendo)
32) “It’s strange but it’s true, I can’t get over the way you love me like you do” (I Want To Break Free, The Works)
33) “I love every little thing about you” (I Was Born To Love You, Made In Heaven)
34) “Told my girl I’ll have to forget her, rather buy me a new carburetor” (I’m In Love With My Car, A Night At The Opera)
35) “I never thought that this could happen to me in only seven days, it would take a hundred or more for memories to fade” (In Only Seven Days, Jazz)
36) “I live my life for you, think all my thoughts with you and only you” (In The Lap Of The Gods, Sheer Heart Attack)
37) “I can see what you want me to be” (In The Lap Of The Gods...Revisited, Sheer Heart Attack)
38) “It’s criminal how I can see right through you” (The Invisible Man, The Miracle)
39) “I don’t want my freedom, there’s no reason for living with a broken heart” (It’s A Hard Life, The Works)
40) “Oh you know that I can love you, though I know I can’t be true” (It’s Late, News Of The World)
41) “Oh to fall in love was my very first mistake” (Jealousy, Jazz)
42) “Forget all the sadness cause love is all you need” (Keep Passing The Open Windows, The Works)
43) “Well I loved a million women in a belladonic haze” (Keep Yourself Alive, Queen)
44) “She’s all out to get you” (Killer Queen, Sheer Heart Attack)
45) “So then my love we may whisper once more, it’s you I adore” (Las Palabras De Amor, Hot Space)
46) “My love please stay, don’t stray my love” (Leaving Home Ain’t Easy, Jazz)
47) “I’ve come here to sell you my body, I can show you some good merchandise” (Let Me Entertain You, Jazz)
48) “All you do is live, all I do is die” (Let Me Live, Made In Heaven)
49) “Love is a roulette wheel” (Life Is Real, Hot Space)
50) “And cast me from your spell and let me go” (Lily Of The Valley, Sheer Heart Attack)
51) “Take heart my friend, we love you, though it seems like you’re alone” (Long Away, A Day At The Races)
52) “Misuse her and you’ll lose her as a friend” (The Loser In The End, Queen II)
53) “When I get older, I will be there at your side to remind you how I still love you” (Love Of My Life, A Night At The Opera)
54) “We never cry, we never retreat, we have no conception of love or defeat” (Machines, The Works)
55) “Living with painful memories, loving with all my heart” (Made In Heaven, Made In Heaven)
56) “Well I keep dreaming about my baby, but it ain’t gonna get me nowhere” (Man On The Prowl, The Works)
57) “Take a little love from me, I want to share it with you” (The Millionaire Waltz, A Day At The Races)
58) “That time will come, one day you’ll see, when we can all be friends” (The Miracle, The Miracle)
59) “Don’t you know honey, that love’s a game, it’s always hit or miss so take your aim” (Misfire, Sheer Heart Attack)
60) “I don’t want to make no waves, but you can give me all the love that I crave” (Mother Love, Made In Heaven)
61) “One day she tells me that she cares, another day she tells me she don’t love me” (My Baby Does Me, The Miracle)
62) “Get in that sinking feeling, that says my heart is on an all time low” (My Melancholy Blues, News Of The World)
63) “Come on baby let’s get together, I’ll love you baby, I’ll love you forever” (Need Your Loving Tonight, The Game)
64) “Why did you have to leave me, why did you deceive me” (Nevermore, Queen II)
65) “Whatever comes of you and me, I love to leave my memory with you” (Now I’m Here, Sheer Heart Attack)
66) “So give me your hands, give me your hearts” (One Vision, A Kind Of Magic)
67) “And no one ever told me that love would hurt so much” (One Year Of Love, A Kind Of Magic)
68) “But pain is all I got when all I needed was some love and affection” (Pain Is So Close To Pleasure, A Kind Of Magic)
69) “We got love and we got style” (Party, The Miracle)
70) “Love runs from my head down to my toes, my love is pumping through my veins, driving me insane” (Play The Game, The Game)
71) “I’m here for your love and I’ll make my stand” (Princes Of The Universe, A Kind Of Magic)
72) “A man who cried for a love gone stale, and ice cold hearts of charity bare” (The Prophet’s Song, A Night At The Opera)
73) “Radio, someone still loves you” (Radio Ga Ga, The Works)
74) “Let me take your hand, let me be your guide” (Ride The Wild Wind, Innuendo)
75) “C’mon honey, we’re gonna rock it tonight” (Rock It, The Game)
76) “My heart is always with you, no matter what you do” (Sail Away Sweet Sister, The Game)
77) “Each night I cry, I still believe the lie, I love you ‘til I die” (Save Me, The Game)
78) “They’ll see the heartache, they’ll see our love break” (Scandal, The Miracle)
79) “I love you madly, let my imagination run away with you gladly” (Seaside Rendezvous, A Night At The Opera)
80) “Well she’s gone, gone this morning, see what a fool I’ve been” (See What A Fool I’ve Been, Queen II sessions [non-album song])
81) “You are mine, I possess you, I belong to you forever” (Seven Seas Of Rhye, Queen II)
82) “I know the day I leave her, I’ll love her still” (She Makes Me, Sheer Heart Attack)
83) “Whatever happens, I’ll leave it all to chance, another heartache, another failed romance” (The Show Must Go On, Innuendo)
84) “I just gotta get out of this prison cell, one day I’m gonna be free” (Somebody To Love, A Day At The Races)
85) “What you’ll do for loving when it’s only just begun” (Son And Daughter, Queen)
86) “Oh brother, cause he’s somebody, somebody you can love” (Soul Brother, The Game sessions [non-album song])
87) “Got to get to know each other, but we got plenty of time” (Staying Power, Hot Space)
88) “Baby let it bleed, you’re in charge of my heart” (Stealin’, The Miracle sessions [non-album song])
89) “Believe and we’ve got everything we need” (Sweet Lady, A Night At The Opera)
90) “I love you for your mind but give me your body” (Tear It Up, The Works)
91) “I got a way with the girls on my block” (Tenement Funster, Sheer Heart Attack)
92) “Let us never lose the lessons we have learned” (Teo Torriatte, A Day At The Races)
93) “Oh my love, we’ve had our share of tears” (Thank God It’s Christmas, The Works sessions [non-album song])
94) “Those days are all gone now but one thing’s still true, when I look and I find I still love you” (These Are The Days Of Our Lives, Innuendo)
95) “Give me all your love tonight” (Tie Your Mother Down, A Day At The Races)
96) “Torn between the lover and the love you leave behind” (Too Much Love Will Kill You, Made In Heaven)
97) “And love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night” (Under Pressure, Hot Space)
98) “I loved the footsteps that she made” (White Queen, Queen II)
99) “Oh I believed you, went on my knees to you, how I trusted you, but you turned me down” (Who Needs You, News Of The World)
100) “What is this thing that builds our dreams, yet slips away from us” (Who Wants To Live Forever, A Kind Of Magic)
101) “No more questions now, let’s enjoy tonight” (You And I, A Day At The Races)
102) “Sooner or later you’ll be playing by her rules” (You Don’t Fool Me, Made In Heaven)
103) “Anywhere you go, I’ll be right behind you, right until the ends of the earth” (You Take My Breath Away, A Day At The Races)
104) “Whatever this world can give to me, it’s you, you’re all I see” (You’re My Best Friend, A Night At The Opera)
#queen#love#freddie mercury#brian may#roger taylor#john deacon#queen fandom#classic rock#classic rock fandom
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Dad Level: 3000
Summary: Peter comes down with the flu while visiting the Stark family (and Happy) at the lake house during his spring break from MIT. Thankfully, Tony has been spending the last five years honing his Dad Skills™. He's got this.
Word count: 5,227
Genre: sickfic, hurt/comfort, fluff, whump
A/N: This story is set in March 2025. Morgan is five and Peter is 18 (but also 23 on paper, which totally isn’t confusing at all).
Most of the events of Infinity War/Endgame happened, except Captain Marvel did the snap with her mighty-glowing-lady-warrior-powers and so no one freaking died.
Thanks to @sallyidss and @xxx-cat-xxx for beta reading <3
Link to read on AO3
Tony walks into the kitchen Monday morning to see his five-year-old daughter standing on her tiptoes on a chair, attempting to reach a small cardboard box inside the open freezer.
“What is this, a heist?” he asks, moving towards Morgan. He loops an arm around her middle and lifts her into his arms, planting a quick kiss on the top of her head and causing the little girl to giggle. “I thought Mommy said no juice pops before noon.”
“It’s for Peter,” she says simply.
“Oh it’s for Peter, is it?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow. “And why does Peter need a juice pop at ten in the morning?”
“Because he doesn’t feel good and juice pops always make me feel better,” Morgan concludes.
Tony’s brow furrows, but he just steps closer to the freezer to allow her to reach into the box properly. Now that he thinks about it, Peter had seemed pretty wiped last night, but he’d brushed it off as midterm exam stress. “I think he likes the orange ones best,” he advises.
Morgan fishes out an orange popsicle and Tony lowers her back down to the floor. She skips off down the hall, around the corner, and all the way to the cabin’s guest bedroom where the kid has been staying for the past two days since MIT spring break had officially begun. Tony follows along, his frown deepening when she continues straight through the room and pushes open the slightly ajar door to the ensuite bathroom.
It’s a sorry sight indeed. Peter is slumped on the floor, propped up between the bathtub and toilet, eyes half-closed and his cheek resting on the edge of the bowl. One arm is wrapped around his stomach and he’s pale and sweaty.
Morgan, bless her heart, runs right over to him. “I got you a juice pop!” she says brightly.
Peter blinks up at her and then swallows thickly before offering her the weakest of smiles. “Oh. Thanks,” he croaks. “Uh, do you think you can do me a big favor and eat it for me?”
Spinning around, Morgan gazes up at Tony, her eyes big. “Can I?”
Despite his growing concern, Tony huffs out a quick laugh. “Sure, why not,” he agrees. Pepper is the one always reminding him to choose his battles after all. “We’ll just keep this one to ourselves.”
As Morgan unwraps the plastic from her popsicle, Peter closes his eyes tightly and swallows again, face draining even further of color.
Tony pats Morgan on the shoulder. “Hey, why don’t you go eat that with Uncle Happy? I’m gonna sit here with Peter for a little while.”
“Okay,” she agrees, spinning around on her heel.
The moment she’s gone, Tony’s attention turns back to his other kid, who is looking even more miserable now. “Not feeling so hot, huh?”
Peter shakes his head slightly, letting his eyelids squeeze shut again. “‘M’sorry,” he murmurs.
If Peter didn’t look so pathetic right now, Tony would have rolled his eyes. Instead, he just lets out a small sigh. “Not your fault, kiddo,” he assures. “You throw up?”
“Not yet,” Peter mumbles, then swallows again. “Just... feel really sick.”
“C’mon, Happy’s tuna casserole wasn’t that bad…” he tries to joke, but it falls flat when Peter doesn’t so much as smirk.
Tony steps further into the bathroom and crouches down beside the kid, wincing as his knees click in protest. “Is it just your stomach?”
“I dunno.” Peter shrugs tiredly. “Kinda ache all over...”
Tony places his hand on the back of Peter’s neck and instantly can feel the heat radiating off the kid’s sweaty skin. Peter shivers at the touch. “Your hand is really cold,” he complains.
“Nah, you’re just warm,” Tony disagrees, moving his hand to press to Peter’s forehead instead. He sighs and pushes himself back up to standing. “Think you’ll be okay here for a few minutes?”
“Yeah, ‘course,” Peter croaks, looking a little guilty. “You really don’t have to stay. I know you’re busy…”
“Ah, see that’s the beauty of the retired stay-at-home-dad life,” Tony retorts, straightening back up to standing. “This is literally my job now.”
Before Peter has a chance to dwell too much on that response, Tony exits the room and heads to the master bathroom to locate the thermometer, and then to his lab to grab the bottle of spidey-kid-strength painkiller and fever reducer pills he and Bruce had concocted. Hopefully, they wouldn’t have to use them—he knows Peter hates the way the meds knock him on his ass and make his thoughts fuzzy and disconnected—but he figures it would be good to have them on hand just in case.
After making a quick detour through the kitchen for a can of ginger ale and some crackers, he heads back to the guest room, quickening his pace when he hears the telltale sound of retching and splashing issuing from the bathroom.
“Aw, Pete…” He winces in sympathy at the gagging boy. Peter’s nose is running and his eyes are red and wet with tears.
“Flu was going ‘round the dorm last week…” Peter moans as Tony sets the items down on the counter and wets a washcloth at the sink. “Thought I lucked out. Guess not.”
Tony places a hand on the kid’s sweaty t-shirt to start rubbing circles on his back. But he freezes instantly when he feels Peter tense up at the touch.
“You alright?” he checks, hand hovering just over the kid’s shoulder blades.
“Yeah,” Peter rasps. “Jus’... you never did that before.”
Tony recalls the handful of times he’d seen Peter sick during their time together before. Vomit has never fazed him—he’s had much too colorful of a past for that—but before he was definitely more inclined to offer a joke or a sarcastic remark than to settle for being a comforting presence. Funny what five years with a child who turns into a clingy octopus whenever she’s ill have done to him.
Then again, Morgan is in kindergarten while Peter is eighteen (or twenty-three, according to his birth certificate—it’s been over a year since Thanos and still no one seems entirely sure how to refer to the un-vanished). Maybe the Comforting Presence™ protocol is different for teenagers.
He is just about to offer to step out in order to give the kid some privacy when Peter interrupts his thoughts. “’S’nice,” he murmurs. “May does it too.”
Tony’s heart swells a bit. Then the moment is shattered when Peter suddenly sticks his head back over the toilet and starts gagging again.
“Alright, alright, get it all out…” With a small sigh, Tony lowers himself down to sit on the floor beside Peter and resumes rubbing his back.
When he’s finally finished, Tony flushes the toilet and Peter slumps back against the tub, his eyes closed. Instinctively, Tony lifts the washcloth up to wipe his messy face. Peter flinches at the contact and weakly reaches a hand up to take the cloth.
“Sorry, can do it myself,” he mumbles. “‘S’gross…”
Tony gives a quick snort. “Nah, you know what’s really gross? When I found Morgan’s secret booger stash on the side of her bedroom dresser.” He shudders dramatically.
Almost instantly, Tony regrets his comment when it triggers another round of heaving from Peter. “Sorry, kiddo,” he says as he rubs Peter’s back. “That was on me.”
This time when the spasms cease and Peter slumps back against the tub, he doesn’t bother protesting when Tony cleans his face and flushes the evidence away for him. Tony cracks open the can of ginger ale and passes it to the kid.
“Small sips, okay?” he instructs, reaching up to the counter for the thermometer.
“Can’t FRIDAY just tell you that?” Peter asks as Tony flips on the device.
“Morgan’s pediatrician convinced me this is more accurate,” Tony replies, inserting it in Peter’s ear. “Just be glad she’s graduated to the aural one now. You would not be happy about where this guy had me sticking it for the first year or so.”
“Huh?” Peter blinks at him. Then all of a sudden it seems to click and he groans, “Mr. Starrrk.”
The thermometer beeps. Still smirking, Tony lowers the device down to read the display. His grin falters for a second at the number.
“Wha’s it say?” Peter croaks.
“Nothing we can’t fix,” Tony replies briskly.
“But what’s it say?” Peter repeats. He weakly attempts to get the thermometer from Tony’s grip, but his mentor just holds the device out of his reach, lightly swatting the kid’s hand away.
Peter stares blankly at Tony for a second before glancing upwards. “What’s my temp, FRI?” he asks wearily.
“103.2,” FRIDAY reports.
Tony scoffs, finally flipping around the thermometer to show the ‘103.1’ displayed on the screen. “See? The doctor was right—manual is much better.”
Peter glances nervously at the orange pill bottle on the counter. “Does that mean I have to take the meds?” he whispers.
Tony hesitates for a second. While he knows 103 is not exactly life-threatening, it’s still a far cry from normal. “It would probably make you feel better if we could get it lower,” he reasons.
“It’s not worth it,��� Peter mumbles. “They make me feel weird.”
“I wish we had something better for you, bud,” Tony says with a sigh. He considers their options for a moment. “Alright, how about we wait a while and see if it goes down on its own?” he suggests. “But if you hit 104, I’m making an executive decision.”
“Deal,” Peter croaks.
They sit there for a few more minutes, Peter taking deep breaths and looking like he might fall asleep right there against the tub. Finally, Tony’s stiff back protests. “How’s your stomach now?” he asks.
Without opening his eyes, Peter lifts a hand and makes a so-so gesture.
“Well, you seem pretty empty,” Tony goes on. “What do you say we move this party elsewhere?”
“Mm...‘kay,” Peter breathes. Tony pushes himself up to standing and helps him up, supporting him under the elbows. Peter sways on his feet. “Whoa…” he murmurs.
Tony quickly adjusts his grip to get a better hold on the kid. “You dizzy?” he asks.
“Kinda,” Peter admits. ”Just need a sec.”
When it seems like he can safely move without passing out, Tony helps him out of the bathroom and sits him on the edge of the bed.
“Let’s change your shirt, okay?” Tony says.
“Huh?” Peter glances down, for the first time seeming to notice how soaked with sweat his shirt is. “Oh. Yeah.”
Tony locates (what he hopes is) a clean t-shirt from the kid’s messy duffel bag on the floor and watches him pull it on. The simple act seems to take far more effort than usual.
“You wanna go back to sleep?” Tony offers.
Peter’s only response is a non-committal grunt. “Don’t think I can,” he admits. “Woke up at like, six. Couldn’t really fall back asleep.”
“Should we try the couch then?”
At the kid’s nod, Tony guides him out to the living room, keeping a firm grip around Peter’s upper arm for support. Morgan, Happy, and a staggering array of the five-year-old’s favorite toys are currently occupying at least two-thirds of the room’s large sectional sofa while reruns of Peppa Pig play on the TV.
“Peter!” Morgan exclaims when he comes into view. She hops down off the sofa and runs over to them while Happy stands up and starts clearing off some of the cushions to make room for Peter. “Is your tummy feeling better?” she asks. “Can you play now?”
Despite how miserable Peter looks, he manages to give her a half-smile. “Um, maybe in a little while…”
Tony takes pity on the kid and intervenes. “Peter’s not feeling that great, so how about we just watch a movie?” he suggests as he situates the teenager on the chaise section of the couch.
Morgan’s eyes light up. “Can we see Frozen 3?”
“God no,” Happy grumbles, sinking down into a nearby armchair. “That damn song with all of Olaf’s little frolicking snowball children was stuck in my head for a week last time.”
“There’s a Frozen 3 now?” Peter questions, his brow wrinkling. “There wasn’t even a Frozen 2 when I got dusted.”
“Yeah, well, global crisis or not, Disney marches on,” Tony retorts. He tugs a fuzzy blanket out of the stack in the wicker bin by the fireplace and tosses it to Peter, who gives a little grunt of thanks. “For the record, Cars 4 was better than Cars 2, but it was no Cars 3.”
“See, I think they peaked at Cars 5: European Adventure,” Happy argues.
“Nah,” Tony scoffs. “There were at least three too many roundabout jokes.”
“But Mater and Fillmore driving the Autobahn was peak comedy.”
Peter is still struggling to unfold the blanket, so Tony takes it back and shakes it open for him. “What are you in the mood for, kid?” he asks as he tucks it around Peter.
“Whatever you want,” Peter mumbles, leaning back against the pillows. He looks utterly exhausted—Tony figures he’ll be lucky to make it fifteen minutes into the movie before falling asleep. Best to go with something he’s already seen then.
“Lilo & Stitch?” he suggests.
The kids agree, Morgan with much more enthusiasm than Peter. Happy even gives his begrudging blessing on the basis that at least it’s ‘not another damn musical’.
(As if FRIDAY didn’t already have half a dozen audio recordings of him singing “Let It Go” in the shower).
Tony instructs FRIDAY to start the movie before heading back to Peter’s bathroom to gather all the supplies he left, and also snags the room’s small trash can because if there’s one thing he’s learned from Morgan, it’s that you can never be too careful.
Peter’s breathing has already evened out as the opening credits fade from the screen and Tony sinks down into the sofa beside him, and by the time Lilo explains why she can’t give Pudge a tuna fish sandwich, Peter is snoring quietly.
X
To Tony’s relief, Peter sleeps straight through the remainder of the movie, with Happy joining him somewhere around the halfway point. The moment the film ends, Morgan hops off the sofa. “I’m hungry,” she announces. “Can we have mac and cheese?”
Peter gives a low moan and stirs slightly in his sleep. Tony locks eyes with Morgan and presses a finger to his lips, tilting his head sideways in the boy’s direction.
Her eyes go wide with understanding and she tries again in a stage whisper (which honestly isn’t any better than her normal volume). “Can we have mac and cheese?”
Sighing, Tony pushes himself up to standing and prods her along to the kitchen. “Fine. But only if you eat a vegetable with it.”
Morgan grins. “Okay! I want corn.”
“Corn isn’t a real vegetable,” Tony grumbles. He steers them both into the room and moves towards the cabinet where they keep the pasta. “Pick something green.”
Her face falls for a moment. Then, just as quickly as they darkened, her eyes light up again. “Green jello!”
Tony rolls his eyes. He takes out a box of mac and cheese and then opens the fridge to take stock of what’s on hand. “You’re getting cucumber,” he says after a moment.
“I don’t like cucumber,” she pouts, crossing her arms over her chest.
Tony frowns at her. “But you said it was your favorite last week.”
“I don’t like it anymore,” she says simply. “It’s gross. Can we have pudding?”
“That’s the opposite of a vegetable,” Tony argues. “So if you’re eating that, now you have to have two vegetables.”
“Um… Potato chips?” she asks hopefully.
Tony runs a hand over his face in exasperation. “No, that’s not a—”
“Hey Tony?” Happy’s voice calls from the living room. There’s an edge of worry to it. “Can you come here?”
“Yeah, coming,” Tony replies, a feeling of dread already sinking in. He heads back to the living room, Morgan tailing along behind.
The sight awaiting him causes Tony’s heart to clench. Happy is standing over Peter, urgently shaking his shoulder while the kid moans incoherently and tosses in his sleep, clearly in the midst of a nightmare.
“He’s not waking up,” Happy says worriedly.
“I got it,” Tony says, quickly closing the distance between himself and the sofa. “Hey, Pete, naptime is over,” he commands as he taps Peter’s unusually warm cheek. “C’mon, rise and shine. I’d offer to make you some breakfast, but it looks like you’re already cookin’…”
It takes a moment, but finally Peter wakes. His eyes snap open and he sits up gasping.
“There we go,” Tony soothes, rubbing a hand down Peter’s arm. “You’re alright.”
Peter blinks at him. “...Mr. Stark?” Tears are already welling up in the kid’s eyes and falling before he can stop them. His breath hitches in his throat. “Oh god…” he sobs. “I thought… I-I was trapped and...”
“It’s okay.” He sits down beside Peter on the sofa and wraps an arm around him, pulling him into his side. Even six years out from the initial snap, Tony still has nightmares—he can only imagine what Peter must be going through. “You’re okay, you’re safe, just a dream,” he assures.
“Daddy?” Morgan asks nervously. Tony glances back and sees her standing just inside the room’s threshold, lip trembling.
“Hey, munchkin,” Tony says, giving her a forced smile. “Peter’s fine. You wanna go teach Uncle Happy how to make the mac and cheese? Don’t let him add tuna.”
Eyes still locked on Peter, Morgan nods slowly.
Happy moves over to take her hand. “C’mon, kiddo,” he says as he ushers her back to the kitchen. “And don’t listen to your daddy, tuna is a great source of protein…”
The moment they leave, Tony focuses his attention back on Peter, who is just now starting to get his breathing back under control.
“‘M’sorry…” Peter chokes out. “I just thought I was trapped there, and, and…”
“It’s okay, Pete,” Tony says gently. “You’re here with me, not on Titan, not in the soul stone. You’re safe.”
“Titan?” Peter asks, his brow wrinkling. “Wha’ about Titan?”
Tony frowns. “Your nightmare? Trapped on Titan, right?”
Peter’s tears have stopped now and he’s staring at Tony with glassy eyes. “Wasn’t on Titan,” he mutters. “Nick Fury found out I was a spider and sucked me up in a giant vacuum cleaner”—his breath hitches again—“an’ I was swirlin’ around and I couldn’t get out, and someone was chasing me with a giant spray can, and there was this cat but like, a monster cat, and—”
Okay, that wasn’t what Tony expected. He places a hand on Peter’s forehead and feels the heat pouring off of him. Taking the thermometer from the coffee table, he turns it on and sticks it in Peter’s ear.
When it beeps this time, the display reads 104.2.
Tony lets out a low whistle, already starting to untangle the blanket from around Peter. “Alright... guess we’re doing the meds now.”
Peter groans, rubbing a hand at his eyes. “Mr. Stark…”
“Nope, non-negotiable,” Tony replies. He grabs the pill bottle from the coffee table along with the package of crackers. “And you have to eat something so they stay down.”
Despite his grumbling, Peter takes the crackers Tony passes him and nibbles at them between sips of ginger ale. When he’s managed to get two down, Tony gives him the pill.
“I know you’re not a fan, but it’ll help with the pain too,” Tony promises.
“Hm, that’s good…” Peter croaks. “Have a headache. And my throat hurts.”
Tony hums in sympathy. “I can imagine.”
Stepping out, he wets a washcloth with cool water in the bathroom and returns to place it over Peter’s forehead and eyes.
Immediately, Peter lets out a sigh. “That’s really nice,” he whispers.
They rest like that for a few minutes until a small voice interrupts them. “Um, Peter?”
Peter lowers the cloth and both of them glance back to see Morgan padding into the room, a stuffed corgi dog plushie tucked under one arm, an orange popsicle clutched in the other hand. Happy is standing just inside the threshold, leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed casually.
“Hey.” Peter manages a half-smile.
“I got you another juice pop,” she says, handing it over. “And this is Korg, he’ll make you feel better,” she adds as she nestles the toy into the crook of Peter’s elbow.
“Korg?” Peter questions as his fingers fumble to unwrap the popsicle.
“Thor named him,” Tony replies. “Apparently he’s got a buddy with the same name—thought it would be hilarious when he learned what this breed was called.”
“Uncle Happy said you had a scary dream,” Morgan goes on, plopping down on the couch next to the boy.
Peter’s already fever-flushed face goes a little redder. “Oh, yeah. I guess it was kinda silly.”
“You can tell Korg about it,” she says, stroking the plush dog’s head. “He can’t laugh because he’s not real.”
Seeming caught off guard by that, Peter barks out a sharp laugh which quickly morphs into coughs, but Tony is glad because it’s the first real humor he’s seen from the kid all day.
X
While Happy and Morgan eat their mac and cheese—with tuna for Happy, peas for Morgan—Tony manages to cajole Peter into eating half a can of chicken noodle before the kid nods off with the spoon halfway to his mouth.
“Sorry...” Peter murmurs as Tony dabs the spilled broth off his shirt with a wad of paper towels. “Tired.”
Tony sighs. “Yeah, that would be the meds kicking in,” he says. He checks Peter’s temperature again and sees it’s down to 102.7 now. “At least they’re working.”
“Hmm…” Peter hums sleepily.
“Let’s go ahead and move you to your real bed,” Tony decides. “It’ll be more comfortable to stretch out.”
“Hmm…” he says again.
Tony hoists the wobbly boy to his feet, supporting him under his arm. “You should probably have a shower when you wake up, but I’m thinking it’s a safety concern at the moment.”
“Hmm…”
“Okay, not in the chattiest mood, I get it…”
Tony shuffles him back to the guest room and changes his shirt again. Then he helps Peter crawl into bed and pulls the covers up around him.
“Alright underoos, take a nap,” he says softly. “I’ll keep the little troublemaker from bothering you.”
“Hmm... and Morgan too?” Peter murmurs.
“Smartass,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “Keep an eye on him, FRI,” he commands the AI. “Sleep well, kid.”
X
After fixing himself his own lunch, Tony spends the next two hours alternating between entertaining a rambunctious five-year-old and trying to catch up on his backlog of SI paperwork for Pepper. He’s sitting at the kitchen table with Morgan, watching her color a page out of her Frozen 3 coloring book, as he skims through yet another proposal on his tablet. That’s when FRIDAY’s voice comes over the speakers.
“Boss, Peter’s temperature has just reached 103 degrees. He is awake and appears to be in distress,” FRIDAY reports.
“Shit,” Tony mutters, getting to his feet.
“You said only Mommy can say that word,” Morgan complains as she colors Elsa’s hair bright purple.
“Yeah, yeah, I was just borrowing it from her,” he mutters. “I’m gonna go check on Peter, okay?”
She nods, still coloring intently. “‘Kay.”
Tony hurries out of the kitchen and down the hall towards the guest bedroom, fully prepared to talk Peter down from another nightmare. What he’s not prepared for is the sight that awaits him.
Peter is sitting up in bed, hunched over himself and trembling. Liquidy vomit is running all down his shirt and soaking into the comforter.
“Aw, bud…” Tony sighs, quickly moving over to the bed. “You really go all out, don’t you?”
Peter doesn’t even look up. His breaths are coming out far too quick, and he’s mumbling something under his breath.
Tony places a hand on his shoulder, causing Peter to jerk his head up, revealing the tear tracks trailing down his cheeks.
“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Tony asks in alarm.
“S-Sorry…” Peter chokes out. “I just, for a minute, I didn’t know where I was. Called for May and she didn’ answer, so thought I was at the d-dorm, but this isn’t a bunk bed, an’ then I thought I was in the stone but it’s not orange, and then I felt sick but I couldn't get up fast enough, and I just—”
(Okay so the PTSD was just a bit delayed.)
“You’re okay, you’re fine,” Tony assures, rubbing a hand up and down over the kid’s back. “You’re here at the lake house and you’re safe.”
“’M’sorry…” Peter sniffs, hanging his head. “This is dumb, maybe I should just have May come pick me up”—his nose is dripping and he sniffs again—“you shouldn’t have to take care of me when I’m being all gross”—sniff—“a-and...”
Absently, Tony pulls several tissues from the box on the nightstand and holds them to Peter’s messy face. “Blow.”
Peter goes silent and Tony freezes as the realization of what he’s just done sinks in.
Tissues still pressed to his nose, Peter raises an eyebrow to his mentor. “D-Did… Did you just tell me to blow my nose?”
Tony recovers quickly. “C’mon, it’s swallowing all that crap that’s making you feel sick in the first place,” he points out. “Now blow.”
So Peter does.
Tony lowers the used tissue back down and tosses it into the trash can. “Better?”
Looking mildly traumatized, Peter deadpans, “Iron Man just wiped my nose.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’ll live,” Tony dismisses him with a hand wave. Then in a more gentle tone, he asks, “Now do you really want to go home? Because I get it if you do, but I promise, I really don’t mind taking care of you. And with your healing, you’ll probably be feeling better in another day or so. There’ll still be plenty of your break left.”
Peter hesitates. “I dunno. I mean…” He shrugs. “I guess, I don’t really want to leave, but…” he trails off, sounding conflicted.
After a moment, Tony intervenes. “Okay, here’s an idea,” he suggests, as casually as he can manage. “You’re looking a little more steady now, so how about I run a load of laundry and you go take a shower? You can call May after and decide what you want to do. Then we’ll go from there.”
A look of relief instantly washes over Peter at the suggestion. “Yeah, that sounds good,” he whispers. “Thanks.”
X
During the next half hour, Tony checks on Morgan—who is contentedly playing with toys on her bedroom floor—before stripping Peter’s bed and running a load of laundry. When he reenters the guestroom, he finds Peter sitting on the bare mattress in fresh pajamas and with wet hair, looking much more relaxed.
“How’s May?” Tony asks.
Peter shrugs. “Her shift just ended. She said she’s sorry I’m sick.” He pauses for a beat. “Also said she’s not surprised, given all the all-nighters I pulled during the last two weeks and the fact I’ve been mostly living off cereal, ramen noodles, and Fig Newtons this semester.”
Tony snorts out a laugh. “Yeah, that’ll do it.” According to FRIDAY, the lukewarm water of the shower has had the added benefit of bringing Peter’s temperature down to just over 102 and he’s looking significantly better for it. “Still wanna bail on us?”
Peter shakes his head, a bit sheepish. “Not if you don’t mind me staying.”
“Nah, ‘course not,” Tony assures. “Now you wanna go see if Morgan’s up for another movie yet?”
Peter agrees and the two of them shuffle upstairs. As they approach the landing, they can hear muffled voices issuing from the little girl’s bedroom.
“Do you want some more?” Morgan’s voice floats down the hall.
“Yeah, fine. Two sugar, no cream…” a gruff voice replies. “And one of those cookies.”
“No, no you have to call it a biscuit,” she insists, her tone just bordering on a whine. “Mommy says that’s more fancy.”
“It’s a double-stuffed Oreo,” Happy grouses. “It’s a goddamn cookie.”
Peter shoots his mentor a perplexed look. Tony just gives a shrug in return as he pushes Morgan’s door open and then they both immediately pause.
Happy glances up at them from where he’s seated cross-legged on the floor beside the kiddie table. One of Pepper’s silk scarves is wrapped around his shoulders making some sort of shawl, and he’s wearing Morgan’s flowery sun hat with several of her homemade plastic beaded necklaces hanging around his neck. Meanwhile, Morgan sits in the chair to his right, pouring pretend tea from her little plastic teapot into a tiny cup.
Peter leans closer into his mentor’s side. “I think my fever went up,” he whispers. “I’m hallucinating.”
Happy shrugs. “What can I say? She makes a mean chamomile.” Pinching the minuscule handle of his teacup between his thumb and forefinger, pinky raised, he lifts it to his lips and mimes taking a sip.
“Do you guys wanna join us?” Morgan asks hopefully. She’s dressed in her yellow Princess Belle dress and her hair is sporting a loose braid that definitely wasn’t there last time Tony saw her.
Peter hesitates a second, looking into the little girl’s wide eyes. Then he lets out a small sigh. “Well, May did say I should be drinking more fluids…” he mutters as he moves towards the kiddie table, Tony following along behind.
X
When Pepper arrives home from work just past seven that evening, she finds Peter, Tony, and Happy passed out on the sofa and snoring softly amid an array of Morgan’s plush toys. The little girl sits beside them with a bowl of popcorn nestled in her lap, intently watching Frozen 3 on the room’s massive TV.
“Mommy!” Morgan greets, hopping off the sofa and running over to her.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Pepper says as she scoops the five-year-old up in her arms. She gazes around the room, taking in the interesting fashion choices on display. It seems half of her accessory drawer has been commandeered to adorn the three men on the sofa.
Morgan’s full plastic tea service—now complete with Gatorade in the teacups and Saltine crackers on the plastic saucers—has been moved to the living room coffee table. Besides the dishes, the table also contains the thermometer, an empty soup bowl, and a box of tissues, and on the floor in front of the couch is a lined trash can. “What happened here?” she asks.
“Peter didn’t feel good, but Daddy took his temperature and gave him medicine and I got him juice pops,” Morgan reports. “And then we had tea and I gave Uncle Happy and Daddy makeovers.”
Pepper peers closer, noticing the two older men’s nails are painted with sparkly lilac-colored polish and their cheeks are looking a bit more glittery than normal.
“Good girl,” Pepper praises, giving her a quick kiss on her forehead. “Looks like you all took good care of each other.”
X
Fic Masterlist
For more fluffy illness, try:
Give the Kid an Oscar
Bedridden Spider
Sick as a Bug
#sick peter parker#peter parker whump#irondad fic#spiderman fic#flu#fluffy illness#sickfic#morgan stark#my fic
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Expectations (snk 125)
Alright. Buckle up. I had some chapter 125/chapter 85 Armin feels.
I am up entirely past my bedtime but things needed to be said. So here’s my first ever bit of chapter discussion.
A lot of people talk about Eren’s expectations. They talk about the Warriors’ expectations, both of themselves and those that their families had for them. Armin is often left out of this conversation, and out of many conversations. He’s not quite the one you think of when you think about a character that has duties to fulfill, expectations to meet. He’s not the catchiest character, not the strongest. He—according to, I’m sure, more people than I have talked to about this—has been fairly static as of late, even with a shifter power. (I have a feeling this might be by design, but we’ve yet to see an explanation, so I’m not sure.)
Regardless of how you feel about him, Armin has had expectations placed upon him since Serum Bowl. Of course, I think we’ve all tried to write that off. Levi said it himself: Armin cannot—will not—replace Erwin. Period. That should have been the end of it.
Only not exactly. Armin has always been shaken by this news since he woke up. It’s clear that even though Levi told him he couldn’t replace Erwin, the words weren’t sinking in. His face is pure terror. All Armin could think about was that he ate Bertolt, that he was chosen over Erwin, and that he did not understand that decision.
Cue chapter 125. He still doesn’t.
I just skimmed through chapter 85 again after rereading 125, and Hange said some things to Armin that really stuck out to me in a way they hadn’t before. “There’s nothing more to say,” they tell Armin, “except that on your shoulders now rest the weight of Erwin Smith’s life and the power of the titans.”
Yikes.
I can’t really blame Hange for saying that; they’re not exactly wrong. But when you look at it as objectively as you can, if you forget the fact that everyone is in shock and just watched everyone else die, those are some strong words to tell a fifteen year old who, up until this point, had very few expectations placed upon him. Also, he just almost died and found out he ate someone who thought he was his friend and learned he’s a titan shifter. Maybe let’s have that conversation at a later time?
Armin is smart. Brilliant, even. He has gotten our characters out of the most complicated situations, has made revelations well before anyone even catches on to what’s happening. He’s no Erwin Smith. But ever since that day in chapter 85, he’s been trying to be.
Now, amidst all of their troubles—which Armin details succinctly in chapter 125, and which I think mirror most of the fandom at this point (Annie might be back! Hange and Levi might be dead!!)—he’s reminded yet again of the role that he’s never going to fulfill. And he’s cracking under the pressure Can anyone really blame him? Everyone’s been asking him for advice since Shiganshina. And then Mikasa goes and asks about Eren. I think it’s easy to forget that he’s still a teenager.
In Chapter 104 Hange asks Armin if he got “possessed by Erwin’s ghost or something?” Again, I don’t think Hange means to put these expectations on Armin, but he’s been living with the weight of Erwin’s life (and death) for four years at that point. And it’s still coming back to haunt him. He’s the one that came up with the “reckless” plan to get Eren out of Marley, which is what Hange is referring to. Part of me wonders if Armin would have decided on that plan on his own, and on his own I mean, without Erwin’s entire legacy hanging over his head. I’m thinking no.
At the end of Armin’s conversation with Mikasa in chapter 125, it’s clear he’s placing the blame on himself. Even though he had no control over the decision to be brought back over Erwin, he can still blame himself for not living up to the role he’d been given, even though that’s not why Levi chose him. Armin typically has his shit together. At least in his mind it’s usually all coming together even if it looks like he’s not quote holding it together himself. But he obviously feels like he should have some semblance of control over the situation, and that it shouldn’t be “disorganized and scattered.”
I think Armin felt like giving himself this role and this expectation to live up to in exchange for getting another chance at life. Even though everyone (mostly Levi, if we’re being honest) told him that he’d never replace Erwin, Armin kind of decided, perhaps subconsciously, that that’s what needed to be done. He knows he’s smart, he knows he’s capable of becoming a leader, but never the brilliant leader Erwin was, as much as he might have tried. And I think he’s finally realizing that now and is able to finally admit—again and at the worst possible time—that it’s an unattainable goal.
I hate that Armin feels this way, especially after Levi tried to talk him town in Shiganshina, tried to remind him that he chose Erwin’s death, not Armin’s life. It seemed quite harsh at the time, but looking back on it now, if Armin would have been capable of processing everything that was being thrown at him, it’s what he needed to hear.
I think Armin’s going to need something big to get his feet back under him after being so shaken this chapter. Judging by the way they left off, Mikasa is likely not going to be that source of stability she usually is for him. I’d love for him to have a big moment after this breakdown, to maybe finally realize that while he is not—will never be—Erwin, he’s still sharp as hell and has his own skills to give to humanity, regardless of expectations, his own or any one else’s.
#snk 125#snk spoilers#armin arlert#erwin smith#levi ackerman#snk 85#snk meta#i mean if that's even what this is#more like exhausted rambling but here we are#my writing
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Missing Pieces Part 3
Missing Pieces Part 3
Pairing: Logan x Vanessa Kingsley
Book(s): Ride or Die: A Bad Boy Romance
Word Count: 2,000+
Rating: PG
Summary: Logan and Vanessa travel to the east coast.
Author’s Note: The third part to Missing Pieces is here. If some names are unfamiliar, the characters are from Hollywood U and/or High School Story. Pixelberry Studios own the characters.
Tagging: @brightpinkpeppercorn @desiree-0816 @leelee10898 @lilyofchoices @emceesynonymroll @client-327
Vanessa stared out the window trying to process everything that had happened the past few days. First, she reunited with her old friend Chelsea McIntyre, second, they met two attractive strangers for a night out, third it turns both of them came with baggage, and fourth she was now traveling across the country with one of them so he can seek the proper care he needs. Anyone else would have run for the hills, however, she stayed by his side, and she could not fathom what motivated her to do so. Vanessa glanced at her phone and turned to Logan who was asleep and listening to music. Chelsea’s words kept coming back to her and she had to admit there was a small part of her that knew she was right; however, Chelsea didn’t have a stellar history with men either. Vanessa’s eyes traveled to Logan’s phone which was sitting in front of him. The screen lit up with an incoming message.
“If I could just…” she whispered to herself and slowly reached over to tap the screen.
“How are you doing today?”
Vanessa felt every hair on her body stand up and reeled her hand back. She turned to the train conductor smiling innocently. Logan opened his eyes and also turned to him.
“We’re fine, smooth ride so far” Vanessa answered cheerfully.
“Wonderful, we’ll be arriving in Birchport, Massachusetts soon” the conductor gave each of them a smile and proceeded to check in with the other passengers.
“Thanks again for doing this Vanessa, I don’t think I could have done this alone”.
Vanessa placed her hand on his thigh and smiled. “Don’t mention it”.
“You said your grandparents live in Birchport?”
“They do…but they’re in Turtle Bay for the summer” Vanessa said. “I wish they didn’t go…we could have stayed with them”.
“Do you think they would be okay with you visiting unannounced and bringing a guy over?”
Vanessa laughed and shook her head, she knew if that happened, they would immediately assume the worse and call her parents. “Well, when you put it that way probably not”.
“I read that there is a bed and breakfast in town that is pretty good, hopefully, we can stay there”.
“We still have to get to Boston too and get you checked into the rehab center” Vanessa said and began stretching her arms. “I can’t believe BeeTrak didn’t have any direct routes from California to Massachusetts”.
“Yea…” Logan’s voice trailed off for a minute, remembering the lie he told Vanessa. She was under the impression that his family knew he was coming and we’re going to get him checked in to this rehab center in Boston. “I was thinking we could catch a bus from Birchport to Boston…or we could try to get a rental car?”
Vanessa thought for a moment and then remembered the car her grandparents had at their house. “Maybe we can drive…we could borrow my grandfather’s car”.
“Hold on…I thought you said they were out of town?”
“I have a key” Vanessa replied. “We’ll stay the night and rest, head to their place in the morning, take the car, and we’re off to Boston”.
Logan smiled, that sound exactly like something that Ellie would have done. His thoughts drifted to the day they came up with the plan to take down the Brotherhood. Ellie’s quick thinking saved the Mercy Park Crew. Logan sighed, wondering where Ellie was now and if she thought about him.
“Hey space cadet, are you there?”
Logan turned back to Vanessa and playfully bumped her shoulder. “Definitely” he leaned in planting a kiss to her cheek.
Once the train reached the station in Birchport, Logan and Vanessa arranged for a taxi to drop them off at the bed and breakfast. After a while, they arrived at a quaint, picturesque canary home with a wrap-around porch with various shrubs and flowers planted at the bottom. Once the taxi parked, Logan and Vanessa paid the driver and got their bags out of the trunk.
“Nice place” Logan said.
“I’ve actually been here before…looks different” Vanessa scoped the property. She remembered her parents brought her here years ago when she graduated high school. They rented out most of the rooms and had a family gathering. Now, it was almost unrecognizable with the new exterior.
“Hopefully they have some space” Logan said as he reached the stairs and opened the door. Vanessa entered first with Logan following close behind. Once inside, they saw a man seated at a desk reading.
“Hello, how can I help you?” the man stood up and set his book down.
“We were hoping you had some rooms available? Just for one night” Logan said.
“Let me check” the man began typing away at the computer. “Room 104 upstairs is available”.
“Does it have separate bedrooms?”
“It does not…”
Logan exchanged a look with Vanessa who shrugged.
“I guess we can take it” Vanessa said.
Logan reached into his back pocket for his wallet and started to pull out some bills. Vanessa got her purse out and placed a hand over his. “I’ll cover it, you got us the train tickets”.
Once they paid, the man handed them their keys. “Alright, I hope you enjoy your stay, my name is Cesar De La Cruz. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask me or my wife, Althea…”. Shortly a woman joined them from the kitchen wearing an apron and smiled politely at Logan and Vanessa.
“I heard my name? Oh! Guests! Hi, welcome to Birchport” Althea shook hands with them and smiled warmly.
“Thank you, we’re going to get these upstairs” Logan grabbed the bags and headed up the stairs. With Vanessa following close behind.
That night Logan sat in the small living room going over what he had and what his foster parents told him about his family. At least he had two addresses—the hospital and home. She could be at either and possibly with more of his relatives. While he browsed a few more articles he found online about his mother, he noticed Vanessa through the bedroom door which was slightly ajar. Logan looked up, a towel was wrapped around her waist, tight enough to highlight each curve of her frame. Logan swallowed as his eyes drifted lower, the door closed in his face. Logan blinked and looked back at his laptop running his hands through his hair as the blow dryer blared from the other side of the door. After a few moments, Vanessa walked out of the bedroom wearing a short silk white robe, fur slides, and her hair tied into a bun. Logan quietly cleared his throat, trying not to look.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you” Vanessa said.
“About what?” Logan closed the lid to his laptop, giving Vanessa his undivided attention.
“I’ve been thinking…and I want you to be completely, utterly, honest with me”.
Logan felt his heart beating double time. She was on his case—again.
“Marco, Chelsea had told me some things about Javier…he had a picture of some cars and she found a gun..”.
“Cars? Gun?”
“A Devore GT and a Yottsume Halberdier”.
Logan stared at Vanessa blankly, he could feel each gear in his brain turning, trying to make sense of what she was saying. Why would he have pictures of his car? And not just his car—Mona’s car as well. How well did he know Javier? They worked together and hung out occasionally. Logan tried to remember the times they hung out—nothing suspicious came to mind. However, it started to sink in that Logan didn’t really know him that well. “What else did Chelsea say?” Logan asked calmly.
Vanessa shook her and pulled her legs towards her and looked down at the floor. “Nothing, but can you just tell me what is really going on? I cannot deal with being…”.
“Being what?”
Vanessa blinked back her tears and shook her head. “Being used”.
Logan stared at her, noticing the amount hurt and pain washing over her. “Maybe I’m not the one who needs to talk right now”.
Vanessa looked up at him, a tear sliding down her cheek. Logan moved closer to her and wiped the tear away with his thumb.
“Vanessa, talk to me”.
Vanessa shook her head, hesitating but felt Logan’s touch as he gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “It started last summer…well a little before that”.
“What happened?”
“James Ashton happened” Vanessa answered. “I had a crush on him for years, we grew up together in Northbridge, our families did business together, ran in the same circles…”.
“What went wrong?”
“James told me he didn’t feel the same way and then fast forward to last summer we ended up sleeping together”.
“Did you date?”
“No…little did I know he was cheating on his girlfriend at the time with me”.
“Vanessa…” Logan frowned and gently rubbed her shoulder.
“I also met Shae and Nikki that same summer, I thought they were my friends but all they did was stab me in the back. They got me drunk and posted pictures and a story on FaceSpace of me stripping in a bar and streaking on the beach” Vanessa turned away from Logan and wiped her eyes.
“What happened?”
“I mean they took it down, but the damage was already done, I lost my internship with the company my Dad had partnered with and soon after they parted ways and it's just been…a mess ever since”.
“Why did they do it?”
“Their parents worked for my father a while back and he…he had made some bad business dealings and caused their parents to lose their jobs…I guess they targeted me to get back at him”.
Logan rubbed her shoulder as Vanessa began to cry softly. A small part of him felt for her, especially with the way he was stringing her along. “Vanessa, look at me,” Logan said and gently placed his palm on her cheek.
Vanessa turned to look at him, leaning into his warm touch, his deep brown eyes staring back at her.
“You don’t worry about me hurting you”.
A small smile appeared on Vanessa’s face. Logan wiped her tears away and pushed a strand of her hair out of her face. “I don’t want to see you cry either”.
“Thank you” Vanessa said. She placed her hand atop of his, her heart racing.
Logan smiled and pulled her closer to him and hugged her tightly. As they separated, Vanessa rested her head on his shoulder and Logan put his arm around her. After a while, they drifted off to sleep to the sound of each other’s heartbeat.
Logan woke up early the next morning to the distant sound of his phone vibrating. Vanessa was still snuggled up against him and the sun was rising in Birchport. Logan quietly separated himself from her and tip-toed over to his phone. “Hello?”
“Hey! How’s it going?”
“Tell him I said hi”
Logan lowered the phone staring at the number, not recognizing it. “Who is this?”
Laughter arose on the other end of the line. “Logan, it’s me, Ximena, and Toby is here too”.
Logan felt his heart stop and relief washed over him. “Sorry, I didn’t…it’s been a while”.
“Damn right! Put him on speaker!” Toby called from the background.
Logan lowered the volume and crept into the bedroom and sat on the bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw Ximena and Toby, it had been months.
“How did you guys track me down?”
“Well, that is part of the reason we are calling…she’s here”.
Logan felt his heart stop and every hair on his body standing. “Wait…are you…”.
There was silence on the other end of the line and then a soft, innocent voice spoke. “Hey, Logan”.
Logan nearly dropped the phone and ran his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t believe it, after all this time…it was her. He felt his eyes watering and his heart racing, once he calmed down, he spoke, “Hey Troublemaker”.
#rodaw#ride or die#choices rod#choices fanfic#choices stories you play#rodaw reblog mar#choices fanfiction#ride or die: a bad boy romance
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Random Chaos! Deeper into my Inferno.
I have always had struggles in my life. I say that and truth be told I had a great life till I moved here to San Antonio. I am the one that made my life hard for myself. I chose to act stupid and do all the things I did because I was mad for having to leave the beach. I figured that If I was unhappy I would make everyone else unhappy. Well it didn’t work that way, I made me hate the world and everyone in it. My family just moved on and I was there wanting my past back. For me I thought if I moved on I would lose my innocence, and truth is fighting it and being stubborn I did lose my innocence. I ended up chasing the struggle and not breaking free from it. I gave up I let the devil sink his talons in me and it felt good. The warmth he gave me just so I wouldn’t stray from him. I fun, excitement, drugs, money, anything I wanted I got. He showed me I could have it all (FOR A PRICE). I sold my soul I gave him my innocence. But I was ok with that I didn’t need it anymore, or so I thought. I spent so long in his grasp that I didn’t know who I was anymore. I was killing myself and didn’t even know it. Drinking anything I was handed, Smoking who knows what, Shooting up heroin and anything else that I could get in the needle. Putting it all up my nose. I did it all. Anything and everything trying to chase that first high. I never found It though. Out of everything he gave me and showed me, he would never give me that high again. I had hurt so many people mostly my family. I had a different family by then. Going far out there I was doing things and seeing things that I never thought were imaginable or only seen on movies. That was me now when I walked through that door they didn’t know if I was there to get high or do what I had to do to get my money they owed me. By then anywhere I went I had two in the car and one on me. No one was going to fuck with me. and if they tried it was them going to the hospital or morgue not me. All I could hear is the 10 year old me screaming at me to come back to her but I didn’t know how. I was so far gone. Every time I would try and get out it followed so I did what I did to get away. I was robbing people breaking down doors waking mother fuckers up to a gun to their face. Telling them to put their shit in my truck because I was too lazy to do it myself as I would torment them the whole way. I didn’t care anymore. I wanted out and it was going to be through someone killing me or going to prison. At that time I thought that someone killing me was better that what I was in right then. Well as you can figure I didn’t get killed. but I did kill that person I was I woke up one morning to a foot on my face and guns to my head. It was the cops. It was finally over. I was free from him at last. I spent many a nights in county jail praying to God to let me make it through this. After two years of trial looking at 75 years of prison time for aggravated burglary of habitation on the third year in county I was sentenced. 13 felonies for Agg. Burglary. 8 years each account. But here is were God answered my prayers. The judge overruled the sentence and ran them concurrent. So instead of 104 years prison time that they wanted to give me, he gave me 8 years prison. my 21st birthday I was on the bus transferring to TDCJ to start my 8 years. All that I had learned out there I had to reprogram myself. Teach myself that there was more to life than hurting others and myself. The first year there was the worst. Trying to adjust to not getting what I wanted or doing what I needed to, to get it. Not going to lie after that first year I loved it there. It was a vacation from me killing myself. I ended up knowing some of the guards and the warden of my unit was one I used to sell to so I hooked him up to my people and said I wash my hands of it now. But I got all the outside world food I wanted. So I just set back and talked with God a lot. He got me through the rest of my time there. I was finally getting out going home but I didn’t have a home anymore to go to. My first thoughts were to hit a lick really quick to get a place and car. I was so scared to realize it was that easy for me to think it was ok to do that after begging to get out of that 8 years ago. So I went to my PO and sat there till he would see me. I told him my thoughts and he didn’t say well lets put you back. He actually helped me get a place and a job so I could do it the right way. It helped, I worked and didn’t screw up the rest of the time on parole. But I did stumble and had to go back to rehab three years after getting out. But it was on my accord. I was feeling the talons again and I ran fast. Asked for help. Those years that I had lost and the healing I did I had almost let it all go and go right back to the hell I begged to get out of. So in all I am here living the best I can. Doing it the right way for myself so I can do it for my son. When I said I have always had struggles in my life I am the one and only one that has put those struggles in my life. They are here today just as much as back then but just different type of struggles. These are the consequences of my past. I today am free from the talons of the demons that were inside of me. I still have them but I control them now. So for now I am signing off till next time. I am destined to be the only woman i am meant to be. BeachBum SoulSurfer
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Noodles Soup For Your Sniffles
Summary: Claire has a cold and it’s up to Owen to get her to go home and rest, even if he has to push her on the office chair down to the lobby and to the car (literally).
“No! I’m fine~!” Claire insisted with a stuffed nose. It was very evident that she was not doing that well. She wouldn’t admit it but she had a headache from hell and each time she swallowed, it felt like shattered glass was going down her throat.
She had been gradually getting sick but her stubborn nature had prevented her from working on shaking this cold off before it got worse. Now she was to the point of regretting not taking something when Owen had asked her to.
“Yes, you are~!” Owen sang begging her to go home early, take the rest of the day off. He watched her stare blankly at her laptop screen for thirty seconds. She was so out of it by then, that she didn’t even know what she was doing anymore. “Babe, please~” He gently brushed his fingers down her cheeks and pressed his lips against her forehead. “You are boiling! Come on, I’m driving you home.” He offered.
“I have work to do!” She shook her head after pulling away from him. “Besides, I already drank like three bottles of NyQuil...I’ll be fine.” Claire insisted, without an ounce of energy left in her. The redhead gently rested her head against his chest and hugged her arms around his waist gently.
Owen sighed, lovingly brushing her hair with his fingers. Without any warning, he tried pull her up from her chair but Claire was fast and even when sick her reflexes were sharp. She had managed to grab from the arm rests, her fingers tightly curled around them.
“C’MON!” He cried in defeat.
“No-oh.” She shook her head.
“I’ll make you my special soup and we can watch some fun cartoons!” He tried to make this appealing to her.
“What am I? five?” She looked up, her green eyes were exhausted.
Owen twirled her office chair around so she could face him and kneeled in front of her. “Okay, how about we cuddle on the couch here? Just a couple of hours.” He suggested. Her appearance was begging for some rest.
Claire shook her head, “I’m so behind with this stuff. I can’t afford lose more time.” She twirled her chair back around. The redhead hadn’t been very productive that day.
“Okay, that’s it!” He tried pick her up again but she was stronger than she looked and was gripping onto those arm rests tight. He knew he could ripped her away from them, but he would end up hurting her and that would make things worse. “Don’t make me tickle you!” He warned her.
“I’ll throw you out of the window, Grady. I promise!” She rolled back on her chair a couple of inches away from him.
“Okay, you win.” He shrugged and casually started humming and whistling to himself, his fingers curious around a few things she kept on her desk.
Claire smiled, her victory short-lived after being interrupted by a sneeze that made her complain in pain.
“Bless you.” Owen frowned, he hated to see her sick like this. Claire wasn’t the kind to get sick often, but when she did it got her badly. The redhead blew her nose and that’s when Owen had a glance of her trash can; it was a white mountain of tissues by then.
Claire smiled faintly and turned her attention back to her laptop. She closed her eyes and slowly rested her head over her arms, barely being able to reach the keyboard from there.
Owen quietly started gathering some of her things, putting them in her purse, and also looked around for her jacket. He hung them from around his shoulder, and without a word he closed her laptop on her.
“Hey!” She tilted her head back up, “I am trying to work here?” She coughed. Without a word said, the raptor wrangler started pushing her chair out, rolling it into the hallway with Claire still sitting on it.
“No! Owen, I swear!” She screamed, holding firmly from the arm rests.
He pushed her down the hallway and around the elevator corridor at a moderate speed, “hold the elevator!” He called out, noticing two guys were just stepping out right when they had come from around the corner. They looked puzzled wondering why Owen was pushing the boss around on her chair, but did as requested. They kept the elevator opened for them, their eyes glued to the couple. Owen thanked them, pushing the chair into the elevator and pressing for the lobby so they could head to the car and then home.
“Call security! I’m being kidnapped!” She exclaimed in irony, the doors slowly closing in front of them. She rolled her eyes annoyed by the look in the face of those two guys.
“Don’t be melodramatic!” He laughed. “You are totally enjoying this.” Owen called her out on it, still standing behind her, allowing his fingers to gently brush her long hair.
“Mommy is sick~” Owen murmured, placing a finger on his lips letting Aiden, their three-year-old, know to keep it low.
The toddler nodded and mirrored his dad’s action, also placing his finger against his lips. Aiden crawled into the back seat of the car and on his own, he got comfortable in his car seat. Owen buckled him up and messed with his brown hair before closing the back door.
Claire was resting her head against the car window, she had dozed off for a few minutes while waiting for Owen to pick their son from the petting zoo. The sound of the engine starting up waking her up. She sighed, her hand gently reaching out for Owen’s lap and rubbing it. He took a hold of her freckled hand and bringing it to his lips, he kissed it gently.
“Hey baby~” The redhead looked back to their kid whom smiled at her, “did you have fun with Trixie?” She faintly wondered. Claire adjusted and turning around, she reached out so she could tie his shoelace.
Aiden nodded, “They let me ride her today and I fed her a branch!” He shared happily, wiggling his feet. Trixie was his favorite dinosaur in the petting zoo, he had named the baby triceratops after the one in Toy Story 3.
“Leave that!” Owen rubbed Claire’s back gently, “I’ll tie them up when we make it home.” He promised. He had singlehandedly built home for Claire the moment she told him she was pregnant. They had moved in together into her Hilton’s business suite after he insisted not to miss a single day of the pregnancy. On the side, he had demolished his bungalow and started building a lake house for his family in that side of the island.
Aiden had learned to unbuckle his car seat and once Owen had pulled over, he opened the door and ran off, “Owen!?” Claire called out, she didn’t have the strength to run after their energetic kid.
“On it!” He got out of the car and after catching the kid, he swept their son off his feet. He hugged him from his belly and let him pretend he was a plane for a few seconds before landing on the ground. “We don’t want to give mom a heart attack, do we?” He asked the toddler.
He shook his head, “is she going to die?” He frowned. “I heard her say she felt like she was going to die.”
“No, but we have to be good today so she can feel better soon.” Owen asked of their kid, “we can go back to getting her all worked up tomorrow.” He winked.
Still inside the car, Claire was fighting with the door which was refusing to let her out. “Of course...” she finally gave up, hitting the door a few times, “He forgot to put the child lock in the back but leaves ME locked in!” She mumbled to herself before resting her head against the dashboard.
Soon enough, Owen was back and opened the door for her. He handed Aiden her purse and jacket and the man slowly pulled Claire up into his arms so he could carry her up to their house.
“Don’t touch me, you ass...” She whimpered against his neck, nosing close into it and hugging him tightly.
“C’mon, Champ! Let’s make sure mommy starts feeling better.” Owen motioned for their kid to walk ahead before he pressed a kiss on the redhead’s forehead.
“No~” She cried, her arms tightly wrapped around his neck. “Don’t leave me alone...” She pouted, Owen had managed to change her into a pair of flannel pants and one of his navy T-shirts.
“I won’t, beautiful.” He smiled, this was about the only thing he liked about Claire being sick. Once she admitted she needed to get some rest, she’d be as clingy as a baby koala and Owen would get to take care of her and keep her safe.
The redhead nodded and slowly helped him tuck her under the covers of their bed. Once she was comfortable, Owen grabbed the thermometer and had her keep it under her tongue until it started beeping, she had a 104 fever.
“What does it say?” She frowned.
“It says that you are hot~” Owen couldn’t help but flirt with her. Claire rolled her eyes and tugged from his shirt, she wanted to cuddle.
Owen set the thermometer on top of her nightstand and turned her cellphone off. He adjusted on the edge of the bed and let her snuggle him close. The redhead moaned softly and nuzzled into his chest, she closed her eyes and let the touch of his fingers relax her as they brush her hair.
Once he made sure the redhead had fallen asleep, he quietly stood up and tucked her gently leaving her to rest. He grabbed her cellphone on his way out and carefully closed the door behind him.
The man went looking for their kid whom on his own had decided to pick up all his toys and put them back on their place like mom was constantly insisting he should. Owen smiled at him from his bedroom door, “kiddo, wanna help me make mom some soup?” The kid looked up and nodded.
They both headed to the kitchen and Owen made sure to fill a small pot with water and set it on the stove to heat. He had also chopped some veggies and taken care of everything else. Aiden had ran to the bathroom to wash his hands and once back, Owen picked him up so he could carefully drop all the veggies into the water and add the noddles as well.
After pulling a chair from the kitchen table, Owen let the kid step on it so he could easily stir the soup. After a minute or so, the adult put the lid on and let it cook.
They didn’t stop there, Owen had brought the chair over to the sink and now the toddler was helping him wash the remaining dishes from breakfast and the few they had used for the soup. The kid playing the soapy sponge over the dishes while Owen ran water over them. They also folded some laundry together and fixed the living room.
“Why don’t you go pick a movie to watch with mommy?” Owen suggested while he served some of their noodles soup into a bowl and grabbed a spoon. He set it all up on a tray including a glass of water and some medicine.
Dad carried the tray to the bedroom and Aiden the Blu-ray he had picked for them to watch. The kid turned the knob around and quietly pushed the door open. Claire was still fast asleep. Owen carefully set the tray on the corner of the bed, and bent down to take Aiden’s shoes off. The kid reached out so dad could pull him up onto the bed.
Aiden crawled his way over to Claire and gently pressed a kiss on her cheek, “Mommy?” He called out softly after hearing her moaning and turning around to find him there.
“Hey baby, what are you doing here?” She murmured sleepily, her arms reaching out to hug him closely. “Daddy and I made you some noodles soup for your sniffles.” He explained. “You are going to eat it right?” He offered the puppy eyes Owen had him practicing while they were cleaning and folding the laundry.
“You made me soup?” She kissed his forehead before nodding, agreeing to eat.
“And I picked your favorite movie so we can watch and snuggle!” He crawled back to the edge of the bed. Claire sat down and tucked her hair behind her ears. She smiled letting Owen set the tray on her lap and closed her eyes feeling his lips pressed against her forehead.
“You did?” She acknowledge her kid before thanking Owen for the soup.
“The Little Mermaid.” He nodded and let Owen take the movie so he could set it up. Aiden went back to snuggle his mother and watched her slowly eat her soup.
“And why is The Little Mermaid my favorite?” Claire was actually interested in that answer since she wanted to hear his logic behind thinking it was that way.
“Because she has red hair just like you!” He explained. “Uncle Barry brought you some medicine.” He pointed out at the pills and the cough syrup on the tray.
“That’s right, we are both redheads.” She nodded. Owen walked around the bed and snuggled close to Claire and their son. He pressed play on the movie and watched their son start singing along and Claire quietly eating her soup.
He shifted in bed, bringing his arm around Claire’s shoulder and kissing her cheek. She set the tray on her night stand and got comfortable, hugging him close. She nosed into his neck and closed her eyes.
“I feel so much better now~” She confessed softly, pressing a couple of pecks on Owen’s lips.
“I’m glad you do, gorgeous.” He smiled relieved.
“Can I go back to work now?”
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We made these memories for ourselves (1/?)
[A/N: One Day at a Time, Alvareider. Another WIP? Yes, don’t hate me. I’m incapable of writing anything short for these two. But on the plus side, here is the start of the Snapchat AU.]
It starts out like this:
She’s at Schneider’s apartment trying to figure out what to get Dr. Berkowitz for his birthday when he mentions off-hand how awesome Alex’s costume was for his history project.
“I know, right? Mami really -- .”
She stops, then narrows her eyes at him.
“Wait, how did you see it? She finished it up at, like, midnight before it was due and he’d already taken it off by the time he got home.” She furrows her brows. “Do you...do you have cameras installed in our house?”
He scoffs.
“How could I possibly manage to get cameras installed in your house? Your mom is always at home and according to my electrician, the wiring alone would take at least a full day.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, I saw it on Snapchat.”
“Snap what now?”
He groans.
“Snapchat.” He takes his phone out of his pocket and leans closer to her, clicks on a yellow icon with a ghost in the middle. “C’mon, Pen, you are not that old.”
“Uh, yeah Schneider, we are.”
It takes what some might consider an embarrassing amount of time to explain what Snapchat is to her.
(You know, Schneider says at one point, it finally makes sense why you only post boring quotes on Instagram. I mean, do you actually know how to take a picture on there?)
But after seeing snapchat stories from Alex and Elena, she decides she wants one, too.
“Are you gonna at least try and be more interesting on here than you are on Instagram? Otherwise what’s the point?”
She shoves him, then grabs her phone from her pocket and hands it to him.
“I’m never gonna actually use it, I just wanna see what Alex and Elena are up to.”
“Well, you also have 250 people other than your kids from your contacts list who have one. Do you wanna follow them all?”
“Seriously? 250 people? How popular is this thing?”
He sighs and shakes his head as she leans over his shoulder to scroll through the list.
“Yeah, no. I’m not really interested in seeing what cousin Orencio is up to on a daily basis.”
“Yeah, it’s mostly just him with his metal detector on the beach.” He tilts his head and grins. “Although, he did once step on a jellyfish that was still alive and ran around trying to get someone to pee on him.”
She narrows her eyes at him.
“Yeah, I’ll pass on that one.” She keeps scrolling. “Actually, I’m gonna pass on everyone except for Alex, Elena, Syd and Carmen.”
“Aaand me,” Schneider says, tapping on his own name before swiping over to the camera. “Here, let me show you how to do one thing so I can at least feel like I tried to help you be interesting on here.”
He taps a button and it switches to her front facing camera. He holds his finger down on the screen and a bunch of animations pop up at the bottom.
“What are those?”
“These,” he says as he scrolls through them quickly, “are filters.”
She watches as hearts and dancing fireballs pop up on the screen.
“Why would anyone -- .” She stops when two flower crowns suddenly pop up on top of her and Schneider’s heads. “Oooh, I look cute in that one.”
“Yeah we do,” Schneider says. “Smile!”
She does just in time for him to tap the screen.
“So now, I’m going to save this in your memories,” he says, tapping a button on the bottom of the screen. “And we’re also going to make it part of your first story.” He clicks on a blue icon, then taps on something that says my story. “And there you go! Welcome to where everyone else was five years ago, Pen.”
“Wait, why do I want either of those things?”
“What things?”
“That picture in my memories or my stories or whatever.”
“Uh, you said it yourself -- because we look cute in it.” He rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”
That’s pretty much her first and last snapchat story.
She mostly uses it to watch what Alex and Elena are up to, sometimes Syd and Carmen.
Alex’s are mostly him at baseball practice, on the way to a baseball game, sometimes just a snap of someone playing a video game with him narrating in the background. She loves him, but wow are teenage boy’s lives boring.
Elena mostly snaps about her at different marches or protests, selfies with Syd using some filter, occasionally a Netflix show that she’s into. She watches enough clips of Black Mirror to feel like she’s seen the entire season without ever sitting down to watch a single episode.
Eventually, she does add a few other people -- Lori, who she sometimes is honestly surprised is still alive; her cousin Claudia, whose life seems like a real-life telenovela; Jill, who apparently spends half her time at the dealership imitating customers who come in.
Over time, she learns two surprising things.
The first is that watching random ten second clips of people’s lives is strangely addicting. She increasingly finds herself checking Snapchat on her breaks, while she’s walking back from dropping off a client, when she’s waiting in the checkout line.
The second, infinitely more surprising thing is that Schneider is by far her favorite person to follow.
See, the thing about Schneider’s Snapchat stories is that she’s never quite sure what to expect.
Which -- honestly? Is the exact opposite of what she thought she’d get when she started following him.
“You know, your Snapchat is different than what I thought it'd be,” she says to him one night when she takes a break from studying.
He looks up from the Spanish picture book he's reading on the couch.
“What do you mean?”
She shrugs.
“I don’t know, I just kind of thought it’d just be videos of you making different kinds of quinoa or working out.”
He smirks at her.
“Well, now you know that I am a lot more sophisticated than you thought I was.”
“Uh huh,” she says wryly, drawing out the sound. “So how’re la lagartija y el sol doing?” She points at the book in his hands.
“Pretty good! I think I’m getting it.” He squints at the page. “Although I’m not really sure why a lizard would be in an arena.”
She purses her lips.
“It probably wouldn’t -- but it might be in the sand?”
He looks at her, the book, then rifles through a set of flashcards next to him.
“Ooooooooh.”
Schneider does actually have more than a few snaps that involve him making different types of quinoa, and he does have a lot of him with his adult kickball league, his adult softball league, his adult dodgeball league.
“Seriously,” she says one night after work, “I didn’t even know they had dodgeball leagues. I thought that was just, like, in the movies.”
He sighs heavily.
“It’s a real stigma against the sport. We’re really trying to have people take us seriously.”
“Hm.” She points to his shirt. “And a t-shirt that says Who Let the Dodge Out? is your plan to do that?”
She never really answers his question about what makes his snapchat so surprising. Partly because he wanted to read La Lagartija y el Sol out loud to her so she could help him with his pronunciation, but also partly because she meant what she said at the time -- she didn’t really know what to expect.
Because yes, he does have what she’d describe as Schneider at his most Schneider: endless snaps of his seahorses, hikes at sunrise while he narrates, trips to overpriced restaurants, shopping excursions to buy another half dozen graphic tees that are probably absurdly expensive.
(He’s also really into snapping pictures of clouds that he thinks look like people. They almost never do.)
But what she also finds out is this: Schneider spends a lot of time hanging out with other people in their building.
“Did you know that Schneider hangs out with a bunch of people in our building, not just us?” She asks one night at dinner when Schneider is out at a dodgeball tournament.
Elena nods.
“Yeah, he watches Wheel of Fortune with the Ryders in 407, does macrame with Mrs. Watson in 306, plays ping pong with Mr. Jackson in 204 -- and that’s just on Thursdays.”
“He does basketball drills every Wednesday afternoon with the Lewis twins from 104 until their mom comes home,” Alex says, his mouth half full of rice. “He used to play with them, but then he dislocated his arm one time trying to dunk, so now he just helps run drills.”
“Ah, si,” her mother adds, “and he makes lunch with that vieja in 503 every Sunday.”
“Mami, Mrs. Verver is only a year older than you.”
“But she looks twenty years older than me.” She pats her cheek on other side. “That is why it is better to be Cuban.”
“So apparently everyone but me knew that you hang out with a bunch of the tenants here,” she says one afternoon after lunch.
Her mami is taking a nap, Alex is with friends and Elena is skyping Carmen in her room, so it’s just her and Schneider polishing off a tray of pastelitos.
“What, did you think I just spent time all my time with your family?”
She takes a bite of a pastelito and shrugs.
“Yeah, kinda.”
“Well, I can’t deprive the rest of the building of my charms, you know.” She rolls her eyes at him. “I do a lot of work everyday, Penelope.”
She nods.
“You know, surprisingly I don’t even want to argue with you about that.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “Although I wouldn’t call getting your ass kicked in chess by Mr. Roth every Tuesday and Thursday work.”
He huffs and shakes his head.
“That man is ruthless.”
“That man is seventy years old.”
He scoffs.
“If I’ve learned anything from father, it’s that seventy year olds are the most ruthless.” He picks up the empty dish from the table and walks over to the kitchen sink. “Anyway, I’ve always been more of a checkers guy myself.”
She follows him over to the kitchen, leans against the counter as he starts washing off the dish.
“I think it’s really cool, Schneider -- you spending time with people who are mostly alone.”
He adjusts his glasses, then glances over at her.
“Yeah, well, you know. I don’t want anyone to feel like I did growing up.”
She furrows her brows at him.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugs.
“All alone even when you’re surrounded by a building full of people.” He clears his throat. “Plus, I read this article that said that loneliness can be deadly for old people, so basically every time I’m spending time with Mrs. Watson or Mrs. Verver or Mr. Roth, I’m pretty much saving their lives.”
She nods slowly.
“So basically every time Mr. Roth kicks your ass in chess, you’re actually doing him a favor by saving his life?
“Yeah, exactly!”
She looks at him and tilts her head.
“So, is that how you make yourself feel better every time he beats you?”
“Yes.
“Does it work?”
“Sometimes.”
#schneider x penelope#penelope x schneider#one day at a time#penelope alvarez#schneider#my fic: alvareider
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11/01/2018 DAB Transcript
Ezekiel 1:1-3:15, Hebrews 3:1-19, Psalms 104:1-23, Proverbs 26:2n.24-26s
Today is the 1st day of November. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I'm Brian. It's great to be here with you today as we walk into this new month together. Month eleven of the year. And if you can believe it, by the time we get out of this month, we will be fully immersed in the Christmas season, which is pretty hard to believe, but this is where we are in our year and this is how far we've come in the Bible. So, we have been reading from the book of Lamentations in our Old Testament reading and we concluded that yesterday, which brings us to a new book of prophecy known as Ezekiel. And this prophet, Ezekiel, appears to have been a well-educated person who was deeply loyal to God and also to the traditions of his people. He came from a priestly family and, like Jeremiah, he was often instructed by God to symbolically act out his prophecies. Jeremiah and Ezekiel were prophesying around the same time. But it's fairly interesting because, whereas Jeremiah prophesied from Jerusalem, Ezekiel was prophesying at around the same time from exile in Babylon. So, two prophets kind of at either end of the equation. So, during this time, the climate of international struggle and upheaval was prevalent. The Assyrian empire had been conquered by the Babylonian empire. Egypt and Babylon clashed within the land of ancient Israel because possessing that land, that little strip of land, allowed whoever ruled that strip of land to control the major trade routes between lands to the north and east and the continent of Africa. And because of this, at one point or another, the Israelites had all been allies of and then subsequently subdued by all of these ancient empires. But Jerusalem had not been destroyed. Rather, Judah would pay tribute and become like a vassal that changed hands. And this all happened during the generational decline in the kings' leadership that we totally read about as we were moving through the books of Kings and Chronicles. And then in 597 BC, the Babylonians subdued Jerusalem and began to deport people and take them into exile. And Ezekiel was among the first to go into exile. And several years later, and we read of this when we were reading the book of Jeremiah, this king that had been put in place named Zedekiah rebelled against Babylon, even though Jeremiah was clearly pleading and prophesying not to do that. And then in 588, the Babylonians, they came and they laid siege. And they eventually conquered, and they completely destroyed Jerusalem a few years later. So, Ezekiel had been taken into exile and in those early years, he prophesied of Jerusalem's destruction, even as Jeremiah was prophesying the same thing from Jerusalem if they didn't surrender. And as we know, they didn't. And after the fall of Jerusalem and the temple was completely destroyed, then the prophesies of Ezekiel from exile transform into some of the most hope-filled messages of renewal and restoration that we'll find in the whole Bible. But Ezekiel also contains these descriptions that are almost, like, cinematic, apocalyptic visions that aren't unlike the visions of Daniel or the visions found in the book of Revelation. And because of that, the parallels are often cross-examined in the apocalyptic study of the end times known as eschatology. But these weren't just disembodied visions that Ezekiel had in some kind of weird dream. They had a pretty great impact on him personally. And the same can happen for us as we read them. If we're able to approach the book and the imagery from the perspective of what it speaks to our hearts, we'll be able to engage and enjoy the deep and rich textures allowing to speak to us like a sunrise would rather than how the morning newspaper does. The book of Ezekiel holds a lot of promise for us and it's one of the larger and influential books of prophecy we have in the Bible. And even though we're reading a book that's thousands of years old, it tells of an ultimate hope and a blessing that God has for us when we return to him. And so with that, we're reading from the New Living Translation this week. Ezekiel 1:1-3:15.
Prayer:
Father, we thank You for Your word. We thank You for this new threshold that we've walked into into the book of Ezekiel and we invite Your Holy Spirit to speak to us. Everything that we need to hear, everything that we need to feel. We open our hearts to You. And we also make notice of the fact that we have entered into the eleventh month of this year. And once again we take a moment at this line of demarcation to look back and rejoice in Your faithfulness. You have certainly brought us this far, and we have certainly walked through plenty of drama. And yet here we are, and You have been faithful. And, so, we take note of this, we acknowledge this and along with the psalmist we declare, let all that we are praise the Lord. O Lord our God, how great You are. You are robed with honor and majesty. You are dressed in a robe of light. You stretch out the starry curtain of the heavens. Father, that You are Almighty God and father to us at the same time is overwhelming. And when it sinks in, when we get this glimpse of the reality, we wonder why we would worry and fret about anything. The Lord of heaven's armies, the creator of all things both seen and unseen, is our father. And, so, we rejoice in You and we worship You, Father. Come, Holy Spirit, we pray. Lead us firmly and rightly and clearly into this next month. We submit ourselves to You. We open ourselves to You completely. Come Holy Spirit, we pray. In Jesus name. Amen.
Announcements:
dailyaudiobible.com is the website's, its home base, its where you find out what’s going on around here. So, be sure to check in and check it out.
Stay connected as we move into these last couple of months of the year because, from my experience, we'll be in the thick of it before we can even blink twice. And so finishing strong is a decision and that's a decision that needs to be made in advance and one of the ways to make that decision is to stay connected. So, do that. Pray for your brothers and sisters at the prayer wall. Visit the Daily Audio Bible shop for resources. And you can stay connected at any of the social media channels that you're on and we're on at the same time. And those links can be found in the community section of dailyaudiobible.com.
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And as always, if you have a prayer request or comment, 877-942-4253 is the number to dial.
And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.
Community Prayer and Praise:
hi family, this is __ in St. Louis. I wanted to call in with a few things. Asia, sweet Asia, my heart is broken for you in your loss. I am just…I am just…I have no words and all I can say is that we are all praying for you. We don’t understand why these tragic things happen, but God’s love remains true. And let me tell you, in the middle of your message, hope came to me because you were told you would not have any other children, but you did get pregnant. I know maybe this is too soon for you to hear this because you’re still grieving the loss of this baby but there’s hope in the midst of it. God gives us hope. So, hang onto that hope and when the time is right we will see what blessings God will bring forth from this. Joe the Protector…even…I can imagine just the shock and the disappointment you must feel at the pregnancy of your 15-year-old daughter but in the middle of that I see hope. I see that this child and grandbaby is going to bless your family in ways you never understand, in ways you cannot see right now. Hold on to hope family. Hold onto hope. I’m going through some grieving for some different situations in my life but I’m holding on because God’s love is true and God is faithful even when we go through these times as Brian talked about in Lamentations in today’s message. And Melisa, keep singing for us girl. You have such a beautiful voice and I was so blessed. Love you family. God bless.
Hi DAB family this is Paula the child advocate from the LA area calling. I wanted to leave a message for Joe the Protector. Joe, your call the other day about your 15-year-old daughter really touched me about her pregnancy and I wanted to give you just a few words of hope. I don’t know if you remember that I’ve called in over the years for a little girl named Mel who has been in foster care since she was about, I think five, and I became friends with her when she was seven. And she also got pregnant at the age of 15 and I was very upset about it. And in my heart, I was really hoping she was going to give the baby up for adoption but she chose to keep the baby. And I have to tell you Joe, it was the best thing in the world. This little guy changed her life around. She is the best mother I have seen. He’s in such good hands and has changed her life. She’s finished high school, she’s going to college, she’s become a more responsible, loving person. So, I’m hoping the same for your daughter, that this baby will change her life for the better and I’m sure he will change all your lives for the better. I also wanted to leave a message for Christine who called in and she said she had leukemia. I’ll be praying for you Christine. You just sounded so wonderful on the phone. Your voice sounded so strong and you sounded so hopeful, so I am praying for you. And all my DAB family out there, I’m thinking of you, I listen to all of your prayers, and I keep you all in my heart. Thank you, Brian and Jill and the whole Hardin family. God bless you all. Bye for now.
Hey DAB family this is Byron of Florida. I am calling for __ Confession. It is so good to hear your voice. It has been a long time and you have not left my thoughts. So, I’m glad to hear you again. I remember your testimony. I remember how you had dealt with Asperger’s. I myself have two boys on the spectrum and it can be very frustrating and exasperating to deal with them and I also worry about the future, but when I hear your voice and when I see what God in His faithfulness has done through you, to make you the unbelievably strong person that you are, you have no idea what that means. So, thank you for calling back again and please don’t let it be too long before you call in again. All right family, I love you all. Talk to you later.
Hey DAB family, this is Alex the Seeker from Florida. It’s October 29th and I haven’t checked in for a while but I’m asking for some prayers, please, regarding my son and my ex-wife. My son is still having problems with depression and with just some disturbing thoughts. He’s being evaluated in a psych unit and we’re just hoping for some right medication and some good outcome there, that he’s going to get the help he needs in one way or another. Also, my ex-wife is, I guess, going back and forth between the relationship she has and with putting our family back together. So, I am not sure where this is gonna go and sometimes it brings me down for quite a bit and then I try to remember that it’s God’s plan, that I have to follow it, that I have to do my part in what I know to do, and He will take care of the rest. Needing to trust Him and doing that to the best of my abilities but sometimes it’s just not as easy done and said. Anyway, so, I’m asking for prayers for my son’s mental status and for relationship with my ex-wife and that God’s will be done in those two instances. Alright guys, I appreciate you all. Thank you so much and God bless you all. This is Alex the Seeker. Bye.
Hello DAB family this is Chantee calling from Metro Detroit and I wanted to call in for Asia. I just heard your call and I am so, so sorry to hear what you had to endure, and the emotions, up-and-down emotions, that you had to go through with the loss of your baby. And, if I’m devastated, I just…I can’t imagine what you’re going through and I’m just praying for you and your husband and Aiden to get through this, and to process it, and to…and just for your relationship to grow even stronger with the Lord through this. We don’t know why this would happen, but God knows…and…so…of course, I don’t have the words to say but I just wanted to let you know that I’m praying for you. All right. I will talk to you all later. Love you. Bye-bye.
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