#couldn’t move for like an hour bc of a horrible headache

[thetwilightroadtonightfall]

this past week has been such a Week ✌️🤪

[fbfh]

I think you've horribly misread the situation [shitty roommate pt 2] - leo x reader

wc: 2.3k

genre: contemporary drama, you're definitly going to get second hand embarrassment, cozy fluff

pairing: leo x reader, attempted isabella x leo

reader: gender neutral, they/them

requested: hell yeah

warnings: mild swearing, roommate tries to steal your man once again, mentions of various mainstream vampire media (twilight, the vampire diaries etc.), brief mention of castlevania (even though i haven't seen it yet lol), breif mention of videogames and assassins creed, very mild delusion (roommate is secretly convinced leo is a vampire that's in love with her), attempted age gap relationship (she's 17 and leo's 19, he shuts that down real fast), very bad poetry

summary: You and Leo are both looking foward to spending a long weekend together, and Leo is determined not to let anything interrupt it, even if it means turning down your roommate's attempts to seduce him in the kitchen.

a/n: absolutley no hate or shade or judgement to anyone who has the same or similar traits as isabella!!!!!! at her core she's annoying because she's the antagonist, not bc of any isolated trait or traits

also she's shitty cause she keeps trying to steal your boyfriend?????

Edit: I forgot to mention before, but this is a college au where you're both still demigods, so you went to camp and on quests and stuff together

This weekend is going to be all about recharging. Recharging from the ridiculous back to back closing and opening shifts at work, recharging from having to redo that stupid project twice because your professor couldn’t decide on a clear way to define the criteria, and recharging from Isabella having her townie friend Regan over almost non stop to “completely shake up her look” as she put it.

Between the constant presence of someone you’d barely consider an acquaintance and Big Time Rush’s self titled album blasting on repeat out of her giant airpod shaped speaker, it’s been harder than usual to get in some effective self care. You have no idea how many more times you can hear the phrase “I’m going for Jade West meets Elena Gilbert, with just a little Buffy Summers” before you lose your fucking mind.

Thankfully, the hard part is almost over. There’s some minor holiday tomorrow on friday, so you and Leo both have a three day weekend ahead of you, which you intend to spend entirely together. You planned ahead, frontloading homework, chores, errands, and everything you could think of to remove anything that isn’t cuddling or playing video games and watching netflix together from your horizon.

This includes going straight from work to the grocery store to stock the fridge and get any snacks you and Leo want. You had texted him a while ago asking for anything he was craving, and head into the store with a concrete list. After a while, you circle around some aisles, avoiding the check out.

“I feel like I’m forgetting something,” you muse, knowing it’s untrue, but hoping to trigger a memory anyway. You can’t put it off any longer, finally checking out and heading back to your apartment. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t avoiding Isabella just a little.

You know bringing in all these groceries would be way easier with Isabella and possibly Regan’s help, but you just don’t have the social energy to talk to anyone, much less her, right now. By some miracle, you bring everything in yourself, and hope to get it put away before you see Isabella.

You turn to the freezer, putting away the ice cream. When you turn back around, you’re suddenly met face to face with Isabella, who has opened one of the boxes and is picking at a pastry.

“Hey girlie,” she says, elongating the hey.

“Hey,” you reply lethargically, putting the last of the groceries away. She looks at the pastry in her hand like she’s just noticing it.

“Sorry, I can’t help it, I’m italian.” She smiles, endeared by her own behavior. You have no idea what being italian has to do with asking before you open a box of your roommate’s food, but this really isn’t out of character for her. She brings up the fact that she’s half italian more than Lele Pons blames her behavior on being latina.

She’s wearing sweatpants that say chaser on the leg in red and gold varsity font, and a tight tee shirt that says “it’s okay to love them both” with silhouettes of the male love interests from one of the vampire shows she always watches. You collect the plastic bags to put in recycling, and see a piece of paper on the counter.

It reads as follows:

Drowning in my mind

No one hears me cry

Who was I before society

Before society put me in a pink dress

And handed me blonde hair dye

And told me to lose ten pounds or be labeled a freak?

The happiest people cry the most

Let the lyrics be your story

But I’m not like the other skinny blonde pretty girls

I’m

Different

-b.g. xox

You hold back a sigh.

“I think this is yours.” you say, handing it to her.

“Oh, it’s just some of my poetry I left lying around, that’s so embarrassing.”

I know, you think, you do that all the time.

“Did you read it?” She asks, hopefully.

“Nope.”

“Thank god, that would have been so embarrassing. My poetry is something really… deep, and personal to me.”

“Uh huh. Hey, I’m going to be doing a lot of self care this weekend, so-”

“Oh!” she interjects, eerily similar to Phoebe Buffay - you guess she’s been watching friends again - “I wanted to ask… is Leo coming over later?” Her voice is riddled with subtext, the expression on her face a little too invested in your answer.

“Uh, yeah. I told you the other day we’re spending the weekend together…”

She cuts you off again, a sudden, intense look on her face.

“When will he be here?”

You check your phone, scrolling through your recent texts.

“By 7 at the latest.” It’s around 6:40 now.

“Oh my god, I have to change,” she rushes back to her room, presumably digging through her recent additions to her closet.

You’re frozen for a minute after the interaction, left with a furrowed brow and the beginnings of a headache. You blink, then choose to reschedule processing why she feels the need to change for your boyfriend to a more convenient time. That’s enough of that for today. You don’t care what else happens, you’re not talking to anyone besides Leo for at least the rest of the day. You retreat to your room to finally shower and change into something comfy. As you pass by Isabella’s room, you hear her talking to Regan.

“...There’s something almost… supernatural about him.”

You bite back a laugh.

“Do you think he’s a…” Regan begins, ending the sentence with something too quiet to hear, but you’d bet almost any organ she said vampire.

So close. So, so close, and yet… here you are.

Not much later, Leo texts you to let you know he’s here. You read his text, and run out to hug him in the living room before even typing a reply. He picks you up, and spins you around. The embrace is warm and fulfilling and familiar, and you wish it would last forever.

“Hi, Sparky.” you murmur into his neck.

“Estrella…” he says, rocking you back and forth gently and pressing a kiss into your jawline, “I missed you so much.” He punctuates the sentence with another kiss, this one to your lips, and you smile more genuinely than you have all day. You’re about to agree when you remember the good news you’ve been saving to tell him in person.

“Guess what I got on sale for like, half off,” you start, excitedly, continuing at his invested expression, “the Assassin’s Creed bundle I showed you!”

“No way,” he starts, and you nod.

“I’ll go get everything set up, drinks are in the kitchen!” He watches you retreat into your room, disbelieving how he could possibly get someone as perfect as you to fall for him. He’s not going to question his luck. He grabs a couple caffeinated sparkling ices, and meets you in your room, setting down his bag and grabbing some comfy clothes to change into.

As you both get settled in, you fill each other in on all the ridiculous shit you’ve been through this week. You finally conclude the bizarre - yet somehow standard - Isabella escapades.

“So I will be avoiding all contact as much as possible,” you laugh.

“Yeah, no shit,” he agrees, “Consider me your human buffer.” You thank him, hugging him again and pressing a kiss to his lips.

The next couple hours are spent cuddling and finishing season 4 of Castlevania. Both reeling from the season finale, you agree this is a good place to take a break, get some food, and decide what game you should start with. It’s already 10pm, which most people would consider too late for dinner, but you have all weekend to fuck up your sleep schedules.

“Let’s review,” Isabella says, holding up two red lipsticks. She turns to Regan. “Which one?”

“That one,” Regan says, pointing to the one on the left, then turns to her list, and continues. “Here’s what we know; we’ve never seen him eat, and he never seems tired. He’s really smart-”

“Almost too smart,” Isabella adds, selecting black rose dangle earrings from her jewelry. Regan agrees, and continues.

“He’s almost hypnotically attractive, and his smile is a little too dazzling.”

“There’s something… supernatural about him. Like he’s not… all human.”

Regan writes this down.

“Plus he’s always wearing black and red, and those flowy button up shirts? It’s all adding up, Ree. That dream that someone was outside my window, the ring, everything…” She says, referencing the black and red cocktail ring she’d found with her stuff when she’d first moved, “I’m not saying it’s definite, just that… there’s a chance.”

“What about…” Regan says hesitantly, nodding toward your room.

“Please,” she scoffs, “he’s only with them to get close to me, like Damon and Caroline. Edward couldn’t have just approached Bella out of the blue, he had to infiltrate her friend group first, to seem less suspicious. Not to sound mean or anything, but they really don’t seem like the type someone… like him… would choose.” her voice gets dreamy when she mentions him.

In spite of having seen most mainstream vampire media almost as many times as Isabella, Regan still considers her the expert on these things, and decides not to point out that Edward didn’t infiltrate Bella’s friend group. Maybe it comes up in one of the retellings she hasn’t read yet.

“So, what now?”

Isabella sets down her lipstick, and turns to her friend.

“I tell him.”

Regan’s eyes widen.

“You’re going to tell him you know?”

“No… not yet. It’s too soon, we don’t have enough evidence. I’m going to tell him I know he’s in love with me, then once he’s secure in our relationship... we’ll see where it goes.”

She stands up, assessing herself in the mirror. She chose her outfit carefully; short red dress with black roses and black mesh collar, black rose bracelet to match her earrings, snug faux leather jacket, and black stiletto ankle booties with a very skinny heel, the zipper on the outside gold, not silver. She fluffs her wavy hair and turns towards the door. She looks back one more time, holding onto the doorway.

“Wish me luck.”

Leo enters the kitchen, seeing Isabella already there, leaning against the counter seductively. She’s wearing an outfit and jewelry this late at night that makes Leo wonder if she’s going to an emo tea party. He puts the takeout in the microwave. She’s still staring at him.

“Uh… hey.”

She lets out a dainty giggle, looking him up and down.

“... Hi.”

At a loss for words, and really wanting the awkward silence to be over, he continues, “Did you need something?”

“What I need,” she walks closer to him, tracing her finger over his collar, “is you.”

What the fuck?

His brain seems to stall for a moment, and she uses this opportunity to continue.

“I know why you’re here. I know that you’re only using them to get closer to me. I know-”

“Woah-”

“That you’re in love with me.”

Okay, double what the fuck.

She takes his stunned silence as shyness, and steps closer, putting her arms around his shoulders.

“You don’t need to play so coy, I-”

This time she’s the one that gets cut off. He grabs her arms and gently steps away, trying to make it abundantly clear that he’s not into this.

“Woah, okay, slow down. First of all, you’re 17 and I’m turning 20 in a couple months, so that’s a hard no. Second, I don’t know where you got this idea, but I am not dating them to get closer to you. We’ve known each other since we were like, 15, and have been through everything together. I’ve only known you for a couple months. I love them. Probably more than I’ve loved anything ever. I thought that was pretty obvious.”

He doesn’t want to be mean, he really doesn’t, but he can tell from the look on her face that she still thinks this is all part of some game.

“So why don’t I ever see you eat? Why are you so smart, and always up at night? I know what you are.”

He has to physically hold back a laugh. He takes a step back, and places his hands on the counter.

“Isabella, I have adhd. And I’m literally an engineering student. Why wouldn’t I be smart and have a shitty sleep schedule?”

She starts to protest, and he pulls out the reheated take out from the microwave.

“And for the record, I do eat.”

Exiting the kitchen quickly and retreating back to your room, he hands you your food.

“I got the game set up!” you say excitedly.

“Nice!”

You take one look at his face and can tell something happened. He sees this, and continues.

“I just had a very… interesting interaction with Isabella,” before he finishes the sentence, your head is already in your hands. You let out a groan.

“What did she do?” you mutter from behind your hands.

He pulls you into his lap, rubbing your back.

“I’m not totally sure,” you laugh, “but I think she thinks I’m secretly in love with her…” you’re both laughing before he can even finish the sentence.

“No…” you laugh, “no fucking way…”

“Believe me, I put an end to that as soon as it started.”

“Oh, I do.”

He runs his hand over your back, and you’re quiet for a moment.

“You know,” he continues, “I think getting our own place has definitely moved up the priority list.”

You couldn’t agree more.

[its-deputy-caleb]

Micah Bell - Partners in Crime and in Love Pt.1

YES i know there’s 58 requests sitting in my inbox for re8 HOWEVER red dead is my comfort game and i needed to write this verbal mess down. I’ve been thinking of writing a micah fic for weeks now and i finally did it bc as much as i love re8 red dead is my fav and always will be. this is so self indulgent i swear.

for anyone that actually reads this the reader is pretty gn but does lean towards fem this time and i’ll be doing a part 2 for sure bc i love the rat man.

part 2 is now here

—————————————————————

Today was finally the day. The day for the big bank job that Dutch insisted was the right move for the gang. This was despite numerous doubts from Hosea and various other camp members that robbing a bank in broad daylight in the state’s largest city was a risk the gang couldn’t afford to make right now.

The whole morning there had been a sour feeling in your gut, a tiny voice shouting in the back of your mind that something wasn’t right. It wasn’t like you to get nervous on a job, in fact you recently robbed the Valentine bank with Bill on his job. Originally you weren’t interested in going, happy to let Karen go on her own with the guys but Bill insisted you go as you were one of the best gunslingers the gang had.

Robbing and killing came naturally to you and being outlawed in six states had never bothered you during your time as an outlaw. That’s why it was almost impossible for you to ignore the sick feeling in your stomach that was slowly building.

Making your way over to Micah, you see him sitting on a wooden crate cleaning his guns for the inevitable shootout that comes with bank jobs. Taking a seat next to him, Micah doesn’t need to ask you how you are; he can practically see how restless and agitated you look.

That’s the thing about your relationship with Micah, you understood each other (especially in public) and didn’t need grand public displays of affection to know exactly what the other needed in that moment.

The camp mostly stayed clear of your relationship, I mean you were probably two of the camp’s biggest troublemakers and risk takers when it came to planning jobs and robbing folk. Both of you had a shot quicker than lightening and could practically shoot your way out of any situation you found yourselves in. But regardless of how ruthless anyone thought you two were, you always had each other’s backs and wouldn’t stop to think about saving the other.

One night after a successful train job Dutch decided to hold a camp celebration. It was a mostly quiet night for you, having not decided to party with your companions despite Sean, Charles and Javier all offering for you to join in. Instead you decided to spend the mostly quiet night with Micah sharing a bottle of whiskey and splitting your share of the earnings. After each job you always had a bet with Micah over who could shoot the highest number of lawman. It was a bet the two of you had with each other just to cause more mischief and it always brought a smile to your face when Micah would lose and sulk about it for the rest of the afternoon

At one point during the night Bill strolled over to you while Micah went to get another bottle of whiskey. He was nice and polite despite the smell of beer coming from his breath, maybe even a little flirtatious and all was well until he asked the question ‘Why is you with a rat like him when you could be with someone as charming as me?’. Bill ended up with a face full of dirt and a broken nose, not to mention a killer hangover.

So yeah, the gang tended to leave you and Micah alone…

Micah’s knee lightly brushing against your own brings your thoughts back to reality. He’s stopped cleaning his guns and is looking at you with soft eyes and a gentle smile, the one that’s only reserved for you.

Despite being a hardened outlaw that has known nothing but chaos and the open road for most of your life. The gang has observed from afar your softer sides, whether it be the time you both fell asleep next to each other by the campfire or getting shit scared when the other has been shot and the rest of the night is spent with soft kisses and bandage wrapping.

Micah holsters his revolver and gently takes your hand in his.

“Sweetheart we’re gonna be fine, ain’t nothing gonna go wrong, now common let’s go get dressed for such a special occasion.”

~

Everyone is just starting to get into their fancy attire for the job when you and Micah are already packing your saddles and getting ready. You’re wearing matching white suits with a red shirt only yours is tailored to show off your figure a lot more and your plunge top and corset doesn’t leave much to the imagination but hey, if you’re gonna go out it’s gonna be in style.

As Micah finishes tightening up Baylock’s saddle you lean forward and hold his wrist in your hand. Your thumb gently brushes the soft skin there, trying to hide the nerves that have been slowly eating away at you all day.

“I don’t like this Micah, somethings gonna go wrong I can feel it…”

Micah’s never been great with emotions but you’ve known him long enough to know how he comforts you. The arm that’s caught in your grasp turns and brings you forward into a hug, his chin resting on your head as you hold him tightly against you.

“Ain’t nothin gonna happen to us, just think of it as another bank job.”

You nod and hold him closer, a rare event for such a public place where anyone could walk by but neither of you really cared at that moment. You press your face into his shoulder, trying to shake off your uneasiness.

“You better not die on me now Bell, you still owe me that new holster for beating you in five finger fillet.”

~

Fuck did the bank job go wrong. Horribly wrong. From the moment you got off your horses and stepped foot in that bank it all turned to hell.

Bullets where flying everywhere, there were civilians screaming in terror trying not to get caught in the crossfire, glass was being shattered by dynamite and Dutch was trying to formulate a plan while in shock of losing his dear Hosea.

A bullet whizzed past your head and you took out another Pinkerton. It was chaos. Every time you managed to bring down the line of Pinkertons another carriage full of them would arrive with the Saint Denis Police.

You couldn’t see Micah anywhere, but each time you tried to look for him your attention was dragged back to the action in front of you and the numerous Pinkertons shooting at you.

Arthur had snuck onto the roof at some point and some of the other members where making their way towards the rooftop as well. You were about to make a bolt towards Dutch and Javier on the ladder when Charles stopped you with a hand on your shoulder.

“Go that way, we’re the diversion! Karen and Sadie are a waiting near the alleyway of the tavern, we’ll meet you back at camp in a few hours, GO!”

Charles pushes you down the alley way and climbs up the ladder to catch up to the others. You would’ve protested but your body is running on adrenaline so you didn’t think as you snuck your way out of safety.

~

Micah was furious that Charles had sent you off on your own to find your way back, if it wasn’t for the fact that the five of them where hiding from the law in a rundown city apartment he probably would have argued with him for hours.

But deep down he knew it was the right thing to do. He knew that you’d be 100 times safer away from this chaos then if you were here with him, even if you could handle yourself.

For hours they sat in that little room, Dutch formulating a plan on how to get out of here while Micah tried not to worry about whether you made it home safe. Now he understood that sick feeling of worry in your stomach, he only ever got it when he worried about you.

By nightfall Dutch had somewhat of a plan to escape via the docks, sneak out onto a ship that would take them somewhere and it hit Micah in that moment that it would be some time before he saw you again…

The guards where everywhere, the entire city on high alert after the bank and Charles ended up running so everyone could make it onto a boat. As Dutch attempted to negotiate with the captain for a cabin, Micah lit a cigarette from his blazer pocket, trying to take his first deep breath of the night.

“We were fools for thinking we could pull off the bank…”

Arthur rests against the crates, fatigue clear in his eyes but willing himself to stay awake. Micah however didn’t want to sit and talk about what could have happened and what actually did, he had a headache already and certainly didn’t need a lecture from Arthur for another reckless decision he helped create.

“Whatever you say Morgan.”

Sighing defeatedly, Micah flicks his cigarette bud over the side and into the water below, making his way to go sit on the other side of the crates where he can think.

~

Back at camp you pace around the halls of Shady Belle, the floorboards creaking under the weight of your boots.

“Fuck this I’m going to find them-“

Before you make it out the front door however Miss Grimshaw blocks your exits.

“You’re not going anywhere anytime soon. The Pinkertons are everywhere looking for us. Now I know you want your precious Mr. Bell back but you’re just going to have to wait out the next few hours until he returns with the rest.”

You decide to ignore the slight condescending tone of Susan as you see a rider approaching into camp. Your hand is on your holster, everyone who’s left joining you to crowd around the man slowly coming closer. Everyone is relieved to see its Charles, but only slightly. He’s alone and a horrible feeling of fear washes over you.

“Charles… Where is everyone… Where’s Micah?”

[darthkruge]

Anakin Skywalker x Emotionally Exhausted Reader Headcanons 

Warnings: Like one use of language, Reader is just very drained, Anakin is soft and comforting (duh), uhh comfort angst? I think that’s how I’d categorize this? But I tried to go heavy on the comfort and like less heavy on the angst bc my last fic was angsty too lmao

Words: 1.3k

A/N: i didn’t plan on writing this week but i wanted to capture what im feeling rn. and anakin is my comfort character and i cope with things by trying to think of what he’d do to help me, as any normal person does. so this is me rambling and basically just… emotional exhaustion is real and please be gentle with yourself if you’re feeling it. i tried to keep my language very neutral in this, as emotional exhaustion can come from a myriad of situations and manifest in many ways. but yeah taking time to recover after stressful and draining situations is completely valid and okay. in fact, i encourage it :) 

gif credit

If Anakin knew you had a stressful week or day or just went through anything that was tough for you, he’d make sure to be there for you in the aftermath. 

The first time, he’d probably want to run right over and congratulate you for getting through whatever it was that stressed you, which you definitely appreciated, but he could tell something was off. Your eyes didn’t light up like they normally do, your smile didn’t reach your eyes. He knows you so well and he’d definitely pick up on it. 

And sometimes when you’re drained, he’ll come home and see you awake but still and completely spaced out. It worries him, he hates seeing you looking so lifeless. In these moments, his main goal is making sure you’re taken care of.

He knows you have no motivation to do shit yourself, so he does it for you. He doesn’t mind being that person for you and he knows you’ll do it right back for him. So he’ll make you any food you want and bring it to you with some water to ensure you’re still getting some nourishment. 

He’s aware that you have a tendency to just zone out for hours on end. You logically know you have to go to the bathroom or shower or something, but it feels insurmountable and you can’t physically bring yourself to move. So he’ll gently pick you up. And he carries you over to wherever you need to go. And he’ll stay. He always stays. 

Very soft encouragement as he takes care of you. “You’re doing so good, angel.” “I know you’re exhausted; please just do this for me and then I’ll take you back to bed and you can rest again, alright?” “Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

Also he’s so proud of you for getting through whatever you’ve gone through that’s exhausted you to your very core. He’ll frequently say things like, “You’re amazing, my love.” “You got through it, you can rest now.” “You never need to think about it again, okay? It’s done, beautiful.” 

He knows you’ll recover from it. He has complete faith in you, of course. But just because he knows you’ll eventually be okay doesn’t mean he’ll neglect you in the meantime. 

He’s always touching you, too. He knows you like constant, slow motions because they remind you he’s with you. It grounds you. So he’ll be stroking your thighs, running his thumb across the back of your hand, weaving his fingers through your hair, etc. 

He talks quietly, too. You sometimes have headaches when you’re drained and he would hate to make them worse. He always makes sure the apartment is dark as to not strain your eyes, as well. If the headache is really bad, he rubs your temples and places small kisses on them to help ease the tension. 

Anakin is kind to you when you don’t have the energy to talk. He knows that sometimes, all he’s going to get is a hum or nod of approval if he asks you or says something. On occasion, you’re so far gone that he won’t even get that. But then he’ll look in your eyes and the love and appreciation you hold for him is clear. He’s not going to doubt all you have or be frustrated if you occasionally can’t voice it. 

If he sees you start to go too far in your own head and get panicky or stressed, he’ll distract you immediately. Again, he knows you so well; he can 100% tell. When you start overthinking about whatever drained you, whether it be something with your family or friends, your studies, your work, something seemingly random, or something immensely abstract, he doesn’t judge. He’d never make you feel dramatic for being affected by it. 

If you want to talk about it, he’ll listen. Sometimes you feel frustrated; you got through it, why are you still feeling the effects? If you want logic, Anakin explains that your body had been producing an intense amount of adrenaline for a long time and now that the “threat” has passed, all of that adrenaline has suddenly dropped off. That, in itself, is an exhausting process; it makes sense that it took it out of you. But if you just want understanding and empathy, he’s quick to give that to you, as well. 

If whatever the situation was didn’t go the way you wanted or if it brought up some bad memories, he’s a shoulder to cry on. He wants you to get it out, knowing holding in those emotions is never a good idea. He tucks you into his chest, normally placing his head atop yours and just, simply, lets you cry. 

He’s very patient with your moods always, but especially in those moments. If you accidentally snap at him he’s never angry. He knows you don’t have the energy to fully regulate your emotions and everything’s just in overdrive; it’s overwhelming. Of course, you apologize later when everything comes back to you because you feel horrible on the off chance you're not the kindest with him (which is quite rare). He’ll just kiss you, smile softly, and tell you not to worry, it’s in the past. 

And if you’re in that drained, barely conscious state, he brings you blankets. It comforts you and he likes seeing you all bundled up and safe. 

And if you want cuddles? Yes. He’s there, no questions asked. He’ll just pull you into him and let you rest. He knows that you’re sometimes not physically tired enough to sleep, so he just holds you. You might draw patterns on his chest or just stare off silently. Whatever you have to give, he’s more than okay with. 

If you want, he’ll sing to you. The soft melodies always keep you at peace and you can feel the vibrations in his chest when you’re pressed into him. 

Or sometimes he’ll tell you stories. Whether it be from childhood, old missions, the future he wants with you, or something completely random, it’s nice to listen to. He has an amazing mind and you could listen to him go on forever. 

Eventually, you’ll drift off. And he holds you through the entire night.

When you wake up, you’re normally feeling better. You’re still feeling it a little, but being with him really helps revitalize you. Now, you usually have enough energy to actually hold a conversation. The first two things you tell him are almost always “thank you” and “I love you.” Then, you’ll feel guilty for making him help you so the third sentence you utter is an apology.  

Anakin, as always, assures you that’s unnecessary. Then he checks up on you. He doesn’t treat you like a hospital patient because he knows you’re a bit embarrassed, but he does check to see if you’re feeling shaky at all. And, if you are, he’s quick to get you some food and water. 

And he makes sure no one disturbs you. You don’t like it when someone sees you when you’re in that drained state because you’re immensely vulnerable. The thought of anyone other than him seeing you brings you extreme unease. So he quickly reassures you that it’s just the two of you. He’s not going anywhere. 

Also, if your stress was caused by someone else, Anakin takes a quick little mental note. He’s not going to leave to go beat them up because you need him right now. You’re his priority. But he tries to keep you away from them in the future or, at the very least, make them stop or lessen whatever it is that made you so nervous. 

Basically, he’s kind, understanding, and gentle. He thinks you’re amazing for always pushing yourself so hard. But expending a lot of energy, especially in the emotional sense, wears you out. He’s quick to tell you you’re not weak and that this is normal. He makes sure you listen to your body and just rest. He’s there for whatever you may need.

-----

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[chrisevansgoodgirl]

if you’re going crazy, just grab me and take me

summary: after the worst year with this fucking family, Ransom proposes on ❄️ chrstmas eve  ❄️ it obviously doesn’t go over as well as his emotionally-stunted ass thought it would.

warnings: every god damn word in this thing is a problem. rough smut. choking, anal, hair-pulling, biting, this shit makes the first chapter seem light, i’ll just say that. a lot of fighting. verbal and physical. there’s some fluff but don’t let ransom trick you like he’s obviously tricked me.

word count: this shit is almost 25,000 fucking words 😂😂😂. i dead ass kept being like why the fuck am I taking so long to post this? Then I saw the word count and I 😳🤭🤗😂 someone pls tell me i did not just devote 25,000 words to exposing myself as a weak ass hoe for Ransom. pls tell me this is a fever dream. i can’t.

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

a/n: holy fuck, am i a disaster. i apologize, i kept falling asleep and wow, i’m just confused about my entire process for writing this bc it was abnormal af.

part one: x part two: x (however, you don’t really need to read them to understand this mess? pretty sure.)

Christmas Eve:

It somehow felt that the entire hellscape that you were currently living in had simultaneously transpired yesterday but also years ago. That was the common feeling one was left with in times of so much exposure to Thrombeys. It was a whirlwind, but there were the good moments, and then the really bad moments, but then the kind of fun moments… It was a rollercoaster, honestly. One you had incorrectly believed you could cope with.

Meg and Joni had called you in a panic from the ski lodge they’d gone to in Canada. There was talk of stopping all flights, how were they going to get home? And lord, what about their home? Were they really supposed to stay there? Since being cut off, Joni had made some career moves that were smart, but she still had to scale back. They were in a much smaller place than before, one that was only temporary—Joni claimed as much about one million times while signing the papers for it.

Jacob had been the next to call, a hysterical Donna could be heard in the background. They had also been moving into another home because of financial issues. You weren’t sure what the ploy was with having Jacob call. Out of everyone in the family, he was the one you spoke to the least, maybe in competition with his irritating mother. Perhaps that had been the angle, were you really going to leave them isolated with their possibly murderous son in such a small house in an unknown neighborhood?

The answer was no. You weren’t going to leave out any Thrombeys. The Drysdales, on the other hand… You had made your terms quite clear. So, with the news of a quarantine sweeping across the country, these overprivileged people flocked to the house they had once called their own. But it was your house now, and that meant it was well within your right to exclude Linda and Richard.

The night you had told Ransom about it was…quite a night.

March: the arrival,

Your grand idea was to deliver the news quickly, over a drink when he was in the best mood he could be. You casually told him that Joni and Meg would be arriving first, then Walt, Donna, and Jacob.

He stared for a long time before simply stating, “I will not let them in the house.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ransom—”

He leaned forward, slamming his glass down on the table between you. “It’s not happening.”

You arched an eyebrow. Was he trying to be intimidating? Oh, you would be just terrified if you were an elderly author or poor nurse tasked with caring for the mentioned author. Seeing as you were his girlfriend, he was out of luck on that.

“I will lock the doors,” he declared, standing to place his hands on his hips. “Not one of those assholes is getting in here. You understand me?”

Instead of answering, you grabbed your drink and returned to the magazine in your lap. That was probably Ransom’s greatest source of irritation, when you decided you were done with the dramatics and ignored him.

He scoffed. “The fact that you think this is happening… It just goes to show—you call me a narcissist, but clearly, you are the narcissist! It takes one to know one!”

It takes one to know one? “Are you five?”

He crossed his arms over his chest.

With a soft sigh, you turned the page. It was silent for several seconds and you weren’t sure if he was trying to build up to something or if he just had nothing else left to try. Whatever it was, you told yourself you were ready for it. How many years was it now? You couldn’t be surprised anymore.

“Are you only with me for sex?”

And you stood corrected. Narrowing your eyes, you looked up at him. “I’m sorry?”

“You clearly don’t care about my feelings—”

“Ransom, seriously, shut up. This is happening, okay? Your family is scared right now, you could try being human. This was their home for a time, of course, they want to be somewhere they feel comfort—”

“No, I’m putting my foot down.”

You rolled your eyes again. “You don’t have a foot to put down. This is my house, too.”

“Too,” he repeated firmly. “Too!”

“Ransom,” you snapped, getting to your feet and throwing the magazine on the table. “Stop acting like a child. They will be here tomorrow. I’m going to bed and if you wanted to join me, that would be great.”

He sat back down, a clear indication that that was not happening.

Things with Ransom, since the last argument, hadn’t been as tense as you thought they would be. Majorly, nothing really changed. Well, sex changed. You guys just weren’t doing that, which was major, because of the rate at which it had been occurring. But other than that, nothing changed. He wasn’t ignoring you, he wasn’t not touching you, there was very simple no sex. At all. But was that something you were okay with? Hell no. It was getting old and you were getting fucking tired of it.

“Fine, if you don’t, just know that I am keeping track.”

“Track?” he narrowed his eyes. “Of what?”

“How many nights I’ve slept without you and how many nights you’ve gone without fucking me.”

“After your last indiscretion, did you really expect anything else? Which you still haven’t apologized for, by the way.”

“Apologize?” you scoffed. “For keeping a fucking vibrator? What do you want me to say, Ransom? Sorry that I have yet to give you total control over my body?”

“That is exactly what I want to hear.”

Without another word, you simply rolled your eyes at him and stormed off to the room you had once upon a time shared with your boyfriend. Not that he officially moved out. In fact, he was still sleeping in there and kept his shit in there. But he was not falling asleep with you nor was he was present when you woke up.

You had no idea what he was doing in there and you were trying to be human, unlike Ransom. Everyone deserved privacy. Besides, he’d made you your sunroom and it afforded him a lot of forgiveness. It was this tiny extension of the house that had huge windows and was just small enough to fit your yoga mat, a couch, and about a billion plants. You read there a lot, you also escaped Ransom a few times. You could understand his desire for an office. But as frequently as he was using it? That was scary.

Admittedly, it was difficult to stay mad at him when you walked through the house that you’d almost now completely rebuilt together. The only exclusion being the office. It had been one of those Harlan rooms that you’d never actually been in prior because you were not family. Weeks ago, you watched Ransom remove everything, add new things, but you still hadn’t been inside. He didn’t so much tell you that it was his own personal room, but it was very clear in how he locked the door. Like, all the time.

You had already been prepping for bed, knowing that the discussion was going to be exhausting. You threw yourself straight into bed, not overly optimistic about the possibility that you were going to fall asleep.

Maybe it was the argument, the mention, the acknowledgment that you guys weren’t having sex. Did he even care? It didn’t seem like it. That caused concern for you. You’d always thought that you would be much older when the two of you would be having no sex. You wondered if things were changing, if your relationship was changing.

Officially, it was hopeless. You were not going to fall asleep. You were just about to get back up when you heard him walking up the stairs, you froze, held your breath, hoped that maybe he wanted to end this. Instead, he walked by the room and to the end of the hall, where said office was.

Fine, fuck him. You just had to get up and moving, there was no shortage of shit you had to prepare. Jacob, though terrible, was family, and a teenage boy. You were going to set him up in a smaller room on the bottom floor. Harlan usually had live-in staff stay in that room if they ever fell on hard times. You figured he would enjoy the privacy. Walt might even enjoy not sleeping in the same room as the next Ted Bundy.

Meg’s room was the most used since she stopped by on weekends sometimes when Ransom was gone for the day or stayed out late. They always met in the kitchen when morning came to argue and give you a headache, however.

She probably needed towels in the bathroom. She might even end up wanting different sheets. Jacob would need more sheets. Was there a color you should give him in the case that the little psycho killed someone, if you wanted to prevent stains? Joni’s room had been cleared out except for major furniture so you wanted to get that set before the morning. You had intended to set all of this up at some horribly early hour, but you were too annoyed to try sleeping. What better time than now?

Did you even have food? You would probably need to go to the store in the morning. You would make a careful list and ensure that no one would need to leave the house again because you were not going to let one of these rich idiots get you sick. Food, sheets because as you were walking through the linen closet, you discovered that you didn’t have really any sets of sheets. Then, you would need laundry detergent, fabric softener. Not all the rooms had pillows—

“What the hell are you doing?”

Ransom found you madly scribbling on a notepad in the center of Joni’s room. You didn’t bother to look at him when you answered, “Making a shopping list.”

“May I ask what for?”

“We have no sheets or pillows or food…or really anything, Ransom. Are we fucking vampires?”

He sighed as he made his way to you. “Okay, it’s time for bed.”

“Go away if you’re not going to be helpful.”

“No, get up now.” But he was met with nothing but silence. Instead of trying another round of verbal communication, he effortlessly grabbed your arms and picked you up.

“Ransom!”

He abruptly took your face in his hands. “They’re lucky they even get to be here. You’re not doing a single thing for these people.”

“Stop, okay? This is our house, we have to have these things—”

“No, you stop. Stop trying to do anything for them because no matter what, they’re going to complain.”

You glared. “Are you trying to help? Just go back to your stupid office and leave me be.”

He arched an eyebrow at you. “It is time for bed. I’m taking you to the room—”

“I’m just going to sneak out as soon as you leave for your office, so don’t waste my time or yours—”

He abruptly threw you up over his shoulder.

“Ransom!” you shrieked in absolute panic, he had never done this. Dragged you kicking and screaming? Yes. Literally pulled you along the floor by your legs? Yes. This? No, not once.

He was quick to get to the room, worried about how exactly you would react, what you were willing to do to make him drop you. He tossed you down on the mattress.

“You’re such an ass! I have to—”

He silenced you by pulling off his T-shirt.

So, he interrupted you because he wanted to have sex? After he had been withholding it? You feigned an unbothered expression. “Ransom, fuck off.”

He scowled. “Why did I have to find you? Why did life bring you to me? Personally, the meaningless fucking was fine for me, a lot less trouble.”

You scoffed. “Do you think I like being with you?! You’re the worst person I’ve ever fucking met, possibly the worst person on this fucking planet!”

He rolled his eyes. “Get on your knees.”

“You are not serious.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re seriously fucking insane, but you’re not serious in that you actually think that’s going to happen!”

“Get. On. Your. Knees. You can do it on your own or I can do it for you.”

You weighed your options. You wanted to have sex with your boyfriend, you wanted to be close to him. However, if he left you after you sucked him off, you might end up killing him. But what could you do? Ransom was apparently in a mood.

Whatever theatrics that were going to occur tonight were already planned, you realized. If he was going to walk away, he was going to walk away. No amount of arguing or any other behavioral tactics were going to change that. You would hit him, you were sure of that, but at least you could get back to making your home presentable.

You reached back for a pillow and gave him a challenging look. He arched an eyebrow at you as you slowly jumped off the bed, laid your pillow at his feet and got to your knees.

“The fuck is this? You suddenly a princess?”

“I’ve always been a princess,” you declared. “One day, a wonderful man or woman, who’s going to give me an even bigger house, is going to know it.”

He glared. “What the fuck is your problem? Do I need to start paying you to keep your mouth shut?”

You snorted. “You have money?”

And that was, apparently, a line crossed for Ransom. Furiously, without another word, he yanked his pants open and shoved them down with his boxers.

Instead of staring at his cock in front of your face, you looked up at him.

He sighed. “Y/N, suck my cock.”

You shrugged. “Why?”

He took himself in one hand and grabbed your hair in the other. He brought your mouth to the head of his cock and waited patiently. You did nothing, simply kept your gaze on him. Rolling his eyes, he pulled at your hair.

You attempted to keep your lips clamped but he continued yanking until you opened your mouth to cry out. Then, without hesitation, he shoved his cock down your throat. You gagged instantly, hands snapping up to shove at his thighs. He wouldn’t budge, he kept you there no matter how hard you tried to push him away—which, admittedly, since you were so wet, wasn’t very hard—or how many times you gagged.

His free hand touched your cheek. “You’re fucking beautiful like this.”

He could fuck off—as soon as he was done coming, you would walk away. You didn’t even want to be fucked by him anymore. But sadly, you had missed the taste of him, the feel of his skin on your tongue.

When he finally pulled you off his cock, you gasped for air. Then, once again, he was thrusting back in. You were choking on him, eyes watering, throat burning, drooling, sniffling, hands begging to be let up again with how hard they gripped his thighs.

But Ransom only let you off when he wanted. The second time, he allowed you to try to catch your breath. Your head was spinning since you were not quite getting oxygen back fast enough. You were blinking away those tiny black spots appearing behind your eyes. He used one hand to wipe away the tears on your cheeks and whatever was falling down your chin.

Then he was bringing you down once more. Holding you in place, he began fucking your mouth slowly, gently, two words that normally did not apply to Ransom. He took his time, he wanted you aching and craving him, and you really fucking were. You thought you wouldn’t feel a thing if he walked away after thing, but now, you knew you were going to set that office on fire if he tried it.

As he neared his end, he grew noisier. You liked that about Ransom, he didn’t hold back due to some insane fragile masculinity thing—no, that was often displayed in less conventional ways. He liked fucking you and he liked letting you know.

He picked up speed eventually, paying no mind to the sounds of you choking every time he thrust in a tad too hard. You didn’t even care, you knew you would be soaking wet, if you just reached down and felt…

He yanked you down when he was coming, buried deep in your throat, reveling in the feel of your throat moving around him, trying not to choke, trying to breathe. “Don’t make a mess, baby, swallow everything I’m giving you.”

You tried, really, you were not just playing your usual game of disobedience. But he really was choking you, so when you tried to swallow, things did not go according to plan. You gagged, nothing was swallowed. A mess you did create. On him, the floor, yourself, the pillow.

Ransom pulled you off and then grabbed your arm to haul you up. His hand still in your hair, he forced you to look up at him, bending your neck back almost uncomfortably. You were still struggling with lack of oxygen and just about fell into him completely, clearly being bratty was not on your mind.

He waited patiently, as if he wanted an explanation. No, you did not intend to do the opposite of what he had told you, but you weren’t about to let him know that. “Baby,” he cooed. His hand slid up from your arm to your neck where some of his cum was sliding down toward your chest. “What was what?”

“Out of practice, I guess. It’s been months since you’ve touched me.” Okay, it had just barely been two months yesterday, but if he could be dramatic, you were allowed as well.

He arched an eyebrow. “Considering you only need to say one word to me, I don’t think you really want it that bad.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”

His expression fell. He had hoped you would desperately blurt out an apology, clearly. Without another word, he shoved you onto the bed.

You stared up at him, face composed. “Don’t you have an office to be in?”

“You seem very jealous of that office, baby.”

“Why would I be? I finally get to be away from you.”

He leaned forward and grabbed your shorts and panties. The way he ripped them off you was damn near violent. You both wanted something rough tonight. “Then why is your pussy wet?”

You shrugged. “Couldn’t be for you. I can’t remember the last time you made me come.”

He leaned over, slowly crawling his way up your body.

Without prompt, you reached between your bodies and pulled your shirt over your head, arching a little more than necessary.

He took your forearms and pinned them to the bed. “Tell me how bad you need me.”

You shook your head. “I don’t.”

“I’m not joking.”

“I’m not joking,” you countered. “I. Don’t. Need. You.”

He took your jaw in one hand, forcing you to meet his stare. “Y/N, seriously.”

He really wasn’t joking, but again, neither were you. “Ransom, if you walk out before you fuck me, I will leave you. Do you understand me? I’ll fucking disappear, and you will never ever see me again.”

He smirked. “I understand.”

“I need you,” you breathed, free arm sliding around his shoulder, clinging tight. “I really fucking need you. I need you inside me. You know it’s been too long.”

Smiling like he just won the lottery, he rolled onto his side a little, turning your hips with him. “Yes,” he agreed. “Too long, baby, I’m sorry.”

You knew he wasn’t. You felt his tip at your entrance and you held your breath. He was a dick, yes, but you had been absolutely starving for his touch, his attention.

He pressed inside and it stung almost as bad as it had the first time. You turned your head away, hand pressed to your mouth to keep quiet. You hadn’t noticed your eyes were filled with tears until he touched your cheek and you blinked in surprise. You weren’t sure what you were crying about, the pain or the relief of finally feeling him.

You kept yourself turned from him, hoping he would just drop it. Of course, he wouldn’t. Of course, the one time you were willing to give Ransom a pass to be a complete ass, he wouldn’t want to take it.

“Sorry, baby girl,” he cooed. He had stopped, letting you adjust to him. However, Ransom didn’t have an ounce of patience and you knew his restraint was slipping. “I’m sorry, I’ll make it better.”

You also knew he wasn’t sorry. You squeezed your eyes shut until he was buried inside you. Feeling so full was something you had missed but feeling wanted was what you had been longing for. He could say the words, he could give you lingering looks when you were wearing a dress or a tight top, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t convince you like when he just grabbed you and used you to satisfy every sick desire he had.

He grabbed your face and forced you to turn back but your eyes were shut. Instead of trying to get you to look at him, he kissed you. His lips moved over yours until you were finally curling into him, his arm wrapped around your back and pinned you against him.

Intimate, close, slow, but so fucking hard, that was how he made you come the first time. There were no words, just grabbing each other, gasping into the kiss, biting one another’s lips, tongue and teeth, scratching nails, pulling hair. He watched your face as you were coming down, hips still snapping up, fingers brushing along your cheeks.

He rolled onto his back and brought you with him. You hissed at the ache of this new angle, using your knees to pull off just a little. He took your hands and set them to the headboard. The way he stared up at you, like he was worshiping every inch of you, it made your skin burn.

“Ride me,” he ordered.

Hands gripping the bed, your hips began to roll. Ransom stared the whole time, where his cock was disappearing inside you, your moving breasts, your gorgeous, soft body. He used one hand to pinch your nipples alternatively and the opposite hand to focus solely on your clit.

You were breathless, shaking, chasing after that climbing high. You let the headboard go in favor of grabbing his hands, dragging them up to circle around your neck. As he began to apply pressure, you continued bouncing on his cock, unashamedly screaming now that he was stifling the noise.

Watching your eyes fill with tears, hearing those strangled sounds tear from your throat, it was enough to get him there as soon as your cunt started to tighten. He was coming with you, squeezing your neck tighter, so tight you tried to pull his hands off you.

But it was futile, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. He threw you down, rolling over so he was on top of you. You wrapped your legs around him, spreading your thighs and taking him in deeper.

He set one hand to the mattress to hold himself up but kept his other hand on your neck. He leaned over, forehead pressing to yours, breathing hotly against your skin. “Say it again.”

“Say what?” you choked out.

“You know.”

You always knew. He had only asked you for this one other time since you’d said it that first night. You stopped caring that he was probably never going to say it back. “I love you.”

His hips finally stilled. You weren’t sure what his response was going to be, but you knew what it wasn’t going to be. Yes, you’d stopped caring, but were you okay with it? You weren’t entirely convinced. But what were you going to do? Leave Ransom? That seemed highly unlikely.

So, you decided to speak before he could. “Even though you’re a fucking loser.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “And I guess you’re hot enough to keep around even if that mouth annoys the hell out of me.”

That, you suspected, was as close as he was going to get to ever stating his feelings for you. “Are you going to let me get back to my list?”

He rolled his eyes. “No. Not done yet.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Really? You lasted, like, three minutes—”

He gave you a sharp look. “Must be my age, I guess I’ll need a minute before I can go again. But you, baby girl,” he grabbed one of your hands and brought your fingers up to his lips.

You watched closely as he kissed every knuckle before he brought your hand down and pressed your first two fingers to your clit. You shuddered. “Ransom, wait—”

“Since you like getting yourself off so much, you’re going to—”

You sighed. “Ransom, please—”

“And I’m going to watch until I’m ready to fuck you again.”

You pouted up at him. “You said it was time for bed.”

“I changed my mind.” He pulled your legs from around him and sat back to watch you. He pulled one thigh further from the other and gave you an expectant look. “I wasn’t asking, baby.”

For what felt like the first time in years, you were woken up by your boyfriend with his hand between your legs. You were laying on his chest, he was kissing the top of your head, tracing patterns along your spine and just barely teasing your clit.

All he needed to know was that you were awake and then had you pinned underneath him before you could say a word. Last night was nice but now the sun was shining through the blinds and you could see all of him. The freckles on his skin, the fine lines around his mouth because he does actually smile even if he doesn’t want anyone to know. And all his muscles—ugh.

“Good morning,” he said softly.

You smiled. “I have to get up and start getting ready.”

“No, baby. The only thing you need to do is open your legs so your boyfriend can fuck you like you deserve to be fucked.”

“Oh, deserve?” you scoffed. “I always deserve to be fucked. What changed your mind?”

He shrugged his shoulder. “Does it matter?”

Few things did when it really came down to your relationship with Ransom. It was all one huge give-and-take and neither of you shied away from taking advantage of that lack of communication.

He kept you there for nearly half an hour, insisting that you give him just one more finish, but he’d done that nearly four times. The reason you were able to escape was that there was someone at the door. As Ransom when to see who it was, you ran for the shower.

You were surprised when he joined you. One of your favorite things in your entire relationship was taking showers with Ransom, but it rarely happened. Whether that be because you were always on a time limit when you were getting ready or because he woke up later than you.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“I miss taking showers with you, you’re warm.”

He turned to kiss your cheek. “You going shopping?” he muttered against your skin.

“Yeah, we don’t have anything either. We’re out of your favorite cookies, you know.”

He hummed. “Okay, just be safe. Wear a mask and try not to touch anything you don’t have to. Put everything in the back of your car, I put hand sanitizer in there so use it before you touch anything inside.”

You scoffed as you looked back, eyebrow arching. “You sound scared.”

He shrugged. “Well, you know… I just don’t want you to get sick.”

You smiled a little.

“Because I don’t want to have to take care of you.”

“Ugh, Ransom!” You brought your hand up to flick his forehead, but he caught your wrist and used the opposite hand to turn you around.

His arm slid across the small of your back and he picked you up to walk you to the shower wall. He pinned you against it completely, the shower head was almost directly over the two of you. Instead of attempting to watch him, you closed your eyes and pulled him into a kiss by his hair. He angled his hips up and easily thrust inside you.

Your mouth dropped and you gasped, he used that as his chance to bite down on your lip. You were sore between your legs, but the ache was a reminder that Ransom had put aside his pettiness because he had wanted you so badly. You brought your leg up to hook around his hip and used that as your leverage as you began to roll your hips.

He shuddered and bit harder on your lip still trapped between his teeth. He only let it go so he could turn down and press his mouth to your shoulder. “Slow baby, fuck me slow.”

You did as he directed. You slid off his cock and then slid back down, using all the restraint you could muster because you couldn’t wait until his broke. You couldn’t wait for him to grab you and take charge.

His hand slid between the two of you and he began pressing down on your clit, just slightly.

“I could kill you, Ransom,” you blurted out. “You better not ever go so long without touching me again.”

He nodded. “I promise, I will not.”

If you had a question about his tone, it died when his hands finally grasped your hips. “Tell me what you want.”

“Hard,” you pleaded. “So hard, please. I want to feel you all day, I want it to hurt until you’re inside me again.”

And goodness, did he make it hurt. He fucked you until you could no longer stand, until you weren’t able to coherently tell him that you weren’t sure you would ever be able to on your own again.

He had to set you on the floor of the tub when he knew it was time to get out. You weren’t sure why, and if you had been in a better mindset, you would have remembered the importance of always asking Ransom questions about his actions. However, all you could do was stay still, a little dizzy, vibrating pleasantly all over.

It somehow felt like hours but only seconds that he left you alone. When he was standing you back up, you still didn’t have the good sense to ask what the hell he was doing, but you absolutely melted when he pulled you from the shower and wrapped you up in a warm towel. A towel that had clearly just come out of the dryer—this man, that he could be so perfect and just chose not to be, deserved to be in jail. Yeah, the murder thing was a strike against him, you guessed, but this? Unforgivable.

When you got back home, there were several cars that you had never seen. Somehow, despite not getting an inheritance, the Thrombeys still knew how to make money. Which just made the whole Harlan thing even more annoying. Why all the dramatics? Rich people didn’t get poor the same way poor people got poorer. It was merely a showing of greed.

But you could not dwell on things like that, otherwise, this whole thing was going to go bad much quicker than you had suspected. You also couldn’t be the one that made it go bad. You weren’t an actual Thrombey or a Drysdale—and never would be since you fell in love with the least committal one of them all. You, despite extending your home and kindness, needed to be a lot more behaved than Ransom.

As you were bringing in the groceries, you glanced at the cars. There were five in total and you shuddered to think Jacob was driving. He was about that age, of course, but still, yikes. Meg and Joni probably showed up separately, which meant Donna and Walt did as well. Okay, weird, but you long ago stopped trying to guess why these people did what they did.

You wrestled with the front door for a moment and the noise of it brought in Joni and Meg. The older woman was completely decked out in crystals, unsurprisingly, you had just read an about how crystal shops were doing particularly well at this time.

“Hey, guys,” you greeted.

“Thank you so much for letting us stay here,” Meg immediately responded, taking some of the bags from your hands.

Joni followed her daughter’s lead. “Yes, honey, let us help you.”

Okay, suspicious. These people rarely did a thing that would constitute as the simplest of work—save for Meg, of course. “Thanks, but Ransom really should be helping me.” You gently pressed the door back with your leg, not shutting it completely but trying to keep the cold at bay. “Ransom!”

“He’s in the kitchen,” Joni informed.

“Great, we can head that way.”

On the walk there, you found Donna and Walt were in what was now one of many family rooms. They greeted you a tad overenthusiastically—regardless, you couldn’t stop, you’d just deal with it later.

“You didn’t need to go shopping for us,” Donna said.

“Oh, it’s fine,” you assured. “We needed a few things, I thought I’d get it done all at once so you guys wouldn’t need to worry about it.”

As if given a cue, they all began to thank you again. Again, you would need to deal with this when your arms were less full and there weren’t about a million bags in the back of your car.

You led the way to the kitchen, Meg and Joni on your tail. “Was the trip over here easy enough?”

“So weird,” Joni claimed. “People are literally going insane. I went to my usual crystal shop before I got here…”

Typical. She proceeded to tell you about how she had an “altercation” with a woman for a tiger’s eye finished into the shape of her animal spirit guide—which you were forgetting at the moment, a swan or something.

You stopped trying to recall those past conversations in case she quizzed you about what your animal was—she had stressed the importance of finding it and you promised you would the next time you saw her—when you saw Richard and Linda sitting at your kitchen table. Ransom was at the counter, a glass of whiskey in hand.

You merely glanced at them before turning to him. There were no words at all for the rage you felt at that moment. Joni had stopped speaking and was working to get the bags she’d taken from you onto a flat surface so she could grab the rest.

“Y/N!” Richard greeted. “Thank you so much for letting us stay here.”

You lifted your eyebrows at Ransom.

“She obviously didn’t know, Richard,” Linda pointed out. “Because she’s been trying to steal my son away since the day that she met him.”

You turned to her. “Are you—?”

“No, no, no,” Joni interjected. “She didn’t mean that!” She set the last of the bags down and touched your shoulder. “She’s joking!” She turned to Linda. “You’re joking, right?”

“Of course,” Linda claimed, unconvincingly with a smirk that you had come to recognize as smug. Not that you’d seen it much on her, but her son, on the other hand…

Speaking of Ransom, he looked beyond exhausted. Only, he wasn’t, he was just trying to convey that because it was clear that he didn’t intend to have this discussion with you. It never was a discussion, because, for some reason, he made all the excuses in the world for his mother and would obviously choose her over you.

Suddenly, in your mind, things all fell into place. Richard and Linda probably got here after all the others, the rest had been set to get there around noon. He’d kept you in bed to stop you from getting home before them because then you could keep them out of the house, you could have caused a huge scene. Now? It was clear that you were outvoted, the rest of the family probably would have thought of you as unreasonable if you kicked them out now.

Fine, it was all fine. You weren’t going to argue about this, not then. It would give Linda joy to see you have a complete meltdown. Ransom had already humiliated you enough by doing this completely behind your back, you weren’t going to give her anything else.

You turned to the counter to grab his keys. “Well, then you get to go back to the store.” You threw the keys at his chest, probably harder than you should have, and turned to head back out to your car.

It was silent until you exited the room, then Linda felt the need to voice her opinion no one asked for. “I’m just saying, I wouldn’t marry her. She’s shopping for essential items the day company was planned to arrive?”

You turned right back around but Meg was there to usher you back outside. She knew you needed a moment of fresh air and a moment away from Linda. Meg was a rather sympathetic person, she understood completely where you were coming from. In her mind, you were right and Ransom was so wrong for what he did, and Linda was wrong as well. But she also told you, this was how this family went. Linda was at the top now that Harlan was gone. If you sincerely wanted to be with Ransom—and she was confused about that—you would have to suck it up.

That much you agreed with, to an extent. It was clear that you were never going to be able to fix these people completely, but you were trying to create boundaries. Linda could not hit your boyfriend, her son. But how was she going to learn that if Ransom didn’t give a damn? She wasn’t.

You were suddenly wishing you’d accepted the invitation from your parents to stay with them until this all settled down. You had been too scared, however, because of the distance that seemed to be growing with Ransom. Now, you just felt like an idiot.

He lied to you. He did this behind your back, and he used intimacy to distract you from his plans, and that was absolutely disgusting. You couldn’t get over that. You felt used, by the one person you’re supposed to be able to trust more than anyone else in the world.

“Meg, can we have a minute?”

You turned away as soon as you heard Ransom off to your side. If you had a minute with him, you would probably murder him.

“Um,” she started, shifting awkwardly.

“It���s fine,” you assured. “Can you start putting away the groceries, please?”

“Yes, I will do that,” she eagerly confirmed. Meg liked to feel helpful, she often felt guilty about her privilege and wanted to be anything but another typical Thrombey. It was refreshing given all the other extreme personalities you would have to be living with for a while.

“I bought enough sheets for every single bed in the house for the next ten years,” you informed. “Those are fine. We’ll just need more food, probably—”

Ransom reached out for your arm, but you jerked away from him.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Hey—”

You finally turned to him. “I am not talking about this. You lied to me, you did this behind my back—”

“She’s my mom—”

“And I’m your girlfriend!” you hissed back. “And I am so fucking tired of this and you. Last night, you had sex with me to distract me so you could fucking sneak your parents in here. Who does that?!”

“That’s not why I had sex with you—”

“Really?” you demanded. No, you wouldn’t be having this talk, it wasn’t happening. Turning away, you sighed, “It doesn’t matter. I’m done talking to you about this, I’m serious. Do whatever the fuck you want, Ransom. That’s what you always do anyway. I’m done caring.”

“Look, we can’t be fighting with these people here—”

“You should have thought about that before you lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie—”

“I’m having a really hard time right now not running you over with my car,” you asserted, “So I’m going to go back inside. I just need you to go to the store for me, okay? Please, can you do one thing, literally, Ransom, just one thing to help me feel, like, 10% less stressed about all of this?”

“Okay. Yeah, I’ll go to the store.”

“Great.” You started to pull out more bags from the car.

“Can we talk about this later?”

“I don’t know yet.” Hell no, but you weren’t going to tell him that. With full arms, you stormed around him and back into the house.

Later, when he got home, he discovered that you had moved out of the bedroom. Yes, you had moved your shit to another room, locked it, and acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

April: the parents’ bedroom,

It was six in the morning, you had just failed at finishing your yoga routine due to your pounding headache. You’d thought a smoothie would make you feel much better, but see, that was with the condition that everyone else was still asleep.

Not the case.

Joni and Richard were currently in the middle of a debate about anti-maskers. Joni, surprisingly, given all her healing crystals shit, thought anti-maskers were idiots. Richard, on the other hand, believed this was a free country and people should have the right to choose anything and everything because “that’s America”.

You had a blender full of ingredients and when you finally got to turn it on, it was comparable to an orgasm. If only because you and Ransom were back to a no-touching arrangement. You could barely stand to look at him.

They seemed unbothered by the blender, their argument only getting louder. You went to the cabinet to grab some pills, anything that would make your head feel better. Could anything with these people? You weren’t overly optimistic about that prospect.

You took your place back at the blender, leaning down to fall into the pain of that instead of the politics conversation. They did this often. Last week, it was whether people should vote this November. Prior, it had been traveling bans, canceled events, whether unemployment should be giving people as much as they are. Linda and Walt interjected sometimes, even Meg because she couldn’t remain silent on a few occasions, but you, Ransom, and Jacob all but steered clear of it.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and stood up straight. You didn’t want anyone knowing you weren’t feeling well. Richard and Walt always acted like you were dying, Joni would start with her crystals and lectures about the importance of meditating.

Thankfully, it was just Ransom. He had been out, he was wearing a scarf, a heavy jacket, and his pale cheeks were flushed red. He nodded out of the room and you followed because silence seemed too tempting.

“What is it, Ransom?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I need a reason to speak to you?”

Your eyes fell shut and you pressed your fingers to your temples. He wasn’t being serious right now, was he? He wanted to have a conversation right now? You felt on the verge of death.

He touched your shoulder again. “Are you okay?”

“Just a headache. Not a big deal.”

“Not trying to be an ass—”

You opened your eyes. “But you’re so good at it.”

“I told you this was a bad idea.”

“Ransom,” you sighed, shrugging his hand off.

He caught you before you could turn away. “Hey.”

“Ransom, please, I don’t want to talk about this.”

“I don’t want to talk much either.”

You narrowed your eyes.

He shrugged. “You know I know how to make you feel better when you have a headache.”

You hummed. “Sex? Why? Are you trying to distract me again? Were you hoping I wouldn’t notice your inability to wake up at a reasonable hour for me, but how willing you seem to wake up at 5 in the morning to have coffee with your mommy?”

“I wasn’t asleep,” he insisted. “And she heard me come downstairs.”

“Yes, great cover. So convincing.”

“I do not wake up to have coffee with her every morning. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

You lifted your eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He glared. “It’s because I hate sleeping without you.”

“You made me sleep without you—!”

“That was not what you think!”

You narrowed your eyes. “It wasn’t a temper tantrum over the vibrator?”

“No, okay, stop. We’re not going back, okay? No talk about the past, we need to talk about now. You’re the one that made me promise that I wouldn’t withhold sex—”

“I’m not withholding sex, Ransom, I just have no desire to be around you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Doubt that.”

“If you’re having issues sleeping, maybe you should ask your mommy to read you a bedtime story and—”

He pressed his hand over your mouth and started dragging you across the room.

Immediately, you started screaming at him. What the fuck? And you continued to do this until you realized he was leading you to Richard and Linda’s room. Eww, if you didn’t want to talk to him, you certainly didn’t want to talk to her.

But despite your struggling, he forced you into the room and slammed the door before you could escape.

“What the hell?” you demanded.

“This fight is over.”

“No, it’s not!”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous because I care about you? I’m done, I can’t do this anymore. My parents want me to stay with them and I think I should—”

His eyes widened at you. “This is your god damn house—”

“You clearly don’t think so! I had one condition, just one fucking condition. I wanted her to apologize for trying to physically assault you and somehow that makes me the villain in this situation?”

“That’s not what I’m saying—”

“You went behind my back, Ransom.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

Wow, was that an actual apology? It didn’t matter. One apology a month later was too small. “Look, it’s too late, okay? I’m exhausted and I just want to go home—”

“This is your fucking home!”

“No, it’s your mother’s fucking home and it always will be if you let her do whatever the fuck she wants!”

“She apologized!”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed.

He reached into his pants and yanked out his phone. Easily, he found one of the last texts that they had exchanged and turned it to you.

Don’t tell your psycho, fragile girlfriend but I am sorry. I shouldn’t have acted the way that I did. I understand that it was out of line, it will not happen again. Can we come over? You know I don’t want to be alone with your father.

It took three seconds to go from partially angry to very, absolutely, completely outraged. You smacked the phone out of his hand and it clattered to the hardwood floor. “I’m going to fucking kill you, Ransom!”

He threw his arms up. “For what?!”

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me this earlier?!”

“She would have known that I told you.”

“And?!”

“And,” he began, “I…don’t really know what I thought would happen.”

You shoved at his chest and he didn’t even have the energy to step back simply to make you feel better. He didn’t move an inch because you shoving him was like a cat trying to push a lion. “You are such a fucking mommy’s boy! I’m done with this whole thing, I’m done with you!”

“No, you’re not!”

“Yes, I am! You can’t make me stay here, you can’t make me—”

“You love me!”

Your eyes widened. He made you tell him you loved him, never said it back, and now he was using it against you? “You are dead! Do you understand me?! I’m going to run you over with your fucking Beemer! Then I’m going to get a new boyfriend and I’m going to let him fuck me in that stupid fucking car!”

He grabbed a handful of your hair and your hands flew back to scratch at his forearm. He shoved you back onto the bed and made the mistake of rolling over to attempt to get away from him. He grabbed both of your wrists and managed to get them into one of his hands, then yanked down your yoga pants.

“You are tearing them, you ass!”

And then he smacked your bare skin hard enough that it echoed, loud enough that you were sure anyone in the kitchen could have heard it. Your entire body burned with humiliation, but you loved the pain. How had you survived so long without him doing this?

“Shut the fuck up,” he ordered.

“Are you seriously trying to fuck me in your parents’ room?” you snapped.

“No, I am going to fuck you in my parents’ room,” he corrected. “What? You’re not into this anymore? This wouldn’t be the first time.”

“They sleep here,” you reminded. “This is weird given your obsession with her.”

“I changed the sheets this morning.”

“Are you fucking serious? You’re her maid now?”

He smacked you again and you pressed your face down to muffle your scream. “No, I just always knew that I was going to fuck you here today.”

You waited until the pain subsided before you turned your face, Ransom was still working the yoga pants down, a task that seemed impossible with only one hand. “Where were you today?”

“I had a meeting.”

“With whom?”

“None of your business.”

“Yes, it is my business, you fucking dick! If you’re not going to let me go home—”

He spanked you again, harder now, it seemed like an angry action, not just a retaliating one. “You are home, this is your fucking home and if you suggest otherwise again, I fucking swear—”

“What?” you demanded. “You’re going to tattle to your mommy?”

“I should fucking strangle you,” he growled, and before you could say anything, his hand was at your pussy. He scoffed. “You are seriously this wet? You have so many fucking issues.”

“One issue,” you argued. “You.” But that was a lie and he was more than right. You could hear him moving his pants out of his way and you were nearly shaking with the need to feel him.

Abruptly, he shoved his cock inside you and you both moaned as you adjusted around him. It was loud, obscenely loud, there was no question about what you two were doing, and you honestly didn’t care anymore. Had he gotten bigger? No, that wasn’t possible. You were pretty sure it wasn’t.

You felt him moving to tear off his coat. “Don’t you dare throw that coat on this floor, Ransom.”

But he did and he did it so eagerly, like he wanted to irritate you. The floors were hardwood, Linda had her dogs in the home, and their fur got everywhere on Ransom’s clothes. He hated you, you hated it because he just threw things away—didn’t even donate them because he’s such a beast.

Next, you felt his scarf around your wrists and started struggling.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Shut up,” he snarled.  “You’re lucky I’m not fucking gagging you.”

As his hips began rocking just slightly, he grabbed your jaw and turned your head back. His lips found yours immediately and while you two were sharing a sloppy, unskilled kiss, he began driving his hips into you as hard as he knew you needed him to.

His skin was slapping against yours noisily, the bed was creaking, moving on those extra hard thrusts. He spread your legs out as wide as he could and held them there, fingers digging painfully into your skin.

Things became very clear to Ransom at that moment. You were underneath him, completely at his mercy since you were bound now. You were pouting, pretending that you didn’t like this, and he wanted to fuck that disobedience out of you. He sat back up, holding your hips as he kept steadily moving in and out of you. “I’m going to fuck your ass.”

You blinked once, twice. “What?”

He never pulled out, but he did lean over and start yanking on the drawers of one of the bedside tables.

“What are you doing?” No, he wasn’t going to actually…fuck you there. He’d never done it, he’d never even asked about it even though you brought it up a few times. He’d located your plugs that one time, he knew you were into it. But nothing. Why now?

“I know he has to have something,” he insisted.

“I don’t want to think about your parents like that.”

“Oh, no, just think of my dad like that,” he joked.

You shook your head. “Eww.”

“Oh, eww?” he checked. “Since when? You realize you can never talk about fucking him again, right? Looks like you’re going to have to provoke me in other ways now.”

“I didn’t mean ‘eww’ like that,” you claimed, “I meant ‘eww’ that your mom isn’t fucking him, and I definitely should be, because he totally deserves it for being such a great husband and father, but sadly, I’m here with you instead.”

“You’re such a fucking brat and—got it.” Ransom rarely moved fast, preferring to act like the cocky ass that he was, making it clear that he had all the time in the world to do whatever the hell he wanted. Because you were never going to say no. But now, he was acting like he was in a race.

Your body tensed up as soon as you felt the sharp cold against your skin. Ransom took his fingers and spread the gel over your skin, you gasped when you felt one of his fingers teasing your hole.

He did this a few more times, just making sure that you were properly prepped before his first finger dipped inside you. He set his free hand to your back when you tensed. “Relax,” he ordered. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you assured. You’d done this in the past, liked it, but it had been a long time since.

He started pumping his finger in and out and you began to squirm. You were trying to stay still and quiet, trying to hide how good he was making you feel, but he knew. When you pressed your hips back, he added his second finger and you winced.

His fingers already had you feeling so full. That was what you loved most about being with Ransom, you felt almost incomplete whenever he wasn’t in you. Your body was made to take his, to mold to him completely.

“Here’s how this is gonna go, baby,” he began. “You’re going to start sleeping in our bedroom again. Because I am the only man on this planet who can touch you like this and you’re going to stop being such a brat and taking that for granted.”

You scoffed. You were taking him for granted? Of course, every day you didn’t wake up on your knees for him was probably ‘taking him for granted’.

“Yes?”

You nodded, cheek pressed to the mattress. You didn’t care about winning anymore, you needed to be fucked. You lifted your head to look back at him. “Yeah.”

He pushed his third finger as slowly as he could.

You kept your attention on him, watching as his fingers disappeared inside your ass. As he moved his fingers back and forth, he started to tilt his hips. You were hyperaware of everything, you knew where his cock and fingers were, the wall between your two entrances was thin enough that you could feel it all.

He always thought of you as an insatiable, greedy little thing but even he was surprised when you said you wanted more. You wanted his cock, not his fingers, and he figured you were ready for it because you were soaking his length and the sheets.

As he positioned himself over you again, he pulled his cock out of your pussy and you whimpered. He brought his cock up and spread the fingers inside your asshole to open you up for him. You had never experienced Ransom gentler than when he pressed just the tip of his cock into you. You observed in awe, mouth dropped, panting, desperate, soaking. You knew when you were going to feel him, but you were not prepared at all. His cock was bigger than any plug you had used and you were aching.

He groaned when his fingers were out and all that he could feel was you squeezing the hell out of him. “Fuck. Think you can get on your knees for me?”

You nodded but made no moves to do so. He did instead, lifting your hips, and then grabbing your upper arms to keep you there. You pressed your hips down, swallowing more of his cock, whining and moaning at the painful stretch of him.

“Fuck yourself,” he told you.

You were shuddering, body screaming at the uncomfortable angles you were moving. You pushed your hips up until you felt the head of his cock and settled back down until it felt like it was too much, over and over until he knew that your muscles weren’t capable of continuing.

“Almost there,” he promised, lips at your ear. “Almost taking all of my cock, baby.” He let his hands slide down a little, toward your elbows for leverage, and then he started thrusting. He was careful not to go too deep, listening to the sounds you made because words were not your strong point when he was inside you.

You leaned over a bit, unable to hold yourself up completely. You were hovering over the pillows, his hold on you tight enough that you weren’t worried about falling forward. You were practically choking on a scream when one of his hands moved around you to your clit, immediately feeling lightheaded.

You folded over more and Ransom released your arm to grab your hair. Since you weren’t strong enough to hold yourself up completely, he was yanking on the roots of your hair. Your thighs were quivering because you were using them as your only source of balance, and all of that distracted from the painful stretch of his cock driving into you more and more each time.

Your pleasure was slowly climbing. By the time you were coming, your pussy was dripping onto the sheets, you were sweating, shuddering, gasping for air that you couldn’t seem to get enough of.

And he was only halfway inside you. He shoved two fingers into your cunt and used his grip on your hair to shove your face down on the mattress. All his weight pressed down on you until you were flat on the bed, trapping his arm between you and the mattress.

He left you with some space to work, you rode out your high by fucking yourself on his cock and fingers. You were drowning in the sensations, overwhelmingly full of a man that you knew would eventually drive you crazy.

When your body fell limp, he released your hair and grabbed your hip, guiding you to another devastating orgasm. “You still doing okay, baby?”

For a moment, you could only respond with a moan. His thumb brushed over your clit and you gasped. “Daddy, please, please, please—!”

“You think you deserve it, baby?”

“Please make me come,” you begged.

He waited until you were finishing around his fingers and finally, shoved his cock in completely.

You buried your face in the bed, screaming, sobbing, crying his name. He brought his hand from your hip to your hair, petting and shushing you, and that was all you ever needed from Ransom.

He gave you only seconds before his hips were rolling, his fingers pumping in and out of you, thumb rubbing your clit. He paid no mind to you, he simply used your body, no matter how much you were shuddering and shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

It was almost immediate that he pulled out after he finished and climbed off the bed to pull you with him. Your legs were shaking, but he held you tight to keep you up. He turned your back to him so he could watch his cum drip out of your ass.

When he turned you back to him, he gathered his cum from the inside of your thighs and ran his hand across your mouth. Fucked out, covered in him, you never looked more beautiful.

“This is your home,” he told you. “If you say it isn’t again, you won’t be able to walk for a very long time. Understood?”

You shrugged. “I’m not sure I’m convinced yet.”

Ransom tossed you onto the bed like you weighed nothing and went to the door just to lock it. Was it weird that you thought you might get something out of Linda pounding on the door while her son was absolutely pounding you?

May: the anniversary,

It was Linda and Richard’s anniversary and that meant that everyone living in the house had to celebrate because the Thrombeys were starting to face withdrawals from not receiving enough attention from others.

Joni and Walt had decided to cook dinner that night and it surprisingly did not end in disaster. There were some presents, the family was trying their hand at online shopping and as the days ticked by, more and more packages were showing up every day.

The night was ending with a game of charades, something you and Ransom elected not to take part in beyond watching. The first team was Meg, Walt, and Richard. The second team was Joni, Linda, and Donna, and Jacob was the referee. They needed one, every single game because they were oddly competitive and whenever things got too aggressive, they were given a card, from green to red. Red meant disqualification, you’d only seen it happen twice in all these years, but it was great when it did happen.

You couldn’t help but watch Richard and Linda. They’d been married for so long now, so you didn’t understand why Richard had had his affair when he did. She wasn’t overly young, she had no money, it just didn’t make much sense to you.

You were on Ransom’s lap in the chair in the corner of the room. He had been drinking all night, so you chose not to. You guys were a better team when you were coordinating like that. He was always weird about his parents, you figured that was why he’d been off all day.

“Do you think you could ever forgive someone if they cheated on you?” he asked.

You turned to him, eyebrow arched. “I would murder you.”

He scoffed. “Come on, be serious.”

“I am being serious, Ransom.”

“If I were going to cheat on you, I would have already done it. I meant in a general sense.”

“I don’t think you love someone if you cheat on them,” you reasoned. “So, would I forgive? Maybe, I guess, whatever that even means. But would I stay? Hell no.”

“Right?”

“You talking about your parents?”

“It’s so weird, isn’t it? I mean, not really. Men are men and don’t they all eventually cheat?”

“You are playing with fire having this conversation with me.”

He scoffed. “I just don’t get it, why would she stay?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “It seems like you all have your, like, comfortable environments. You don’t really want to leave them…at least she gave him that killer black eye.”

“Yeah,” he recalled with a small smile. “But…I don’t know, I don’t completely blame him, either.”

“Ransom,” you warned.

“No, I’m not saying it’s my mom’s fault, but…she doesn’t exactly love him either. Maybe he thought she used to.”

“Maybe she did.”

“Yeah, maybe…I don’t know, if you’re blackmailing someone essentially—”

“She’s not blackmailing him.”

“He has no money,” he insisted. “He’s terrified. She holds it over him constantly.”

“Ransom, right now, choose. Me or money?”

He turned to you. “No hesitation, I would choose you.”

You were almost surprised to hear that, you thought…you had always thought you were Ransom’s second love, honestly.

“What? Were you expecting something else?”

“I don’t know.” You didn’t want to make him think you thought so low of him. It was a pretty vile accusation.

“You do, that’s fine…because I do believe that if we didn’t have money, it would tear us apart.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” you argued.

He arched an eyebrow at you. “You love your diamonds and this house. And I like spoiling the hell out of you… I know those are simple things, but to have to work for things? We couldn’t make it.”

“Well, he obviously wasn’t that scared, or he wouldn’t have cheated. That was my point. You’re acting like money is the most important thing, if it was, he wouldn’t have risked it.”

“True. I don’t know if I would be able to deal with it.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and laid your cheek against his. “Ransom, baby, you’re jealous of inanimate objects and you once fucked me every day for a week and didn’t let me come because you thought I was talking to my ex.”

“It depends how it started, that’s all I’m saying. People aren’t perfect, you know.”

“I am,” you declared.

He scoffed. “You let me fuck you while you were dating that ex.”

“You coerced me,” you argued. “I was innocently in my own room and you just showed up—”

“So, you’re saying I seduced you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Can we go to bed? I don’t think there are going to be any fistfights tonight.”

“I’m sorry, baby, I know you were looking forward to that.”

“A bit,” you admitted.

“I’ll tell you about the time my mom tackled Joni at my high school graduation.”

You gasped. “I love when you tell me stories.”

Ultimately, things had gone back to normal with you and Ransom. He was sleeping with you more nights than not, he was in his office much less, things seemed to be in a much better place.

June: the affair,

Until June rolled around.

Then all his office shit started up again, the late nights, the insane number of hours. You tried to be understanding, but then he was abandoning you at family dinners and there was the time some moron rear-ended you and you had to call Walt because Joni and Meg weren’t picking up their phones because it was five in the morning, and Ransom wasn’t either because Ransom wasn’t a reliable boyfriend.

He had been apologetic, and you were just relieved that it had been an overall easy situation, so you didn’t hold it against him. Not until you had to borrow his phone to call yours because you had once again misplaced it. You were, once upon a time, a very organized, together person. Then the Thrombeys moved into your home.

You saw dating apps. Dating apps! On his fucking phone. You had no idea how to react, so you just didn’t. You made the mistake of letting everything grow, everything just pile on top of one another until you were at your breaking point.

Linda liked to poke at you and normally, she couldn’t. Because normally, Ransom was around. Because Ransom knew how his mother was and he knew how you were, and he just didn’t want anyone to end up dead.

That changed one morning when you were making pancakes and she came in for her early morning coffee. She asked where Ransom was and that was really the start of it because she did know. She found it hilarious that Ransom had his own office and never let anyone else in. She hated that she wasn’t allowed in but was placated that you weren’t either.

But you told her where he was anyway because you were attempting to be civil. She pointed out how much time he was spending in his office and you pretended it was common, she then asserted that that was how Richard was behaving during his affair.

And honestly, why hadn’t you thought of it before? He had to be having an affair, you always heard him typing in his office. He was clearly on some website, probably some BDSM chatroom, and you were going to fucking kill him.

It all made sense now, last month when he’d asked you if you would forgive cheating. That was just Ransom being Ransom, he was trying to guess your reaction if you ever found out. Well, you hadn’t been exaggerating, you would kill him.

You stormed up to the office and started pounding on the door. The rest of the family was going to hear you, but they were smart enough to know they better just mind their own business in their rooms.

“Ransom!” you yelled after minutes of no answer. Again, you were met with silence and that was when your irritation became fury. “Ransom, I will kick this fucking door down! You know these doors are old and weak and I can do it!”

Long story short, the doors were stronger than you thought, and you could not do it. The low point of your life was probably having to crawl to Meg’s room and ask her to call their super-expensive home doctor because you had done something terrible to your foot.

Ransom showed up three hours later after you had been all wrapped up and the family was fawning over you. You were being forced to sit on the couch and they would not stop asking you if they could get things for you. You were already wearing three different crystals, Walt had made you hot chocolate, and Jacob was checking his horror movie collection for your favorites.

“What the hell happened?” Ransom demanded.

You glared at him. “Where were you?”

“I was out for a walk.”

“And you didn’t take your phone?” Richard pressed. “We were calling you non-stop.”

“I left it up in my office,” he informed, moving to your side. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“She tried to kick down your office door,” Linda answered.

Ransom gave you an incredulous look. “I’m sorry?”

“You should be,” you retorted. You never argued in front of the family because you and Ransom were a team. Yes, you fought, but you never wanted to give the family insight on the cracks in your relationship because you knew they would exploit them.

“Enough,” Meg cut in. “No arguing, Dr. Fields told her to take it easy.”

“You had to call the doctor?” he questioned. “What did you do?”

“Fracture,” Linda informed, “Not that big of a deal. Please, continue arguing.”

Everyone else glared at her while you and Ransom glared at one another. It was then that Jacob reappeared with one of the Saw movies. Typically.

August: the book,

You had taken to sleeping in Meg’s room with her because Ransom was a demon, but he wouldn’t try to enter her room. Ever. So, you comfortably stashed yourself away there every night and stayed there most mornings until noon. She didn’t mind. You’d gotten her a tv in there, so you watched Netflix a lot.

You had yet to confront Ransom with your accusations because you were scared. This family was obscene, being part of it was insane, every single person here was terrible in their own right. But you liked talking to Meg, you liked gardening with Joni, you liked reading the newspaper with Walt in the mornings and talking about the crime section. Even Jacob wasn’t the worst company, he liked to watch Dateline with you.

Ransom was convinced that you were just mad at him because you fractured your toes and couldn’t do yoga for a while. You were fine with him believing that because then you would have to have the conversation.

It was an odd situation to be in. You were sure he hadn’t physically done anything, but you weren’t sure if that should make you feel better or worse. He was connecting with someone and after your conversation, it was clear that he also believed you couldn’t cheat on someone you love. Given that he’d never said he loved you, you were rightfully concerned.

Did he ever love you?

Did you just spend almost 7 years with someone who was never going to feel that way about you? Did you throw away all those opportunities with someone else? Did you stupidly choose Ransom over your family?

Did you let this happen?

You had said you couldn’t forgive it, but now you understood why Linda did. If you love someone, you just don’t want to lose them. You hope that they don’t betray you, but what about when they do? It’s not easy to just leave.

You still loved Ransom, you always would. You didn’t want to lose any of the relationships you formed with the family, but it was different with Ransom. You didn’t want to, obviously, but you also couldn’t. You couldn’t imagine a life without him, you couldn’t imagine moving on, you couldn’t imagine being with someone else.

What did that mean?

You weren’t sure about the long-term answer, but short-term, it meant that you were going to pretend. He wasn’t cheating, he didn’t have dating apps on his phone, he didn’t even have an office as far as you were concerned.

Nothing. Everything was perfect.

Until Jacob’s birthday. You weren’t aware of it before, but unsurprisingly, he was a fucking Leo. You made a mental note to investigate the astrology of certain serial killers Jacob reminded you of, but you would do that with Meg later.

You were helping Walt and Joni cook this time. Apparently, they were the only Thrombeys that knew how to cook and were pleased to have another addition to the small team. It wasn’t a particularly difficult meal, lasagna with garlic bread, but it was Jacob’s favorite.

The plans had been made the week prior, Ransom was going to do one thing for you. Just one, you asked for so little. He would pick up the cake at noon and hide it in the second kitchen. Hide because Jacob wasn’t aware this was happening. He didn’t like to be the center of attention and if he knew this was happening before it was actually happening, he would do anything he could to stop it.

But come 2 PM, three hours after the cake was set to be picked up, you received a call from the bakery. You had let them know that your boyfriend was going to pick it up and you left his name with them and everything, all Ransom needed to do was show up.

The woman on the phone informed you that that didn’t happen, and they were about to close because of pandemic hours. You promised you would be in before she needed to shut the doors and since you were comfortable with your window of time, this was done. Over. First, you were going to yell at Ransom.

You quietly made your way to his office and listened with your ear pressed to the door. You didn’t make a sound until you heard him typing, then you started banging on the door with both hands.

It was seconds later that he answered the door, a confused look on his face over your apparent urgency. He looked like he’d pulled an all-nighter and smelled like a lot of alcohol. “What?”

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

“What? What do you need?”

You tried to open the door, but he held it in place.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You were getting into that office because you were going to find out what he was doing, he was not going to continue to lie to you. You kicked his shin and when his leg buckled, you shoved your way in.

“Hey!” He hurriedly shut the door behind you. He did not want anyone else getting in.

It looked like a normal office. There was a full bookshelf of titles that you couldn’t read because your anger was blurring your vision, there was a desk, a laptop, chairs, a bar cart, not a thing out of the ordinary. What the fuck was he doing in here all day?

There was only one logical answer. You finally turned to him, hands on your hips. “Who is she, Ransom?”

“What?”

“I know you’ve been cheating on me and I’m not going to play this game with you! I just want to know who the fuck she is!”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

“Yes, I’m out of my fucking mind! I’ve been living with your psychotic family since March, dealing with their shit on top of yours, and you are now cheating on me! Please explain to me how anyone else wouldn’t also be out of their mind!”

“I’m not cheating on you!”

“Really?! Then what the fuck are you always doing up here?”

He paused at that.

The camel’s back broke. This was officially over. You turned around and rushed to his computer. He only took a second before he realized what you were doing and followed you there.

“I swear to everything above, if you are in some pathetic chatroom—”

He leaned over you just as you reached for the laptop and slammed it shut. “I’m not cheating on you!”

“Then let me see your fucking laptop!” You didn’t care that he had his hands planted on it, you still grabbed the opposite ends and tried to pull it out from under him. It wasn’t a logical plan since he was much stronger than you, but you weren’t necessarily operating on logic.

“You are crazy,” he asserted.

You moved your hands to the top edge of the laptop and threw your entire body back into Ransom. More than anything, it probably shocked him into moving back. Had you known that it was going to work, you probably would have been better about keeping your footing. Since that wasn’t the case, you both ended up on the floor and for a split second, the laptop was only in your hands.

You dove forward, just inches from the door.

Ransom rushed after you, grabbing your leg to pull you back down.

You knew he was going to get you under him, you wrapped your arms tight around the laptop and started screaming. Joni or Richard might feel inclined to call the police if they thought the two of you were honestly fighting.

Ransom slammed his hand down on your mouth as he crawled over you, knees pressed to your hips to keep you pinned there. “What the hell is wrong with you!?”

You didn’t say a word and you didn’t let your hold on the laptop waver for even a second.

“If I move my hand, you better not scream again,” he warned.

Obviously, you were going to. As soon you could, you yelled, “Call the police, he’s going to kill—!”

Ransom covered your mouth again, eyes wide at you. “You have lost it!”

It was then that you realized you needed to do something. He had the upper hand, and he was going to get the laptop away from you if you did nothing. You started swiping at him with both elbows and knees, never catching anything, but making him nervous enough to back off a little.

Fuck it, he was done trying to be reasonable with you. He moved his hand again, but only to start fighting with you over the laptop again.

“Let it go!” you shrieked.

“You let it go!” he countered. “It’s mine!”

“Not anymore, cheater!”

“I’m not fucking cheating on you!”

“If you have some online BDSM girlfriend, I’m going to fucking kill you!”

“What? What the hell goes through your mind!?”

“You’re constantly in here and you won’t let me in, and you never tell me what you’re doing, you never tell anyone else either—”

“Because I hate my family,” he reminded.

“And clearly, you hate me!”

“I don’t hate you, you’re being childish.”

“Tell me her name, Ransom, or so help me—”

“I’m not cheating!”

“I saw the dating apps on your god damn phone!”

“I am not cheating!”

“Then what are you doing?!”

“I’m writing a book!” he hissed.

You froze. He was what?

He kept his voice quiet, “That’s where I was a couple months ago, the meeting that I told you was none of your business. I only had a few chapters, but I got a deal out of it—”

“Get off me.”

He blinked in surprise and then hurried to do so, helping you up, no longer interested in stealing away the laptop.

You held onto it because you weren’t yet sure if you were going to use it to cause severe bodily harm to him. He was writing a book and didn’t tell you? You didn’t know he was interested in writing at all. You didn’t know he could sit down and write more than one entire sentence. He was always moving around, throwing himself into mindless activities.

A book?

You were hurt. Getting a book deal was major and he didn’t tell you he was trying for it, but then he didn’t even tell you that he’d gotten it. He had this huge thing in his life that he kept separate from you and that hurt your feelings.

“That’s was the apps were,” he explained. “I was doing research. Honestly, I’ll let you see the profiles, they’re not even pictures of me. I haven’t spoken to anyone either, it’s just very basic—”

You held the laptop out to him.

He slowly took it back from you, preparing for any other extreme reaction you might have. What he wasn’t expecting was complete silence, he figured you must have been confused by this. It was rather sudden, even for him. “You going to say something?”

You debated for a long while. You wanted to ask why he was pushing you away. You wanted to ask if it was because he didn’t think you were supportive, if he just didn’t want you to know, then you wanted to know why that was. What had you ever done that made him think he couldn’t tell you about this?

“I have to go get Jacob’s cake.”

“Shit!” He ran his hand down his face. “I completely forgot—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Then you were rushing out, ignoring the curious looks from the family on the way.

October: Ransom’s birthday,

It had been seven weeks since you found out about the book and seven weeks since you last had an actual conversation with Ransom. That was your doing purely, and he made the attempts, but you ignored them.

Linda was thrilled. This was different than when you and Ransom were fighting, because fighting indicated that you had the desire to win, he had the desire to win, but then that meant a resolution would follow. If you were ignoring him, what did you want? She hoped it was the end of the road for the two of you.

You weren’t sure. About anything. But you just had to go day by day and listen to yourself. Up to now, you weren’t sure what you wanted to do. As time went on and you were left to wallow in your hurt feelings, you were wondering if maybe this was the end.

Seven years and he didn’t tell you he was writing a book? That was insane, that was inexcusable. You didn’t get to have any part of your life not completely exposed to Ransom and you were okay with that. Obviously, he didn’t feel the same.

Seven years, a nearly dead modeling career, no skills, no aim in life. You had no idea how you would start all over. You had no idea how you would live your life without being Ransom’s girlfriend. It was practically a title, like the queen, and you loved it. You loved him.

But he didn’t tell you about the book! How could you get over that? Well, you could talk to him, but you were not going to do that. You just weren’t ready because you would want to know why and all the answers that were playing out in your mind were not going to make you feel better.

It didn’t matter, or more correctly, it couldn’t matter. Ransom’s birthday was coming up and Linda was trying to fight you on everything.

It was October, the worst of the pandemic was over, wasn’t it? No, you didn’t think so and anyone with two solid IQ points wouldn’t either. She wanted some family over, some of his friends—Megan, you had heard her mention to Richard. You didn’t want a single person in your house, no one outside of the family.

She suggested going to a restaurant then, but you knew Ransom hated when they threw him parties like that.

She wanted him to have a red velvet cake and you knew that Ransom hated red velvet. He preferred lemon, but he told you that you were never allowed to get him a lemon cake because he would eat it all. He was fine with chocolate, didn’t hate it, didn’t love it.

If you weren’t going out, then she wanted catering from his favorite restaurant, and a minimum of 30 people over, the house was big enough for it. It wasn’t even his favorite restaurant, the one she wouldn’t stop talking about, you knew for a fact Ransom did not like 30 people, and the house was not big enough for it.

On top of all of that, she kept asking you what you were going to get him. She just didn’t want to get the same thing. Why would that happen? Why would she get him the same thing as you? You had no idea, but she insisted on knowing. Problem was, you didn’t have an answer to give her. You had no idea what you were going to get Ransom.

Three days before his birthday, Ransom found you on the floor of the kitchen with an icepack pressed to your forehead. It was three in the morning, you had most of the lights off, only your phone and laptop providing light. Even in the dim kitchen, he could tell that you had been crying, eyes puffy and red, tear tracks down your cheeks.

He had been in his office, more writing. He’d only come down for a glass of water, sure that no one else would be awake at such an odd hour. This was the first time in a long time that he had seen you alone, and this naked. Usually, you were surrounded by the family, Joni being the greatest culprit. And since you still weren’t sleeping in the bedroom, he hadn’t seen you in your tiny shorts and bralettes.

He sat down at your side, setting his hand on your thigh. “Hey, is everything okay?”

You tossed the icepack onto the floor. “I never got stress headaches before your family moved in.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.”

It was silent for several moments after that, you were thinking about how you wanted to approach this topic. It was clear now, in your mind, why he hadn’t told you about the book. “I never listen to you.”

He turned to you, eyebrows pulled together. “What?”

You were already crying again, tears rolling down your face. You had felt terrible these past few weeks and you were finally beginning to understand why. “I don’t listen, I’m a terrible listener.”

“No,” he protested. “You’re not a terrible listener—”

“I have no idea what to get you for your birthday. I never know, I never get you a good present.”

“Yes, you do,” he argued. “And you don’t need to get me anything—”

“Of course, I do!” you blurted out. Was he insane? This was his birthday, you couldn’t not get him something for his birthday. “This is why you didn’t tell me about the book, right?”

His eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“Because I don’t listen,” you explained. “Why would you tell me about it if I wasn’t even going to listen, right?”

“Baby,” he sighed, “That’s not why I didn’t tell you. I wasn’t trying to keep it from you, honestly—”

“You didn’t tell me you were writing, you didn’t tell me you were trying to get published, and then you didn’t tell me about the book deal.”

“I know…I was going to.”

“But?” you prompted. “How could you not tell me about any of it?”

“I was worried.”

“Why?”

“Because of fucking Harlan. He’s the world’s best mystery author, for whatever fucking reason. I was worried that you wouldn’t think I should do this. I was worried about how it would look. I don’t want to follow in my grandfather’s footsteps like the rest of my pathetic family.”

“So, were you just never going to say anything about it?”

“Well…maybe. There’s something else… I wasn’t sure I was going to use my name, so it was completely possible that I could keep you from ever finding out about them. And if you ever got suspicious, maybe publish a few of the others under my real name.”

“Others? What are you talking about?”

“So…my book deal is for, at the very least, three books. In a series. If they do well, I can do others, with the possibility of keeping this series going…whenever I feel inspired to do so.”

“Okay…what’s the series about?”

“A woman.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“A very mean woman,” he clarified. “She’s a black widow, you know, marries rich men, murders them, takes the money…and I’ve sort of been using your name.”

Your eyebrows slowly rose. “You’ve been writing about me?”

“No,” he immediately protested, then sighed. “Okay, a little, but she’s beautiful. I mention that a lot, I promise.”

Yes, you were relieved. But was he completely off the hook? You slapped his shoulder. “Are you serious?”

“Hey,” he held his hand to the skin that you had just smacked. “Ow, maybe don’t hit me just days away from my birthday if you didn’t get me anything.”

“God, Ransom, I was really hurt.”

“I’m sorry about that. Really, I know I rarely ever apologize and sometimes, I don’t mean it, but I mean it now.”

“Well, can I read some of it?”

He smirked. “I don’t know, baby girl, you haven’t been behaving lately. You tried to break into my office, hurt yourself, and then did break into my office to steal my laptop. You thought I was cheating on you.”

“I saw dating apps, Ransom.”

“After we talked about my parents—”

“You lock yourself in your office for, like, 20 hours at a time—”

“And some BDSM chatroom? Because you’re normal in bed?”

You rolled your eyes. “Look, I’m sorry for accusing you of cheating, but you should have told me about the book. Which you apologized for, so it just cancels out. Let’s do what we usually do and just pretend it never happened.”

“You told Joni to call the cops,” he reminded.

You shrugged. “I miss Wagner, he probably would have been over here immediately.”

He snorted. “Okay, we both made mistakes, but you’re right.”

With his agreement to move on, you climbed onto his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Please?”

“I’m not completely convinced yet,” he teased.

Rolling your eyes, you kissed him. “Now?”

“You’re getting closer.”

You scoffed and kissed him again, reaching into his sweatpants to pull out his cock. It didn’t take long to get him hard and as soon as you did, you used your other hand to pull your shorts aside. You broke away from the kiss to watch his face as you slowly slid down his length.

His hands gripped your hips and he nodded. “Yeah, you can have whatever you want.”

You smiled. “Perfect, let’s get it now.”

He snorted. “Wow, now you’re a fucking comedian?”

“Well, you’re an author,” you retorted.

He nodded once. “You have a point. I vaguely remember what I wrote, want me to tell you?”

You nodded. You wanted to hear it in his voice, you were going to demand that he read it to you anyway.

“Her first husband was a writer,” he informed.

You lifted your eyebrows. Was that supposed to be clever?

“He often wrote poetry about how devastatingly beautiful he found her.”

You rolled your eyes a little, turning down to stare at his chest. He was wearing a shirt, but you could still see the muscles through the white material. “How did she kill him?”

“Scared him to death, she is very scary.”

You bit your cheek to prevent a smile.

“His fault, though. He was never healthy, did a few drugs he shouldn’t have. Drank too much, never ate right. He had a weak heart anyway.”

You hummed.

He wrapped his arm around your back and rolled you over onto the floor underneath him. He pulled your thighs apart before placing both hands on the floor for balance. Slowly, he pulled out and drove back in hard.

You gasped his name, arms winding tightly around his torso.

“He loves her skin,” he asserted.

You nodded encouragingly, you wanted him to tell you everything. “Mhm.”

“Loves how soft she is, especially her thighs, and he loves how she bruises.” He was steadily rocking his hips, speaking just loud enough that you could hear him over the wet noises of his cock sliding in and out of your body, but quiet enough that you were sure no one else would hear.

You reminded yourself you were downstairs, on the kitchen floor, it was important to remain quiet. Ransom’s family had caught you in a lot of low moments over the years, but this would take the cake. You turned your head, burying your face in the bend of his neck.

“He loves her neck, how perfectly it fits in his hands. He loves her lips, how they look wrapped around him, or when she’s smiling—”

“You wrote that?” you breathed.

“This isn’t some school-book-report shit like what Harlan was publishing.”

“Those weren’t children’s books,” you felt inclined to point out.

“Well, mine have sex.”

You snorted. “You’re going to write about other men fucking me?”

“A woman here and there,” he explained. “That’s why they have to die such horrible deaths.”

You laughed briefly, pressing your mouth to his shoulder when you worried you would moan.

“He loves her legs, how tightly they wrap around him.” As he spoke, he lifted your legs one at a time, pressing them to the sides of his body as a cue to hook your ankles together. “He loves her arms, how easily he can pin them above her head.” Again, he did just that and you were forced to lay flat on the floor, clamping your mouth shut to stifle the noises spilling out.

After managing to get both wrists in one hand, he placed his opposite forearm off to your side and set all his weight there. You could feel it in the way he got heavier against your hips, trapping you between him and the floor, controlling every aspect of how he was going to make you come.

He stared down at your face for a moment, watching you struggle to keep your composure as he was fucking into you harder now. He leaned down and your eyes fell shut, he kissed over both eyelids and said, “He loves her eyes, even when she’s looking up at him, demanding something, a new diamond necklace, a car, but won’t actually say the words because she’s so fucking spoiled.”

You smirked and he felt it, and his hips snapped up harshly to get it to stop. It only worked for a moment. You were smug, Ransom was pouring his heart out to you and confessed that he liked that you were spoiled? You would never let him live this down.

“He loves her cheeks,” he started kissing across your face and you couldn’t help but smile, “Especially when she’s doing that.” He stopped to pay special attention to your nose, “And he loves her nose, even though she hates it. And he loves when she pouts,” he lowered his mouth to give you several chaste pecks, until you were pouting because he wouldn’t just kiss you.

With a scoff, he finally let you kiss him back. It didn’t last long before he was on the move again, pressing his lips to your chin and proclaiming the fictional character’s love of that, then your jaw, your clavicle, and once he tore your bralette out of the way, your breasts.

As he continued to move down, he was sliding his cock out by the inch and you were trying to stop him from getting too far, you were desperately pulling at him with your legs, but Ransom was much stronger than you.

“He loves her stomach,” he muttered into your skin as he descended and finally, his cock slipped out. Because of that, he had to let your wrists go but you knew better than to try to move them.

“Ransom, please—”

“And he loves her hips.” As he pulled down your shorts, he kissed the skin he exposed, almost frantically alternating between left and right. Once the shorts were down, he spread your thighs and looked up at you. “And he fucking loves her pussy.”

You let out a strangled, high-pitched sound as he dove down and wrapped his lips around your clit. He stared at you the entire time as he sucked for a few seconds, then flicked his tongue back and forth, only to repeat the pattern until you were crying and squirming, staying in the position he had placed you in.

When he knew you were close, he pulled back. He only set small kisses to your aching center, hands moving up and down your hips, your stomach, your thighs. “He loves how sweet it tastes, he loves how fucking tight it is, how it feels like his cock was made to be inside it—”

“Ransom, please,” you blurted out. Your arms were stinging with the desire to reach down for him, but you knew that would change the path of this entire night. You just needed to be fucked. Simply. Intimately. None of the elaborate shit you both usually tried.

In seconds, he had made his way over you and was inside you again. You wrapped yourself around him, arms and legs, and held onto him tight enough that you were sure he wouldn’t be able to get away again.

“He loves every fucking inch of her,” he stated. “Because she’s his, she belongs to him and she’s never going to belong to anyone else.”

You scoffed. “But she kills him?”

“Well, she’s a complex woman.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not complex.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“I just want you and this house, and I want all of this shit to be over so we can get rid of your family.”

He kissed you shortly. “That makes two of us, baby.”

There was a difference between loving something about someone and truly being in love with someone. You’d always loved things about Ransom, but it took you about a solid year to confidently admit that you were in love with him. He could say that he loved everything about you, but that was not him finally saying it.

“Does she love him?” you wondered.

He shrugged a shoulder. “He thinks so.”

“Does he love her?” This wasn’t asking for too much. Ransom could hide behind this fictional creation of his and say yes, and you would never ask again. You just wanted to hear it once, that wasn’t unfair.

He considered his answer for a long time, breaking eye contact to look down at where his fingers were hovering over your shoulder. He began to trace shapes there, still contemplating. “Sometimes…she thinks so.”

“But does he?” you pressed.

Again, more silence. He was trying to gauge what he could get away with. He always knew this was going to wear on you eventually, but he never thought it was going to be during one of the times he was inside you. How could you not feel how he felt about you? “I think—”

“Are you fucking serious!?”

You immediately knew whose voice that was—Linda. Shutting your eyes, you let your head rest back on the floor. The headache you had been crying over earlier was returning.

“RICHARD!” She turned out of the kitchen and began storming back to her room. “Richard, wake up! You need to talk to your son! Is there no place in this house anymore that is sacred?!”

Ransom sighed deeply and you looked up at him. “Well, do you want to make you come first before we go upstairs?”

You shrugged. “Okay. Hurry up, we don’t have to be quiet anymore.”

November: thanksgiving,

Ransom was on his best behavior, you theorized that was because he didn’t want you to again ask him for more of that insane basic human emotion. Whatever, you could not dwell. There were people dying in this world, and you wanted to waste time crying over your boyfriend who gave you everything you wanted, but just wouldn’t say a certain word to you?

Well, the answer was yes, but it was Thanksgiving and the Thrombeys had about a million and one weird-ass family traditions. That meant you were short on time to be pouting.

It was a freezing, perfect day. It had snowed all night and the house looked like something straight out of a Hallmark movie. Yes, this was going to be a complicated day with a lot of personalities that were butting heads because everyone had been together for way too long, but you were feeling festive. You wanted to make the best of the day and you planned to force the rest of the family to follow your lead.

The start of the traditions was donating money. You were the one who brought it up as soon as Richard tried to skip down the list. It always started with donating. Harlan would write checks for half a million dollars and let every member choose where they wanted to donate, the past three years you were included in that. Harlan always liked you, probably more than he liked some of his actual family.

“I’m just not sure,” Donna was saying, “We haven’t made much money this year.”

“Are you kidding?” Meg demanded. “Your husband’s publishing company is still seeing sale increases.”

“Because of the death of the author,” Linda pointed out. “Meaning, we should be a lot more frugal. The money will not be coming in the same way that it was.”

“This is not up for debate,” you snapped. “Everyone pick a god damn charity. Harlan insisted on this every single year, and we are going to continue it. Unless you all would like to provoke his ghost to come murder us. He died in this house after all!”

“It’s money,” Ransom pointed out. “We have more than enough, some people don’t have any.”

Linda rolled her eyes. “My son is just trying to get you to have sex with him.”

You glared.

“Mother,” Ransom sighed. “This isn’t a discussion. Just pick your damn charity.”

“Donna, it’s fine,” Walt promised. “Meg’s right, we’ve had a great year. And Y/N is right, Dad always wanted us to do this. I will start with my usual charity, Homes for Our Troops.”

“Fantastic.” You took the check as soon as he handed it over. “Donna?”

“American Cancer Society, of course.” She held it out for you and then looked to Jacob. “I think this year—”

“I have a charity picked,” Jacob informed.

Everyone fell silent. Likely, everyone’s immediate suspicion was Trump’s request for donations since he was still insisting the election was fraudulent. However, no one said anything because no one wanted to be the first victim of Jacob’s impending murder spree.

“Can’t I pick my own?” he pressed.

“Yes,” you answered. “You can, because everyone can pick their own charity.”

“Yeah,” Walt echoed. “Of course.”

He wrote the name down and slid the check across the table to you.

Ransom’s hand tightened on your thigh, a reminder not to let anyone antagonize you this holiday.

“Canines for Disabled Kids,” you read. “Jacob, that’s really great…I didn’t even know that was a charity.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, well, I like the idea that they can have dogs as friends and don’t have to make human friends. Humans are so stupid.” Then he returned all his attention to his phone.

“And we’re back,” Richard muttered.

Donna’s head snapped in his direction.

“Okay,” you interjected. “Joni?”

She chose a foundation interested in ending childhood obesity, received a snide comment from Meg about how even her acts of kindness were vain, and you intervened before it became bigger than that. Meg chose an organization that works to stop childhood prostitution, Linda went for homeless youth, and Richard selected Make-A-Wish Foundation. Walt felt the need to sarcastically commend him for his originality.

“Enough,” you said before Richard could respond. “My dearest Ransom, what have you chosen?”

He smiled at you. “Animal Legal Defense Fund. Their tagline is: all our clients are innocent.”

You nodded. “They are. All animals are innocent.”

Linda rolled her eyes. “Can we move on?”

“Okay, mine is—”

“I can’t believe you don’t have a problem that she’s basically brainwashing our son,” Linda interrupted, turning to Richard.

“Linda, please,” Richard sighed.

“My charity,” you spoke loudly, gaining their attention once more, “Is Planned Parenthood.”

“Are you out of your mind?” she demanded. “You want to donate your money to abortions?”

You glared. “That’s not all Planned Parenthood does, but…yes, I do. Babies suck, if a woman doesn’t want to have it, she doesn’t have to.”

Joni nodded. “I agree, completely. I’ve been learning in my group about how we are only placed on this earth to offer up our vibrations to one another. Our obligations do not exceed that. We don’t have to be anything! Not a mother, not a wife—”

“Oh, shut up!” Linda barked.

“Mother, calm down,” Ransom dismissed. “I don’t believe for a second any of you have not either had an abortion or been an accessory to one in the past.”

“I would never!” she gasped, pointing a finger at him. “And you better not ever let her!”

“Yeah, don’t worry about that happening. I’ve been thinking about eliminating that possibility, surgically—”

Linda’s mouth dropped.

This was, of course, untrue. Ransom would, first, never sacrifice any part of himself for that reason. Second, the matter had not been discussed yet. You guys weren’t even thinking about marriage, so of course, children weren’t being brought up. But that morning, Ransom woke up in the mood for chaos, and maybe you sort of did, too.

“I wanted a second child,” she told Richard, “You said to stop after Ransom because he was “perfect”.”

“I did say that,” he muttered to himself, a look of pure regret on his face.

You smiled at Ransom. “You are perfect.”

He kissed you, gaining disapproving noises from most of the table.

“I will never be a grandmother!” Linda yelled, burying her hands in her hair and resting her shoulders on the table.

You glanced at Ransom.

He nodded toward the kitchen. “Now that that’s done, let’s start cooking.”

Joni and Meg were currently searching the entire house for the Christmas decorations. They always ended up getting put in the strangest places and since you and Ransom had moved in and not known where they were, you moved basically everything. It was possible that you were going to have to make do with the decorations you and Ransom had been using for the past five years at his house.

You had, however, purchased a lot of lights because the Thrombeys loved their blue lights. Tacky, you wanted the yellow lights and made sure to buy enough that even a single blue light needed to be on that house. Ransom was excitedly awaiting his mother’s reaction to that.

Every year, Richard and Walt would put lights on the house while the dinner was cooking. Ransom should have helped but no one actually thought Ransom would lift a finger, so no one wasted their breath. He was only helping you cook because, as mentioned, he was pretending to be a good boyfriend.

But he was a monster, a true monster that was currently squashing even more of your dreams. “The answer isn’t just no, it’s fuck no.”

You glared. “I wasn’t asking for permission.”

“You asked if it was a good idea.”

“I think it is.”

“Then why did you ask me at all?”

“Because I thought you would be nice for a second, just a second, Ransom. I’m not asking for a lot.”

“We are not getting Jacob a dog.”

“Why not?”

“Because I hate dogs.”

“Well, I hate you,” you hissed.

He rolled his eyes. “Enough of the dramatics. This day is tiring enough already—”

“We’ll get him a small one, it doesn’t need to be those huge horses your mother calls dogs. A chihuahua, maybe. A Pomeranian, a dachshund—”

“Absolutely not, we already have Joni here, I don’t want some yappy animal—”

“Ransom!” you whined. “If we get him a dog, he might not become a serial killer.”

“He already is a serial killer, love, these are just the early years when he’s finding himself. The answer is still no.”

“Ugh, fine, can you just make the pie crusts, please?”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“Three? For what?”

“Pumpkin, apple, pecan, Ransom. The same things your family has served every single year I’ve been here, and presumably, all the ones before that.”

“Ugh.” He stood at the counter reading the recipe, muttering his disapproval, up until he saw the ingredients on the counter. “What is all of this?”

“Um, you know that recipe in your hand? The final product doesn’t just appear.”

“No, what is all of this…gluten-free flour, oat flour? Where’s the normal flour?”

“That is normal flour, Ransom.”

“No,” he argued. “No, it’s not.”

“It’s normal to some people,” you countered. “And this year, it’s normal to us. Joni went out and bought the groceries. If you wanted something, you could have done it yourself.”

“You wouldn’t let me leave the house! You kept saying I was going to get sick and die.”

“You could have ordered them!”

“You can’t be serious. On top of this dreadful year, you’re trying to make us eat healthy food on Thanksgiving?”

“Ransom, make the pie crusts!”

It was silent for several minutes, probably because you were using the mixer to make the pumpkin filling. As soon as it was off, Ransom was acting like you’d asked him to perform surgery.

“What does toss mean?”

“What?”

“It says to toss the ingredients.”

“Um, like, stir, I guess.”

“You guess or you know?”

“Just fucking stir, Ransom. I make pies all the time.”

He huffed. “No, oh, no. No, this is telling me to touch things with my hands, that’s disgusting and I’m not doing that.”

You turned back, eyes wide. “Ransom!”

“I’m not touching butter with my hands!”

“What is wrong with you!? It’s cooking, you have to use your hands to cook!”

“I don’t like touching butter!”

“How would you know? You’ve never cooked a day in your life!”

“I’m not touching it,” he claimed.

You took a slow breath in and released it while counting to ten. “Then switch with me and make the apple pie filling.”

“Great.” He walked to your counter as you walked to his. “What is this? What’s in this bowl?”

“The pumpkin pie filling. Cover it and put it in the refrigerator. That’s where the apples are.”

His next question came after he pulled out the bag of apples. “These?”

You turned back, blinking. “Yes, Ransom, those are apples.”

“I have to cut them?”

“And peel them.”

“That’s going to take forever.”

“Ransom, I’m about to smack you.”

“This is a lot!” he pointed out. “Why are we the only people cooking?”

“We’re not, not anymore,” you decided. “Get out, you can go help your father and Walt with the Christmas lights.”

“And you’re going to cook alone?”

“I basically already am.” You turned around to walk to the sink to wash your hands. Unlike Ransom, you weren’t making one pie crust at a time, and you would only need to do this once. When you turned around, you knew Ransom was behind you, but you had no idea what he was doing.

You only saw how close he was when you felt something wet and cold against the side of your face. Whatever it was, he dragged it all the way to the opposite cheek. You smelled and tasted the frosting that you had made for the sugar cookies.

He peeled the frosted star-shaped cookie off your skin and ate one of the corners. “Your blood-sugar seemed low, I thought I’d help.”

You tore the cookie out of his hand and shoved it directly in his face.

He scattered back, eyes wide in shock—as if he expected anything less? “What is wrong with you?!”

You grabbed the retractable faucet from the sink and turned the water on.

“Do not!”

It was a warning you ignored. Within seconds, he was slipping along the kitchen floor, rushing back to you to get the faucet out of your hands. As soon as he had it, he turned it on you, and you screamed like a cat about to be thrown in a bathtub.

“Stop it!” you ordered. “You are ruining Thanksgiving!”

“You’re ruining it!”

You elbowed him hard enough that he dropped the faucet, then kicked your heels off to run to the counter with the cookies and frosting.

“Don’t you dare!” He rushed after you and wrestled the cookie out of your hand, ultimately crushing it into crumbs that scattered all over the counter and the floor.

You shoved your opposite hand into one of the bowls of frosting, whipping around to place your hand on his face.

“What the fuck?!” But he leaned down, clearly uninterested in an answer, and pressed his face into your hair.

“My hair?!” you shrieked. “I’m going to kill you!”

There were several sets of steps that you both heard, but neither of you wanted to let the other get the upper hand. When the family finally found you, you had slipped, ended up on your ass, and Ransom was holding you down, claiming that you caused too many problems when you were on your feet.

“What the hell is going on?!” Joni questioned.

“Ransom, get off of her!” Meg pushed her way between the two of you, pulling you onto your feet. “Oh, my god, what is going on? Are you okay?”

Well, you were both soaking wet, layered in frosting, furiously trying to get another cookie to throw at the other. Were you okay? Only physically. Mentally, you weren’t sure either one of you was ever on solid ground there.

“Enough!” Linda yelled. “What is this insanity!? We need to be eating in less than an hour and as per usual, you two can’t go five minutes without fighting! That’s it, everyone get out of this kitchen! This is why I cook, this is why I do everything! I’m the only one that can!”

She turned away to open the door to usher everyone out and you took your chance to get some type of retaliation that you had been longing for since before the damn stay-at-home order.

You were able to reach for a cookie before either Meg or Ransom could stop you, and no one had ever dreamed your target would be Linda, so for a detrimental moment, their reactions were nonexistent. Essentially, everyone could only stare in pure horror as they realized the cookie was darting straight for the back of Linda’s head. Which, in your defense, wasn’t your exact intention. You thought her back, not her head…but well, there was a reason you weren’t a professional athlete.

Gasps filled the room as soon as the cookie contacted Linda’s head, then again when it fell to the floor. Linda slowly turned, eyes wide, jaw set, shoulders tense—that must be where Ransom got it.

“This is my house,” you reminded. “You do not get to order me out of my kitchen!”

She looked at Ransom, silently urging him to make his alliance known right then. Before he had to say anything, yelling sounded from outside the house. Walt and Richard had yet to finish the one job they had, everyone figured that was the cause of the disturbance.

Quickly, you all made your way out to the front of the house. Richard had his leg wrapped up in a mess of lights and was hanging from the edge of the house. The same vines of lights were also wound around Walt, who was hanging onto the house for dear life.

“Oh, my god!” Donna yelled. “Oh, my god!”

“Are you serious?” Linda demanded. “There is a pandemic! You guys seriously want to end up in the god damn hospital during a pandemic?”

Joni sighed in utter frustration. “Walt, just hang on. We’ll get Richard down—”

“Oh, my god!” Donna continued, despite the lack of panic coming from literally every other single person present. Even Walt seemed less alarmed than her. She started running to Richard and on any other day, it would have been an effortless plan of action. On this day, that Massachusetts had just seen a hell of a lot of snow, when the pavement was dangerously icy, she fell.

Meg screamed. “Oh, my god, I’m calling Dr. Fields!”

“He’s a doctor!” Joni pointed out. “A physical doctor—he won’t know how to deal with this sheer stupidity unless someone broke a bone!”

Donna, now over her initial shock, was attempting to get up.

“Donna, I think you’re hurt,” Meg said. “Just stay—”

Jacob was cautiously moving closer to her, directing her to stay put when Walt had finally lost his battle with the house. His hands slipped off and he went sliding down the edge of the roof. Richard hit the floor first, eliciting more screams from Meg and Donna, and then Walt followed onto several snow-covered bushes, and everyone lost their minds.

“I’m calling Dr. Fields! I am fucking calling Dr. Fields right now!” Meg repeated, shaking so much she could hardly get the phone out of her pocket, let alone find which one she had placed it in.

Joni began making her way through the snow to check if Richard was okay.”

“Oh, my god!” Donna was still repeating.

“Mom, just stay down,” Jacob said.

“Jesus,” Ransom snapped. “How hard is it to put these god damn lights on this god damn house?” He was following Joni, confident in the theory that his father was simply being dramatic. Walt, on the other hand, might have needed medical attention.

Meg watched her feet as she was walking back inside. “Dr. Fields, we have a serious emergency right now. I think everyone’s dying!”

Ransom and Joni were helping Richard sit up when he turned back to you. “Hey, get inside, you’re wet and going to get sick.”

He had a point, so without argument, you turned to do so. You felt the boniest of hands on your shoulders before you were shoved down face-first into the snow.

That was when Joni started screaming. “Oh, my god, call the police! She’s going to kill her. Meg, call the police!”

Meg ran out of the house and saw what was happening and once again, started to panic. “Dr. Fields, you need to get here immediately!”

Before you even fully processed what had happened, Linda was on top of you turning you onto your back.

“You stole my house!” she screeched.

“Linda!” Richard scolded.

You saw her hands go for your throat—later, everyone would claim she was probably doing something else, she obviously wasn’t going to choke you. You did the only thing you could think to do, you grabbed a handful of snow and shoved it in her face.

She toppled over and you made your way on top of her. You weren’t going to hit your boyfriend’s mother, but you did proceed to throw snow in her face until Ransom had gotten you off her.

The grand total of injuries was seven. Yet, the total of injuries that had occurred directly in the incident was five. Donna had a bruised tailbone, Richard had a broken leg, Walt had a sprained wrist, your knee was cut up fairly terribly since you fell on it when Linda pushed you, and Linda had stitches on her cheek because the first time you threw snow at her, there was a huge block of ice that you weren’t aware of. After Richard pointed out that you hadn’t started the altercation, she punched him, and he now had a swollen eye. After Ransom had gotten you inside, Meg, in her state of panic, hadn’t seen the door was shut and walked straight into it, and her nose was broken.

You weren’t sure how this family had managed more disaster with nearly 300 fewer people, but there you were. Ransom had forced you into the shower to get all the frosting out of your hair and to hopefully prevent the cold he suspected you were going to catch given the tiny outfit you were parading around in outside.

He lured you out of the shower with a mug of hot chocolate. Every space heater in the house was gathered in your bedroom and as soon as you were in his reach, Ransom wrapped you up in at least three heavy blankets.

When he sat you down on the bed, he pulled your leg out so he could tend to your knee. You felt like a child with him sat next to you with a first aid kit, too-delicately prodding at your irritated, aching skin. He was babying you.

You didn’t feel guilty for what you had done to Linda, but you did hate that Ransom was in the middle. “I’m s—”

He held his hand up to you. “Don’t.”

“But—”

He turned up to you. “Babe, she attacked you.”

“I…threw a cookie at her.”

He snorted. “Yeah, that was a little crazy.”

“I am sorry,” you huffed. “We said we weren’t going to let them bother us today.”

“You finally told her this was your house. I’ve wanted that since we first moved in. I know what we said, but all in all, I think we gained more than we lost.”

“What did we gain, Ransom?”

“Well, she knows you’re scrappy so she might think twice before pushing you again.”

You rolled your eyes. “Anything else?”

“Everyone is going to be preoccupied taking care of each other, Joni doting on Meg, my mom basically doing everything for my dad, Walt and Donna being overly protective of one another…”

“So, we can have sex in the kitchen and there’s a higher chance we won’t get caught?”

“That was exactly what I was thinking.”

You shrugged. “If we got Jacob a dog—”

“You know what?” he cut in. “Get out of these blankets, I haven’t spanked you in a long time even though you’ve deserved it about five times over by now.”

He made a show of attempting to get you out of the blankets even though you both knew he wouldn’t do it. You laughed the entire time until Ransom laid himself out on top of you, uncaring about how heavy he was.

“Is everyone okay?”

“They’ll live.”

“Well, I know Meg will—she’s going to get a nose job.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “You are just going to have to live vicariously through her.”

“We kinda ruined Thanksgiving dinner.”

“I did not,” he argued. “The turkey is almost done, the pies are in the other oven, also almost done—”

“All three?”

He nodded. “Yep. Jacob, believe it or not, was happy to peel and cut the apples.”

You rolled your eyes. “I swear, Ransom.”

“As soon as everyone stops acting like they’re dying, we’ll be able to sit down…well, Donna might not be able to sit down.”

You laughed. “Your family is insane.”

“And clearly, you fit right in.”

“Clearly,” you muttered. Unfortunately.

Christmas Eve:

Sometimes, you wished that you had listened to him when he said this wasn’t happening. Because then you wouldn’t have needed to worry about so many god damn people! It would just be you and Ransom in absolute seclusion, but no. No, you would never have it so easy during this fucking holiday.

How difficult was it to pick up the presents that you had ordered? You picked them out, you organized it all, you had only asked Ransom to drive to a single location and obtain them for you. Why hadn’t he? Because he was sleeping at 2 in the afternoon.

What did you have for Jacob? Not a damn thing. You had no presents for the teenage delinquent you were terrified of. You weren’t family, he was going to store you away in the basement and torture you until he got bored. Ransom probably wouldn’t even realize you had been missing until Jacob placed your body parts all over the house. And three of Meg’s presents were also missing, you knew Linda was going to make another comment.

You would hit her with more ice. After you strangled her son, of course, who was currently hot helping in any way at all.

“Ransom, put your fucking drink down and hand me the tape!”

“Are your fucking hands broken?!”

“I’m holding the box!”

He slammed his drink down on the bedside table and angrily stormed his way to where you were surrounded by boxes, wrapping paper, and a million other things he wasn’t even aware you’d spent money on. This was too much for his family and he was just waiting for you to realize that they were nowhere near worth the effort you constantly put in.

Ransom picked up the tape, tore a piece off, and placed it between where your fingers were resting on the box.

“Thank you so much,” you responded, pure sarcasm.

And god damn, he had had enough of your fucking tone. “You are driving me insane!”

“I’m driving you insane?! Your family has been ruing my whole fucking life since March!”

“I didn’t want them here!”

“Well, I’m a human with actual empathy for others, so I logically knew that that was not an option!”

“You were going to leave my mother out of your precious sanctuary!”

“Because she’s abusive!” You shoved your hands into your hair and shook your head. “I’m done, absolutely done. I can’t have this conversation with you again. Your mother sucks, why is this news to you? I’m so sorry for trying to hold her accountable for her actions. Oh, but of course, every time someone tries to make any of you face the consequences for your actions, you act like it’s a hate crime!”

He glared. “I hate you.”

“I hate you!” you seethed.

“I can’t fucking believe I actually want to do this!” he turned away, scrubbing one of his hands down his face. “You make me so fucking crazy.”

“Do what?” you demanded. “What the hell are you talking about now? What god-awful thing have you decided to do?”

He made his way to the bed, tearing open the drawer to the bedside table on his side. He was muttering quickly under his breath and even if his speech hadn’t been so hurried, it was quiet enough that you had no chance of hearing anything.

It was silent for several moments before he turned back to you and threw something on the bed. He gestured to it then crossed his arms over his chest.

Since your bed was a mess of dark blankets, you weren’t sure what you were supposed to be seeing. You stood, carefully stepping your way out of the present-wrapping station you had created and neared the bed. You stopped dead in your tracks when you saw a tiny black box against the mattress.

You looked back at him, eyes wide, pleading. No…no, that was not happening. He wasn’t actually…

“Marry me.”

“What?!”

He actually seemed surprised by your reaction. He leaned over, snatched the box off the bed, and stomped back to you. “Marry me.”

“You’ve lost it,” you accused. “You’re actually literally insane. You need to be committed!”

“Yes, it’s insane that I want to marry you but for some fucking reason, I do!”

“Oh, my god, Ransom!” You slapped the box out of his hands and that was just too much for him. “I’m not fucking marrying you, you’ve never even told me you love me!”

He hurriedly picked up the box, tossed it back onto the bed, and then grabbed you by your arms. “You’re seriously fucking bringing that up now?”

“What does that even mean?! Yes, I’m bringing it up now. You marry someone when you’re in love with them and since you haven’t said it after seven years, I understandably doubt your feelings for me.”

“You are such a fucking brat.”

“You’re a brat!” you yelled, more exasperated than you’d ever felt. “You’re such a fucking entitled brat! There’s no other way to describe you. You just think I’m going to say yes and give you everything you want when you can’t even say you love me!”

“This is absolutely fucking ridiculous.”

“Just fucking say it, Ransom! If you love me, just say it!”

“You will not bully me into saying something that I don’t even deem as important.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Love is a word! Okay? It means nothing. My parents fucking say they love each other, then my dad fucked someone else. Neal and Joni said they loved each other every god damn second that they could but guess what. He still died. And don’t even get me started on Walt and Donna, their “love” created the next great serial killer of this wonderful fucking country!”

You were speechless, Ransom never talked to you like this. He never brought up the fucked-up aspects of his family that had consequently fucked him up as well.

He finally let you go when he realized you weren’t going to say anything, turning to walk away. You startled when he banged his hand against the wall. “God damn it!”

“Why do you make me say it to you then?” you demanded.

“I don’t know!” he admitted.

Again, you were both silent. You were thinking of the best way to respond, and you certainly couldn’t come up with that, but you knew what you wanted to say. “I’m not marrying you.”

He laughed.

It was a terrifying sound that gave you chills. He was going to kill you, you were 90% sure. As soon as he started walking toward you, you turned away to run to the bathroom, but Ransom had always known that would be your plan.

He effortlessly caught you and dragged you back to the bed. He shoved you down, pinned your arms to the mattress to stop you from hitting him, and slid his hips between your legs to make it impossible to kick him. “You’re going to marry me.”

“You’re going to force me to marry you?”

“I’ll drag you to the fucking courthouse if I have to.”

“The courthouse?!”

“I want to give you a wedding, the obscenely priced, overly dramatic show that I know you want. But if you won’t say yes, you leave me no other option.”

You rolled your eyes. “Then I guess that’s what you’ll have to do because my answer is no.”

Luckily for him, your outfit was not overly complex. He knew you weren’t wearing anything under your skirt because his hand was between your legs for most of dinner that night. You didn’t let him make you come because you were throwing a temper tantrum over the situation with the presents, but he was evidently not deterred.

After he moved your wrists together and kept you held there, he used his free hand to get his pants out of the way. In seconds, he was fully inside you and was offering you no time to adjust.

You realized why when you felt his hands moving over your head. Turning up that way, you saw him fumbling with the box. He was going to put the ring on your finger, and you had the sinking suspicion you might not be able to part with it if you saw it. But no, this was not happening.

You managed to get one of your hands free and yanked on his hair.

He kissed you because he had nothing left to do but bite your lip. Hard. He didn’t even falter when you cried out.

He was the idiot who let you keep your shoes on and you were limited on where you could get your heel. You did yoga, but you weren’t some contortionist. You had one option, and that was stabbing your heel into the side of his ass, and it was completely his own fault.

Finally, he pulled away and was forced to let you on top, which was the only advantage you needed. You smacked the box off the bed. However, now that he wasn’t overly concerned with holding you to the bed, he could pull your hair until you relented and fell back onto the bed.

He rolled over several times until you were both on the very edge, managing to kick your heels off in the process. He never stopped driving his hips into you, knowing that the only advantage he had was how weak you always got for his cock.

You could hear him reaching around blindly on the floor but with each brush of his skin against your clit, you got less scared about the idea that he would get the ring on you. You knew you didn’t want it. You knew you didn’t want to marry him and there was no way in hell you would willingly say yes, but fuck, you wanted to come.

You touched the side of his face and he finally looked back at you.

“Say yes.”

“Fuck you.” You pulled him down, your lips meeting his. There was blood in the kiss and your lip was throbbing, but you couldn’t care. Not when he was fucking you this violently, this angrily. He’d never fucked you like this before. You were no stranger to Ransom being a cruel lover, but there had never been so much pure wrath.

He had located the box, you could tell when his fingernails stopped clicking against the hardwood floor. You were panicking, not fully thinking through your plans, you just knew you needed to be able to reach the box. You threw all your weight at him and he was barely balanced as it was.

Despite his anger, he still had more of a mind than you—probably because he wanted something out of this, he needed to be mindful to get his way. He basically let you throw him on the floor because he worried about the results if he managed to fall on you.

Instead of retaliating any further, you grabbed his hand and brought it down to your center. He needed no further prompt than that, his thumb began to circle your clit as his other hand grabbed your hip and moved you along the length of his cock.

Where was the box? On his chest, he set this there because he was the cockiest fucking asshole in the world. He saw you eyeing it and smirked. “Go ahead, baby, take it, but you know I’ll fucking stop.”

That was unimaginable. Both hands reached for the one he had on your hip. You continued rolling your hips like it was the last time you were ever going to get to, dragging his hand up to your mouth.

“I swear if you fucking bite me,” he warned.

No, you weren’t going to do that. Yet. You choked yourself on his fingers, stifling all the pathetic sounds that were spilling out from you. Ransom simply enjoyed the show, enjoyed you fucking yourself on his cock, enjoyed you staring at him with those smoky, delicate eyes as you sucked on his fingers.

He stopped touching your clit once he felt you coming. He used that hand to hold you up on your knees and thrust his hips into you punishingly. You were dizzy, disastrously satiated and overstimulated. He finished with a shaking moan, a tell that he was trying to be quiet.

It wasn’t late, the family was undoubtedly aware of what was going on.

He turned down, staring at the place you were still connected. Ransom waited until his cum was spilling out of you and then yanked you back down to take his entire length. If there was anything that Ransom did love in this world it was filling you with his cum and watching it slowly pour out.

You only allowed him to do this several times before you finally bit down on his fingers. His hand lifted from your hip and tore your hair back hard enough that you opened your mouth to yell at him. When he could pull his fingers from your mouth, he wrapped that hand around your neck and pulled you flat down, your chest to his, the ring box trapped between you and him, digging painfully into your ribs.

He slammed you into the wall and you brought your legs up to hook around his waist. “Sorry, daddy, I didn’t mean to bite you.”

“After I get this ring on you, I’m gonna make you call your parents and tell them we’re engaged. And I’m gonna fuck you and make you call me daddy, just to remind your father how much of a daddy’s girl you used to be.”

“Why call when you could Facetime?”

“Then I’m gonna have you choking on my cock, baby, all they need to see is the ring on your finger.” The hand in your hair wedged its way between you and him and he located your clit once more.

It was too much but you knew Ransom wasn’t going to care. Begging him to stop would just provide him enjoyment and that was the last thing you wanted him to have. He kept his other hand around your neck because he knew you would say something that would annoy the fuck out of him if he let you.

When you were coming, his hips were moving once more and his hand abandoned your clit to move the box. You felt it sliding along your skin until it was gone and then you realized he wasn’t holding your neck anymore. He had your left hand held clutched in his and you felt the cold band he was sliding onto your finger.

You couldn’t do much, you had lost and you knew it. But you could leave a few more marks on him, so you latched your free hand onto his shoulder and dragged your nails down his back, and you bit down on his shoulder harder than you probably should have. He was a fucking animal, it seemed like he didn’t care at all. He just wanted to get the ring on you, and once he had, he grabbed your face and shoved you back.

You knew he was trying to get you to look at the ring, but you refused. Your eyes were slammed shut and nothing was going to change that.

He walked you to the bathroom, pulling out to bend you over the counter because he knew you would instinctually lift both hands up to the edge. Once you had, he shoved his cock back inside you and grabbed your jaw to angle your face in the direction of your left hand. “Look at it.”

“Fuck. You!” you growled.

He smacked your ass and even though you shrieked like he was murdering you, you did not open your eyes. He repeated this several times until his own hand was stinging almost unbearably. New plan.

He used his feet to kick your legs apart further and you felt a sharp, sudden slap against your cunt. Your eyes snapped open and a scream tore from your throat. He almost felt bad until he saw your attention on the ring. Was he an ass? Yes. But had he won? Also, yes.

That fucking asshole. His hand dropped to rub over your aching pussy, cock still moving at a painfully fast pace. Ransom was fucking furious and the only way he could take it out on you was by fucking you this way.

You couldn’t say you had any complaints about it. Tomorrow, when you were pretending you couldn’t stand to look at him, you would be bruised and sore everywhere that he had touched you. You would be wet all day thinking about how it happened.

The fucking ring. A huge cushion-cut diamond set in a halo on top of a diamond-encrusted band. It wasn’t simple, it sounded like it, but there was something so beautiful about it. Fuck, you wouldn’t let this ring go unless you were dead. Because he was right. You liked money and diamonds and you were materialistic, and this was from Ransom and you loved everything he gave you. And at the end of it all, even though you were saying no to him, he shoved that ring onto your finger because you were his and that was never going to change.

“Say yes.”

“No.”

“Fine.” He reached for your hand but stopped when he saw you make a fist.

“Try to take this ring from me and I will fucking kill you, Ransom.”

He scoffed. “Great, I’m gonna get my phone to Facetime your parents.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fuck you.”

“Not yet,” he pointed out. “First, I need to fuck your mouth, but then—”

From outside, the dogs started to bark.

You let your head fall onto the counter and groaned. “I fucking swear, every fucking time we’re fucking—”

He pulled out and rushed from the bathroom.

“Hey!” you called out. “What the hell?”

“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered to himself as he searched for where he’d thrown his pants. When had he even gotten them off?

“Ransom?”

“Wait there,” he directed and then he dashed out of the room.

“Excuse you!” It wasn’t like you had much of an option, your legs weren’t working yet, and you were sweating and gross, and bruised and your lip was swollen and clearly bitten.

After several moments, he hadn’t come back. What the hell was he up to? You winced and hummed, made any noise that made you feel slightly better, as you tiptoed around the room looking for something to put on. You settled on one of his shirts and slowly, pathetically made your way downstairs. “Ransom?”

No response.

“Hello, anyone?” If someone else was around, you could force them to look for your boyfriend instead of having to do so yourself. But it seemed that you were out of luck on that.

The dogs were still barking like crazy, but why was no one else reacting? And why did Ransom care? He never paid attention to the dogs. You followed the sound of their barking, they had moved from the backyard to the side of the house. Which was odd because they never went there.

The garage? Your suspicions were confirmed when you heard Linda complaining about something, being constantly interrupted by Joni, Walt, and Ransom. Okay, again, unusual. He tended to ignore his mother, not argue with her.

His eyes widened when he saw you in the doorway. “No, no, this has to stop. I need everyone out of this room.”

“What the hell is going on?” you questioned.

“We don’t want to alarm you,” Donna began, “But—”

“Pretty sure he has drugs,” Meg claimed. “Like, hardcore drugs. Heroin, probably.”

Your eyes widened at him.

He glared. “I don’t have drugs, don’t be ridiculous.”

You gasped, pointing in the direction of the dogs still barking outside. “Those are German Shepherds, they’re drug dogs!”

Meg gasped, nodding at you with wide eyes. “I’m calling the cops.”

“Knock it off,” Linda scolded. “Ransom, show us what you’re hiding right now, or we’ll tear this room apart.”

He rolled his eyes, storming over to the corner of the room where a sheet was laid over something. “Fine, merry fucking Christmas.” He yanked it off one of the old kennels Linda used for her dogs when they were being trained.

There was a long list of things you were suspecting to see. Three sleeping puppies? No, they were nowhere on the list. And then you realized that was why he hadn’t gone to pick up Jacob’s present.

“You got me more puppies?” Linda inquired.

You, along with most of the room, glared at her.

“No,” Ransom snapped. “One is for Jacob and one’s for Meg.”

Both Jacob and Meg excitedly ran to the cage, startling the puppies awake. Much to Ransom’s dismay, the baby talk began without a second thought and the puppies were whining and making those small noises that always irritated him.

One for Jacob. One for Jacob. Then…the third. Oh, god.

He turned to you with a sigh.

“Yes,” you said, “Yes, yes, a million times yes!” You ran across the room, ignoring all your aching limbs and threw yourself into his arms. “And I’ll stop being so mean to you, and if you want to do this at the courthouse, I won’t even be upset because you’re so good to me and I’m awful to you. I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay,” he assured.

“No,” you protested. “It’s a million times not okay! I’m so sorry.” You pulled back to touch his face. “I’m really, really sorry. But I’m going to be the best wife in the world—”

“What?” Joni cut in.

That was the only thing in the world that could have drawn attention away from the puppies.

“Wife?” Linda repeated.

You checked with Ransom and he nodded. He had been looking forward to this. All you had to do was hold out your hand and Joni and Meg were excitedly shrieking. There hadn’t been a wedding in the family in so long.

“Wow,” Walt said. “Ransom? Engaged, showing commitment? This is the strangest year I’ve ever lived.”

Ransom rolled his eyes.

Before another word could be said, Linda collapsed onto the floor. Richard and Walt were the only ones who felt alarmed at the situation, while everyone else moved in closer to see the puppies.

“Which one is ours?” you wondered.

“Yours,” he corrected. “And the blonde one. She was the least yappy I could find on such short notice.”

Your eyebrows pulled together. “Where did you go?”

“The pound, obviously.”

“I fucking love you,” you blurted out, grabbing his face to pull him down into a kiss.

Once again, the room echoed with disgusted sounds.

“Which one’s mine?” Meg wondered.

“I couldn’t care less,” he admitted.

“I’m gonna name mine Hugh,” Jacob announced.

Ransom gave you an expectant look.

“I love you?” you tried.

“Gonna need a lot more than that.” He picked you up and because you knew Ransom wasn’t going to accept any kind of attitude from you for a very long time, you hooked your legs and arms around him and willingly went.

“I’ll take care of your dog until you guys are done being gross!” Meg promised.

chris tags:

@onetwo3000​ @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​ @donutloverxo​ @kleohoneyao3​ @cevans-fics​

ransom tags:

@la-cey​

[perriewinklenerdie]

History repeats itself  (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

A/N: Hi guys! I'm on a roll (it's that high that patients that are about to die experience right before they crash. Kinda fitting, giving the fact that I'm going to die tomorrow bc of OH, isn't it? :D), like back in the old, good days. This was a request made by a wonderfull Nonnie. Thank you so much for suggesting it! I hope you enjoy it and that I didn’t disappoint :D

This fic is part of the ESIMY series (Claire and Ethan met and got married before they started working together and that’s basically all you need to know, as the fic can be read as a separate work)

Tag list: @paleweasels, @kittykatchoices, @valiantlychaoticbarbarian, @radlovedreamer , @usuallyamazinglyaverage, @awhmilkywey @palestazure, @cordoniaqueensworld, @universallypizzataco, @princess-geek, @faithhasnowords, @mightyfangirlofthefandoms, @drakewalkerfantasy, @timmagicktoad, @laceandlula, @greywitchyshots, @llamasgrl, @gingerjane15, @bucket-harrington , @marywrites-things , @ethanplaysfavorites , @mfackenthal , @betelgeusebee , @simsvetements, @buzz-bee-buzz, @owleyes374, @cora-nova, @aworldoffandoms, @l822, @cream-ray, @ughhhxjazzy, @silverlitskies, @justendlesssummerfeels, @togetherwearerapture, @desmaranj, @edgiestwinter, @friedherringclodthing, @daisy-ashton, @waytooattuned, @choicesgremlin , @lapisreviewsstuff, @the-soot-sprite, @writerapprentice, @chasingrobbie, @choicesobsessedd, @x-kyne-x, @thisperfectmemory, @drakewalker04, @rookie-ramsey, @jlynn12273, @thepinknymph @dr-brianna-casey-valentine, @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @justanotherrookie @mvalentine @starrystarrytrouble 

  Enjoy! <3

-----------

Paging Dr. Ramsey to Dr. Banerji’s office.

He looked up from the article he was reading, expecting a message from his wife. They were supposed to go home soon, finishing her last day of work before she would go on maternal leave. The page didn’t read as urgent, and yet somehow, a shiver ran down his spine. He couldn’t explain it. Call it a hunch that made him abandon his work and rush through the halls of the hospital.

Naveen was waiting for him by the door, his expression gravely. The air in the room was so thick that Ethan, who was running, stopped abruptly in his tracks, feeling weight being slammed against his chest. He didn’t know what was happening yet, but it couldn’t have been anything good.

“Naveen?” he asked, walking closer, treading slowly and carefully, as though it would save him from the approaching heartbreak he could already feel. His friend sighed heavily, stepping towards to him and laying his hand on Ethan’s shoulder.

“You might want to sit down.”

“Tell me. I need to go pick Claire up from the locker room in five minutes.” He didn’t miss how his mentor’s face fell at the mention of her name, making his stomach drop in worry. “What happened?”

“Claire is being transferred to the OR as we speak.” He said, the next words being an almost exact echo of his own words years back. “She had a seizure, full eclampsia. We’re delivering the baby.”

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

That day, from the very beginning, was a bust. Her head was pounding, slowly but surely rising and breaking through the threshold of her pain tolerance, causing her to reach out to her OB-GYN in search of any advice, along with some painkillers. Her vision was getting blurred around the sides from time to time, making it incredibly difficult to read charts or look her patients in the eye. Esme asked her about it, figuring out something was wrong when she misread the patient’s name while they were walking towards their room, but she dismissed her with a kind smile.

“That’s pregnancy for you.” she joked, seeing in her resident’s eyes that she didn’t believe her. Sighing heavily, she nodded. “Okay, it’s not typical. I- I would appreciate if you kept your eye on me today. I feel like something is about to go south and I’d like to avoid that.”

“Of course, I’ll watch you like a hawk.”

Light sensitivity came next. Supply closets were her biggest friends that day, providing with as much darkness as she wanted, blocking out any traces of light. She couldn’t barricade herself in there, no matter how much she’d want that, so she braced herself and pushed through.

She knew all those symptoms too well. She was, after all, treating her pre-eclampsia since it reared its ugly head three weeks ago. The moment she heard her diagnosis, she felt as though she has been struck by a lightning. It was the same diagnosis she gave Dolores not even three years ago.

Ethan wouldn’t survive it if this case ended the same way.

Claire was battling with herself. Should she tell him about it and let him worry about her every second of every day until she gave birth and the postpartum eclampsia was ruled out, or should she shoulder that weight on her own, treating it behind his back and praying that he’d never have to find out that the very same complication that took away his dear friend not that long ago, now threatened to take away his wife too.

She opted for something in between. There were symptoms that she couldn’t hide from him, about which they talked and she let him ask about them on their appointments. Dr. Weland, her OB-GYN, was aware of the whole situation, carefully formulating her answers for the first-time father.

It kept her up at night. She knew he would be scared, disappointed that she didn’t tell him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. He’d lock them both up at home for the remainder of her pregnancy, with a private doctor at hand, and treat her with extra caution. But most of all, she didn’t want to see the panic in his eyes, which she knew she’d find there. He would stop sleeping, watching over her at every moment.

Dr. Weland expressed her concerns when she saw Claire that day, hence her asking Esme to keep an eye on her. It wouldn’t be wise to send her home; she would need help in case something went horribly wrong.

Three hours later, as though on cue, she felt pain in her stomach, right below her belly button. All the symptoms she’s been experiencing that day cumulated, striking her at once with double their force, bending her in half. Esme, who was just down the hall, called out her name, rushing towards her, just in time to catch her as she crashed towards the ground, her body shaking.

“She’s seizing! Page Dr. Banerji!” the resident shouted, taking care of the fallen doctor.

“What about Ramsey?” someone asked, pager in their hand.

“Do as I say!”

What happened next could only be described as a chain reaction, its magnitude that of an avalanche. Naveen was called, OR was ordered, Claire was moved onto the bed and wheeled away. The hardest was still ahead of them.

Ethan fell against the wall heavily, struggling to catch his breath. “What do you mean eclampsia? Did she have any symptoms before that? Did she know? Who found her?”

“Dr. Ortega. She probably has more answers for you than I do. Come on, we’ll talk to her and Dr. Weland.”

His every move felt as though there were two impossibly heavy bricks attached to his feet, and another three on his shoulders and his chest. Panic began rising in his chest, fighting the overwhelming urge to let the tears fall. Esme was waiting for them by the entrance to the OR, worry spelled on her face.

“Can someone tell me why my wife and my daughter are fighting for their lives in there?” he barked the question, shaking in emotional distress. Naveen placed his hand on his shoulder, asking him silently to let the doctors speak.

“She’s been not feeling well for the whole day. Asked me to keep an eye on her; she told me she felt like something was about to happen.” the youngest doctor explained, stepping away to make space for Dr. Weland.

“Claire was treating her pre-eclampsia for the past three and a half weeks. The symptoms you noticed and were asking about were all a part of it. She asked me to not tell you, hoping that she would be able to avoid developing eclampsia.”

Never before in his life had he looked up at someone so fast. “She knew? And she didn’t tell me?”

“Ethan, I know you’re angry but-“

“I’m not angry. Right now, I’m terrified, because my family is fighting for their lives and I’m here, instead of being by their side. Step aside, I’m scrubbing in.”

“No.” Naveen shook his head, pulling him aside firmly. “And you know why.”

“Move out of the way, Naveen, I’m going in there.”

“I’m going to lock you in my office if you don’t calm down. You won’t help anyone by being emotional and reckless. Breathe, son, they’re going to be alright.” Ethan’s breathing was treading on the line of hyperventilating, panic rising in his chest even more. At last, tears fell, two trails running down his cheeks. He fell into his friend’s embrace, sobbing like he hasn’t done in a very long time. Helplessness, anger at fate and at himself for not noticing it sooner. “Claire is a fighter, so are you, and so is your daughter. They’ll pull through.”

“The last time I had to give this diagnosis to a person I cared about was Dolores, and she was dead within ours. Don’t tell me to calm down.” He stumbled over his words, holding onto Naveen’s arms for dear life.

“This time will be different.”

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

Not even an hour passed before the surgery ended. It gave Ethan enough time to go over the last weeks, all the pieces falling together into one tragic picture. It was all there, right before his eyes. Edema on her hands and feet, which could be written off as a pregnancy symptom. Headaches plagued her quite often even before she was married, so he didn’t even bat an eye on it, maybe except for the intensity of them. Her nausea returned long after her morning sickness phase passed, but again, pregnancy manifested itself with a variety of things.

He blamed himself. After Dolores died, he thought he’d be able to see the symptoms and prevent it from getting worse, but when it mattered the most, with his own beloved wife, he failed to add two and two.

“Ethan, you can see them now. The baby is safe and healthy, Claire’s condition is under control, she’s stable and conscious.” Naveen called out for him, a small smile on his face spelled out relief.

Jumping to his feet, he ran towards them, catching the room number from a shouting Naveen, not waiting for anyone. Nurses and doctors moved out of his way, some of them knowing what happened, others having no idea but knowing better than to stand in Dr. Ramsey’s way.

The lights in the room were dimmed, curtains closed, providing privacy and peace. Ethan opened the door as quietly and gently as he could, his stare falling onto Claire immediately. She smiled at him lazily, watching his every move in anticipation. He strode towards her, sitting at the edge of the bed and taking her hand in his, rising it to his lips and kissing it, over and over again, saying silent prayers of gratitude. Tears started running down his cheeks again, wetting her skin, his shoulders shaking as he let out all the emotions.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, choking on her words, her face wet with tears too. He looked up at her, shaking his head.

“No. It’s my fault. I- I somehow attract tragedy. My Mother, Naveen, Dolores… and now you.” She looked at him confused, not understanding his reasoning at first, only seconds later did she remember his thought process, her eyes filling with horror.

“Ethan, that’s none of your fault. I won’t be sitting here, letting you blame yourself for something completely out of your control.” She grabbed him by the sides of his face, hauling him onto her, pressing their lips together and lingering there, connecting them, again and again. “Your Mother wasn’t your fault.” Kiss on the nose. “Naveen wasn’t your fault.” Kiss on the forehead. “Dolores wasn’t your fault.” She kissed both his cheeks, catching his tears.  “I wasn’t your fault, and neither was she.” She cried, her voice getting thick from tears. Her head crooked towards his left, pointing towards their daughter.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” his words stabbed her like a knife that she herself was holding against her heart. She knew he’d ask, but she wasn’t prepared for it, no matter how many times she rehearsed it in her head.

“I didn’t want you to worry.” She explained after a moment, biting her lip in shame. “I thought if I can get through this and not have any complications, you’d never have to find out. Especially with how it ended for Dolores…”

“There isn’t a single thing in this world more important to me than you two. Whatever it is, however hard it gets, I want to be there for you. For both of you.”

Both of them cried silently, embracing each other as closely as they dared, refusing to let the other get away even for a mere inch. Silent comfort, not needing any words, only each other, alive and well.

The soft sound of wailing pulled them out of their little bubble, pulling their attention towards the crib by the bed. Ethan stood up, walking over to look inside, Claire peaking from her position on her bed.

A little girl was staring up at him, her eyes blue and curious. She couldn’t smile yet, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t see how at peace she was. Perfectly fine.

His whole family was perfectly fine.

“Katherine…” he muttered, running the outer edge of his index finger along his daughter’s cheek softly.

“She looks like a Katherine to you?” Claire asked, humor in her voice. He nodded, turning to his wife. “I was thinking of Isabelle.”

“We can compromise.” He embraced her, kissing her head tenderly.

“Katherine Isabelle Ramsey. Perfect.”

[storybookstalker]

12 and 24 from the Smothering Yandere starters for Bane please I beg of you💕💗💓💘💞

Ofc bb <3!

excuse the writing sksnkdnd it’s been a minute since I’ve let myself write any non-headcanon fiction

Also! I’m using google translate bc I’m a loser and can barely speak my own language, so if anything seems off I’m super sorry kdndkdnd if you see something that’s wrong feel free to correct me <3!

Warning! Yandere stuff and general violence

Your head’s pounding harder than it ever has in your entire life. The bag over your head and the general darkness of the room made the sick feeling somehow worse than it already was. The two (Three? After the first hit colors began to mush together) men who brought you here seemed to be having fun with your situation. They’d knocked you around a bit before harshly throwing you into some kind of van. You assumed you had blacked out for the first part, the first thing you remembered after getting throw around was being moved to another van. The spinning sick feeling kept you from smaller details. It had to have been at least a few hours in a few different cars. This final place was warm and the air was almost too dense to breath. It was the most uncomfortable you’d never been. Whoever had dropped you into this shitty chair did not care about getting you comfortable. You were clearly supposed to stay in one spot. When some pain dulled down you’d try to wiggle into a more comfortable situation. Leaning forward meant rope pulling on your arms but resting your head back meant straining your already aching neck. There were a few men in the room with you. You couldn’t understand what they were saying, but it was hard to decide if that was because of the pain or if they were speaking another language.

The group was busy snickering as one kicked your leg. A door suddenly opened to your left, pain blurst in your eyes as lights were turned on. The man abusing your poor leg immediately stopped as heavy footsteps entered the room. Your face twisted as the pounding inside your skull increased triple time. Despite the white burn that settled behind your eyes, you did your best to pay attention to what was happening around you. The men who’d seemed so immature before were all business now because of whoever had just walked in. You wondered if they were greeting this new person, but the lack of response confused your jumbled brain. The heavy presence was constrictive, the already solid air clogging up your throat. You barely registered how large the hand on your neck was, the dull jolt from the pressure forced a weak cry out. The hand immediately pulled away, only to take off the suffocating bag. The air lightened, and the bag’s removal made you realize that your hair was matted to your forehead. This new man circled you, breathing heavily like some kind of angry bull. Somehow hearing him made it harder to breath than it was in the bag. One of the men began to say something but the (much larger you’ve decided from his voice) man in front of you interrupted,

“Qué demonios estoy viendo?” He sounded more like an angry bear than a human man. Thinking about how badly this man could fuck you up if he was as big as he seemed made your throat dry up. What did he even want with some rando off the street of Gotham?

One of the guys nudged the man closed to you, mumbling something you didn’t catch. “Ah..” He cleared his throat, he’s probably as scared of this big man as you are. One of the men near the back spoke up when the first one didn’t answer fast enough, “¿No es este el que querías?” There was silence for a moment, and for a moment the room stopped spinning. The man was familiar, you realize. Where had you seen him? It clicked when he started laughing. It wasn’t a fun laugh either, it was more of a laugh that meant you were in trouble. A few of the henchmen chuckled, shuffling away. You couldn’t blame them, you would be as far from this man as possible too if you could move.

Bane. This man was Bane, you’d realized. Whatever hope you might have had dropped, and shattered on the ground beneath you. Bane was not so horrible, not Scarecrow or Joker, but he could easily do whatever he wanted should he want it. You might as well have been shoved under water. Chest tightening fear clawed it’s way into your throat. What the hell did you do to be in this situation?

Bane hummed, nodding thoughtfully at what the other man had said. “Ya ves, es solo eso..” he paused as if trying to figure out how to explain his thoughts to a child, “Estoy seguro de que te dije que no pongas una mano en lo que es claramente mío.”

His men seemed to try to defend themselves, but he interrupted, “and it seems to me, that you’ve laid more than your manos on her you malditos idiotas!” Bane hissed, back-handing one of his men hard enough to slam against the wall. He sneered something you didn’t catch, your head had suddenly felt like it was floating. You could have swore you were actually floating, but then it was all dark.

Pain was the next thing to flood your senses. Light beamed right into your eyes, forcing a groan pass your lips. You rolled over, trying to get up and away from the searing sunlight. A dull ache swarmed your body and quickly coaxed your body back into the softiness under you. A bed, you had been moved to some bedroom? Or perhaps it was just a fancy holding cell. The room was too bright to fully open your eyes, making it hard to tell. It was silent until a warm voice pounded inside your skull, “finally awake?” Was this Bane? It was hard to think with the onslaught of a headache that came with his voice. The bed dipped to your left and you tried to move only for your body to fight against it. A cold cloth was spread against your forehead, smoothing out your pain a small bit. This could not be the Bane, it didn’t make sense. Did he quit being a murderer in favor of being a nurse or something?

He laughed, making you wonder if you had accidentally said something outlo- “You are talking right now, amor tonto!” He interrupted. At least he found it amusing instead of beating you a hair within your life. “I would smack most for saying such a thing, You’re the only person I’d make an exception for. Count yourself lucky,” he continued through a snicker. You would laugh along with him, if only to try to appease the bear of a man, if you weren’t terrified out of your mind. The so-called monster softly patted your arm, telling you to relax. How could you ‘relax’? A man you thought was supposed to be serving a life sentence was sitting next to you and you’ve been kidnapped! Your throat scratched up your question, “what part of any of this is relaxing?”

Bane huffed in reply, “You were not supposed to be harmed in any way on your way to me.” He must have seen your confusion, because he continued on without reply, “I’d do anything for you, whether or not you ask me to. I know how stressful life has been for you” He gently reaches towards you, taking your cheek into his hand. “No more. I will protect you from life itself if I must.”

Ahh I was gonna do more but I thought it might be too long for a prompt, hopefully this was okay!

[onewfantaesy]

so keep in mind i wrote this story in 2014 when i was still in high school lmao so it’s definitely not the best. not the worst thing i’ve ever written, and probably better than some stuff just bc it’s actually finished lmao (but i’m gonna upload it as the 4 separate chapters) but don’t expect too much. anyways it’s called:

His Mother’s Son (1/4)

Taemin's never done anything illegal, so why is he sitting in an interrogation room at the police station staring at a one-way mirror? His name is not his name. His brother is not his brother. His parents are not his parents. And his whole life has just been turned upside down.

Taemin’s been an idol for almost a year now. The 15 year old, for his entire almost-year of fame, has never done anything illegal, so he wracks his brain for why he’s sitting in an interrogation room at the police station. His manager said he had something he needed to do by himself, and Taemin thought it was an interview or something. This is definitely not the type of interview he had in mind.

The room was well lit, but the cold metal table and the one way mirror on the far left wall made him unbelievably frightened. He could only hear his rapid heartbeat in his ears and his shaky breaths. This had to be some sort of mistake, he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Lee Taemin?” The door creaked open loudly, and the female cop entered the room.

“Yes?” Taemin tried to appear calm, but his rapid blinking gave him away. He internally cursed himself when the nervous habit decided to show itself.

“I’m Officer Shin. There are some things I need to discuss with you,” she said, and she smiled kindly at Taemin, but it only made him blink even more.

“What - What did I do?” Taemin’s voice shakes, and the room suddenly feels very cold.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Taemin, but there are some things you need to know.” 

Officer Shin took two photos out from the yellow manila folder held in her hands. She lays photos of his parents down on the table, and Taemin feels his throat close up when he realizes they’re mug shots. She speaks their names and asks if they are Taemin’s parents.

“Yes, ma’am,” Taemin says. It’s only then he realize she asked if his parents go by those names. “What do you mean, ‘go by’?”

The officer sighs, putting on a sympathetic gaze that Taemin’s multiple years of idol training and experience can tell is genuine.

“Taemin, they’re not your parents, they’re your kidnappers.”

Taemin feels like the walls are closing in on him, and the air isn’t making its way to Taemin’s lungs and he feels like he’s suffocating. Suddenly, Taemin starts laughing, looking over at the one way mirror before looking back at Officer Shin.

“This is a secret camera, right? This is for a show? Ha ha, very funny.” Taemin’s laughter feels forced, and his hands are shaking. He turns back to the one way mirror, “This isn’t funny anymore, hyung! I wanna go back to the dorm!” Taemin hopes his manager is on the other side of the glass.

“Taemin, this is not a joke, this is very real,” Officer Shin tries to calm him down, and Taemin is running his fingers through his hair in distress.

“W-What about my brother? What about Taesun?” Taemin takes in a shaky breath.

“He isn’t your brother. He was kidnapped as well,” she informs him slowly, not wanting to upset the boy any further.

“What do you mean he’s not my brother? He’s Taesun and I’m Taemin! We’re brothers!” Taemin shouts.

“His name is not Taesun, and your name is not Taemin,” she says calmly.

“My name is Taemin! I’m Lee Taemin! My brother is Lee Taesun! I’m the lead dancer of SHINee! I wasn’t kidnapped!” Taemin feels a pressure build up behind his eyes, and he fights back the urge to cry.

“Please, I want to go home,” Taemin begs the officer; he wants to back to the dorm and pretend this never happened.

“We found out because of SHINee, Taemin. Your real parents saw your picture and they knew it was you. Taemin, you are going to go home, but to different parents, and different brothers,” she put her hands on his shoulders, telling him to calm down.

“What about SHINee? And those are my real parents, and he’s my real brother!” Taemin points at the pictures of the table.

“Your parents will decide whether or not you can continue with SHINee, but right now, we need to take you home,” Officer Shin tells him.

“How do you know these people are really my parents, huh? I don’t remember ever being kidnapped!” Taemin’s voice is shaking and he’s scared.

“This is a picture of you now,” she pulls a recent SHINee photo of him out of her folder and places it on the table, “and this is you from before you were kidnapped.”

“How do you know that’s me? That could be anyone!” Taemin tells her, shaking his head.

“The fingerprints we took when you first came in, we matched them to the ones we had on file of Kim Jaehyun. Now, let’s go get your things,” Officer Shin leads him out of the room, and he sees his manager sitting down with his head in his hands.

“Hyung, hyung please tell me this is a secret camera, please!” Taemin feels the tears roll down his cheeks as he begs his manager.

“I’m so sorry, Taemin, I’m so sorry,” he shakes his head, his face full of guilt, “Let’s go get your stuff, okay?”

“No. No! They’re my parents! He’s my brother! This is a mistake!” Taemin sobs as his manager leads him back to the van, Officer Shin following behind them.

Taemin feels numb as he sits in the back of the van. He stares out the window, watching as the cars pass by and the world around him moves in one big blur. This isn’t happening. This is a bad dream; a nightmare.

“Jaehyun. Jaehyun, we’re here.”

Taemin glares at the officer, telling her, “My name is Taemin.” 

His eyes stay narrow, and she only sighs at him.

“Let’s go pack your things.” 

Taemin follows after her only when his manager talks to him, telling him everything is going to be okay.

When they arrive at SHINee’s dorm, Taemin is annoyed that the officer keeps calling him by that other name, and he runs to Jinki the second he sees the older boy standing in the living room.

“Hyung!” Taemin wraps his arms around the leader, and suddenly it once again feels like his whole world is crumbling around him. “Hyung, tell her my name is Taemin! Tell me this is a joke!” Taemin feels the tears start to spill over his eyes again, and he can tell that Jinki is confused by the slow way the older wraps his arms around him.

“What’s going on?” Jinki asks slowly, and soon the other members are gathered around because of the noise.

“Jaehyun, you need to calm down,” officer Shin tells him, but Taemin only shakes his head.

“My name is Taemin!” he nearly shouts at her, and he can tell his members are getting worried.

She sends his manager to pack his things, and the members ask if Taemin is going to prison or something.

“What did you do?” Kibum asks, his eyes wide as he looks at the youngest clinging to the eldest.

“I didn’t do anything!” Taemin sobs. “And neither did my parents!”

“They are not your real parents,” Officer Shin says in that infuriatingly calm voice.

“Yes they are!” Taemin feels like he can’t breathe, and he feels Jinki sitting down with him on the couch and he wants to wake up from this horrible nightmare.

“You’re right, your parents didn’t do anything. Your kidnappers, however, abducted you and another boy thirteen years ago. Kim Jaehyun went missing twelve years ago when he was two years old, and he was finally found when his parents spotted him on an idol poster.” Officer Shin’s patience was growing thin with the boy.

“Then that makes Kim Jaehyun fourteen years old! I’m fifteen, you have the wrong person!” Taemin argued.

“Your kidnappers changed your birthday, now we’re going to take you to your biological parents for you to meet your family. Say goodbye to your friends, because we’re leaving.” 

She motioned to the manager to get the boy and follow her, and was annoyed when instead the manger came over to her and spoke to her in a hushed voice.

“Has it not occurred to you that his entire life just got turned upside down less than two hours ago? Yelling at him like that is not going to help.” 

The man couldn’t stand to see one of the boy’s he protects be treated so poorly.

“I have given him time to accept what is happening. Now, I suggest you put his things in the van and take us back to the police station so another officer and I can take him to his family, who, might I add, have been waiting for their child to return for twelve years.” She narrows her eyes at the man before turning on her heel and walking down to the parking garage.

When they arrived back at the station, Taemin’s things were moved into the back of a cop car, and Taemin was told Officer Shin and Officer An would take him to his family.

“Hyung?” Taemin looks over at his manager, “Hyung, please don’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry, Taemin, but I can’t go.” He hugs the young boy close. “If you need anything at all, you call me, okay?”

Taemin nods, staring at his manager until the station is no longer in sight. He looks out the window his entire trip, the numb feeling in his chest coming back. He pinches his arm, and is depressed when he finds that it does in fact hurt. He was really hoping this was some crazy dream.

“Where’s my brother?” Taemin asks, wondering if Taesun is okay.

“He is with his own family.” Officer Shin sighs, rubbing his head from the headache this case is giving her.

“I wanna talk to him,” Taemin says quietly, hoping they’ll let him call him or something.

“Your family has said you are not allowed any contact,” Shin says in a tight voice, and Taemin narrows his eyes at the back of her head.

“Why not?” Taemin growls, unable to believe that his so called family would not allow him to talk to his own brother.

“Because he is not really your brother, now keep quiet,” Shin snaps, and Taemin goes back to staring out the window.

“He isn’t a prisoner, so I suggest you stop treating him as such,” An tells her, and Taemin smirks at the scolding.

When they pull up in front of a house, and Shin is getting out to remove his bags from the trunk, Taemin doesn’t move; he only continues to stare out the window at the house looming in front of him.

“Please, take me back home,” Taemin chokes out, unable to believe that this is reality.

“You are home,” An says softly, and Taemin looks over at the male officer.

“How can this be home if I don’t even know what street we’re on?” Taemin asks, and the officer sighs.

“Come, we’ll go introduce you to your family.” An holds his hand out, and Taemin puts his shaky one in his, and he’s being pulled out of the car and walking toward the front door.

The door opens revealing a woman who looked almost exactly like Taemin.

[hotpinkhoshi]

hey there! can i request 27 from the fluff prompt list for youngjae? tysm!

pairing: youngjae x reader

genre: fluffy fluff! roommate!au

word count: 1.2k (i know it was supposed to be a drabble I KNOW!!!!)

prompt: youngjae x “you know we aren’t just friends.” 

a/n: this was so fun to write! apparently i don’t know what a drabble is though bc i could not help myself making this 1k words, hopefully no one minds hehe please enjoy love you all 

There was a long list of things you would have rather done tonight than go on a blind date.

Especially one that your sister had set up—yes, in theory, she knew you better than anyone else, but she had horrible taste in men, so your expectations were at rock bottom. 

Or so you’d thought. Just below rock bottom was apparently a cavern filled with average looking men that droned on and on about themselves for an hour straight while you contemplated shoving a salad fork into your own eyeball. 

For the first time, you faked a severe stomach ache just to escape, which of course you felt guilty for, but you couldn’t imagine listening to this man talk for one more hellish minute. 

When you arrived home, you expected to be alone. Your roommate, Youngjae, usually spent his Friday nights at his studio or hanging out with his friends. Instead, you found him sprawled on the couch with one of your sheet masks on and a bottle of wine tucked under his arm. It looked like there was a marine life documentary on the TV screen. 

“Um,” you started, eyes taking in the whole picture, “rough night?”

Youngjae shook his head, not appearing embarrassed you’d found him like this in the slightest. “Quite the opposite, roomie. I had a fantastic day and wanted to celebrate.”

“With my avocado honey sheet mask?”

Youngjae just shrugged. In his defense, you’d told him once that he could help himself to your plethora of sheet masks, if only because you’d never met a man more committed to skincare than Youngjae. You definitely wanted to encourage the behavior—for the greater good. 

“Don’t worry, this wine is mine. Want a sip?” He held the bottle out to you. 

You normally would have said no. You didn’t drink very often, especially not wine because it usually just made you sleepy and gave you a headache in the morning. However, you’d just listened to a stranger describe the entire interior of his BMW for twenty five minutes straight. 

“Sure,” you answered, walking over to the couch and taking the free spot next to your roommate. It didn’t take long for you to snuggle up to him, which wasn’t uncommon for the two of you. 

After moving in together five months ago, you’d gotten close fast. You worked the same hours, so you saw each other every morning and every night. It was inevitable you’d become close. 

You’d fallen asleep on the couch together a handful of times and woken up spooning once or twice… but you were friends. Just friends. He never once flirted with you, made you uncomfortable, or crossed any figurative lines between your friendship. 

“It’s moscato,” he told you, passing you the bottle and breaking you from your thoughts. You recognized it as the cheap brand your sister usually stocked up on because it was always on sale.  

When you took a sip, you felt the warmth travel down your chest and to your stomach. You had definitely needed that. 

“So, how was the date?” he asked, shoulder nudging you gently. 

You cringed. “Dreadful.”

After you gave him a rundown of the nights events, Youngjae burst into laughter. You would have smacked him, but his laugh was infectious and you soon found yourself draped over his lap, giggling into his shirt. 

His hand traveled to your back, and when he ran his fingers along your spine, you froze. His touch sent a wave of shivers down your entire body from your chest to the tips of your fingers.

Pull yourself together, you scolded yourself. A simple hand on your back was no reason to get goosebumps. 

You knocked back another long sip of wine. 

“You know,” Youngjae started, his tone of voice making you sit up fully. “It seems like you just keep on going out with these… toads. When really, you deserve-“

“A prince?” You finished for him, raising your brows. It was cheesy, but such a Youngjae thing to say. “Well, I’m starting to think there aren’t many of those left. At least, not for me.”

Youngjae’s expression was unreadable. Although that may have been because you could only see his eyeballs through the holes in the sheet mask. 

“What about me?” he asked. 

Your eyes widened and you stuttered, “Wh-what? We’re friends. Just friends.” 

Youngjae blinked at you, and you saw him bite his lip under the mask, as if contemplating his words. Perhaps he knew you were lying just as well as you did. 

“Oh, come on,” he finally said. “You know we aren’t just friends.”

The utter honesty in his statement had your heart pounding in your chest. You could continue to play dumb, sure, pretend like there was nothing but platonic feelings between the two of you. Or… or you could take a chance. 

A long moment passed between the two of you, the monotone narrator describing the migration habits of sea turtles filling the room. And yet you were sure Youngjae could hear your heartbeat over it all. 

“I know,” you whispered finally, your hand moving on its own accord to find his on his lap. “But it’s scary.” 

“It is,” Youngjae agreed. “But we could be great. You know that, right?” 

You nodded. You hadn’t known him long before you started getting a feeling that Youngjae had been brought into your life for a reason. He made you laugh like no one else, and at this point, you spent more time with him than anyone else.

All the takeout Thursdays, the movie nights, the early morning coffee conversations. You couldn’t imagine your life without those small moments with Youngjae. 

Just as Youngjae began to lean in, his eyes flicking down your lips, you held up your hand to stop him. 

“What?” he asked, panic flashing in his eyes. 

“Can you please take off that sheet mask before you kiss me?” you asked, your lips slowly turning up in a grin. 

Your roommate cursed under his breath as if he’d forgotten he was wearing it. He reached up and ripped the face mask off, tossing it to the coffee table. 

“Hey, we eat there-!” You attempted to scold him, but you were cut off early, by Youngjae’s lips pressing into yours. Your complaint was quickly forgotten when you felt his tongue pressing into the seam of your lips, parting them to deepen the kiss. 

Oh, wow. This was what you’d been missing this whole time. The broken, forgotten pieces of your two souls slotted themselves together as Youngjae brought you into his embrace, his arms holding you close like he was worried you’d slip away. 

Your hands slid up his chest towards his face, but when you felt the residue from his mask, you couldn’t help pulling away, disgusted. 

“Eugh, you’re all slimy!” you exclaimed, wiping your fingers on his shirt. 

As Youngjae tackled you onto the couch and rubbed his essence-covered face all over yours, your shrieks turned into breathless laughter and you finally decided that the risk of falling in love with your best friend was totally worth it. 

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Tomorrow Never Came PT. 7

A direct continuation of Part 6, with a few hour’s jump. Now that you’ve become closer to Roger than ever, you start to see obstacles - not just Freddie, but real, legitimate obstacles that could threaten your safety, as well as Roger’s safety. Now that feelings are involved, you have a lot of choices to make, and they all need to be made quickly before things can get worse.

Read PT. 1 here | Read PT. 2 here | Read PT. 3 here | Read PT. 4 here | Read PT. 5 here | Read PT. 6 here

(a/n: this one is so convoluted and i didn’t get the chance to proofread hsksjdfkdsl sorry anyways here’s some fluff and angst and EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN besides smut srry. also thoroughly embarrassed bc my Cristalle imagine comes up on google images if you search through Roger Taylor images enough fml)

As much as Roger didn’t want Freddie to catch the two of you in the compromising situation you were currently in, he couldn’t seem to make himself leave you, much less wake you up. You were serene, unbothered, and truly at your most vulnerable state right now, still deep in sleep as the early morning light filtered in through the window. It was partially blocked by Roger’s shadow, but the light that did hit your face made your skin look ethereal, and before he could help himself, he was reaching out to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over the bandaid on the side of your face once again.

From the back of your throat came a quiet confused noise as you blinked sleepily, not really sure where you were. But the smell of Roger’s cologne on his wrist was all-too-familiar, and you smiled softly as you kept your eyes closed, nuzzling into his hand. An affectionate smile crossed his face for a moment, which scared him more than anything, so he quickly erased it and put on a much more amused front as you yawned, covering your mouth. “Why are you touching my bandaid?” you murmured, nudging his wrist with your nose before slowly opening your eyes fully.

“Think you look kind of cute with it, honestly,” he replied softly, holding back a wide grin as your cheeks turned a light, rosy color. As he admired your bashful expression, he could feel the beginnings of a headache creeping on, but it wasn’t threateningly bad, so he ignored it for the most part.

“Glad my cuts and bruises are cute to you.” With that, you stretched, reaching over your head and using the headboard to stretch out completely. Roger shifted slightly and the blanket slid down so that your chest was revealed, the curve of your breasts and the soft expanse of skin also glowing under the soft morning light. Roger could hardly keep his eyes off of you, the female body still a marvel to him after all these years – and yours was even more marvelous, in his opinion.

“Suppose Freddie will be back soon?” Roger asked, wincing slightly as the sleepy demeanor wore off and you started to look worried. The few moments of otherworldly bliss were over, and it was back to reality again.

“What day is it?” you asked, sitting up and leaning over him to check the calendar across the room. He laid back to allow you, and you sighed in relief, slumping down into a laying position on Roger’s chest. “It’s my day off.”

“Day off. Good,” Roger repeated, moving a hand to your hair and pulling it over one shoulder as he hummed, mainly to himself. You relaxed into his touch, closing your eyes again and pressing your cheek against his torso. Almost dozing back off on him again, you draped your arm lazily across his abdomen, forgetting the whole world and your mission for the time being. Right now, you were living for yourself, and as selfish as it felt, you couldn’t feel too bad with Roger’s hand running through your hair.

When his hand moved to your back to rub it, you made another happy noise and moved your hand to his side, yawning again. “I suppose we have to get up sometime, yeah?”

“Sometime,” he confirmed, sighing at the thought. “Freddie’s going to kill me. And then he’ll probably disown you.”

“M’not afraid of Freddie,” you mumbled, although your voice betrayed you and showed at least some concern. So, Roger sat up, pulling you with him despite your reluctance, and he crawled out of bed, picking up his boxers and pulling them on as you watched. You were fully stretched out across the bed, laying on your side with your head propped up on arm, the other hand covering your mouth as you yawned.

Roger’s eyes wandered over your body for a moment before he came back to the bed, offering you his shirt, which you pulled on without a word as you stood up, stretching. After that, he listened as you padded back out to the lounge, your bare feet scuffing against the rough hardwood in the hallway before meeting the shag carpet again.

“Lord, help me,” Roger mumbled as he looked at himself in the mirror, recapping the night’s events in his head for a moment. What had he done? What if he’d scared you away, and you were going to move out and leave them hanging again? The thoughts of the repercussions for what he’d done were terrifying to him, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Something akin to affection blossomed in his chest, and he struggled to choke it down as he ran a hand back through his hair, pulling it away from his face and revealing a glow that only young love (and a good shag) could supply.

As he joined you in the main part of the apartment, he found that you’d changed into your own pajamas, his shirt hanging over the back of a chair, and you were in the kitchen, making tea and pulling out some food to make for breakfast.

“Do you want bacon and eggs or sausage and eggs?” you asked when you heard him come in, and he stood in the doorway for a moment, staring at you with an odd smile when you turned to him. “Jesus, you look like the Joker. Bacon or sausage?”

“Bacon,” he finally replied, chuckling at the Joker comment. “Sorry, I was just admiring.”

“Admiring my-“

“Oh, fuck me!” you heard Freddie groan from the front hallway as he came crashing in, his fingers tangled into his hair as he nursed a headache. When he came around the corner into the kitchen, he nearly moaned in delight as he saw the kettle on the stove, and a package of bacon near it. “You’re a saint, Y/N.” When neither of you replied, Freddie sat down at the table, burying his face in his hands for a moment before looking up at Roger through his fingers, slightly narrowing his eyes. “Do you think Y/N wants to see you walking around with your cock out, Rog? Put some pants on.”

Freddie then resumed his face-buried-in-hands situation, and you held in a laugh as you looked at Roger, quickly glancing at his boxers and sending him a pointed look. He rolled his eyes, mouthing the word “Wanker” before he was off to his bedroom again, returning in a moment with some trackpants and his shirt on.

“Sorry you had to see that, dear,” Freddie apologized, and you turned your back to him as you hid a huge grin, wanting desperately to say something, but knowing Freddie would be livid if he knew. “Roger doesn’t have boundaries, obviously… Why is there a bandaid on your face?” You froze up a bit at the question, which you should have expected, and you felt both of their gazes burning into your back as you came up with a quick, lame excuse.

“Fell up the stairs,” you mumbled, pulling the kettle off the heat once it was whistling and biting your lip to subdue the grin that was peeking out while you put some tea in to steep. “How’s your head?” you asked, changing the subject as you brought the kettle and tea cups over to the table, sitting the kettle on a heat-resistant oven pad. When Roger came over with the sugar and cream, you thanked him with a small smile and sat them down on the table, his eyes following you when you headed back to the stove to make some bacon and eggs.

“Horrible,” Freddie muttered, starting to make his tea and sighing. “Left with Mary to go to the club, don’t remember getting to the club, and I don’t remember ending up at Brian’s.”

“You went to Brian’s?” Roger snorted, sitting across the table from Freddie and crossing his arms. “What, is Bri your new favorite now? You two can’t even be in the same room for more than two seconds without lunging at each other’s throats.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk!” Freddie shot back, flipping him off as he stirred his tea and tried to ignore the bright light now coming in through the window. “As much as you and Brian go at each other, you’d think you had a crush on the man.”

“Ugh, yeah, love Brian to pieces,” Roger remarked sarcastically, rolling his eyes as you shook your head and laughed, pulling down a couple of plates from the cupboard. “His skeleton build makes me harder than year 11 maths. Wonder if he notices me too.”

Freddie snorted into his tea, nearly spilling it and covering his face before grabbing Roger’s shirt that was hanging over the chair and wiping off the liquid that had hit his nose. Giggling softly, you finished the bacon and eggs, then brought them over to the table while the two of them went back and forth about the night before, Freddie finally asking where Roger ended up.

“I came back here,” Roger admitted, taking some of the bacon off of the plate and getting himself an egg as you sat between the two of them, giving Roger a questioning look. As Freddie focused on his bacon, Roger shook his head. “Passed out in my boxers. Thank god for Tylenol.”

“I know what you mean,” Freddie groaned, none the wiser, and then you were all eating, the room significantly quieting. The only sound came in from outside, people chattering cheerily on the sidewalk and dogs intermittently barking, the usual sounds that came with the area. But one of the sounds in particular made your blood run cold. The church bells started ringing, and you narrowed your eyes as you stared down at your plate, which was only half-eaten. The appetite you’d had moments ago vanished, and you got an intrigued look from Roger, but he said nothing of it.

When you got up to clear your place, Freddie was again oblivious to the secrecy surrounding you, but he did note that you were a bit off. When he raised his eyebrow in question, you sent him a small smile and shook your head. “Just not as hungry as I thought. I’m going to go out for a moment, need a smoke.”

With that, you took your plate to the sink and finished off your tea quickly, grabbing Roger’s cigarettes from the counter and making sure you grabbed the lighter from his room before you climbed out onto the fire escape just outside his window. Settling yourself in and sitting cross-legged in the far corner where Freddie or Roger wouldn’t be able to see you, you leaned back against the bars and just watched the church, flipping an unlit cigarette between your fingers absentmindedly.

Things were a whole lot more complicated now. You and Roger had sex, there was no denying it, no avoiding the truth. A painful realization was settling in, one that let you know you adored Roger to the point where you couldn’t see a future without him – his laugh, the way he smiled when he did so, those beautiful, inquisitive blue eyes, that maddening sense of intelligence that he masked with an innocent, jesting demeanor.

But this was your mom’s life you were talking about – you were at the helm of it, in charge of a decision that meant either prosperity or ruination for her, and you had to remember that you were here for her, not for your own selfish purposes. Roger’s attention was making you lose focus.

 You caught a glimpse of William and Ted, greeting people on the steps of the church, and a faint buzzing noise started taking over your hearing, steadily growing until it nearly drove you mad, like a hive of bees was inside your brain.

Injure them? Kill them? Gruesome images started conjuring themselves up in your brain, ones that ended in their death or hospitalization, and you were perplexed by these thoughts. But what could you do? Sit here, day after day, knowing that they were leering after your mom, planning an assault that would leave her scarred for the rest of her life?

And if you did kill them, as horrifying as it was, you could stay here. The thought was slowly occurring to you that you enjoyed your life here quite a bit more than you did your future. Sure, it was redundant sometimes, but you could enroll in school, or start helping with Queen – Lord knows they’d need a lot of help in a few year’s time. Besides, the past would be changed enough for your mom that she could maybe have a boy instead of you, or another girl that wouldn’t have to suffer the same fate as you, wouldn’t it? 

Your life back in 2018 was rough – beyond rough, actually – and maybe you’d done enough here to warrant just spending the rest of your life with Roger. Not seeing your mom anymore would be tough, but it would be enough to know that she was safe from those monsters and not living the nightmare she currently was day to day.

Currently? Could you even use that when you were here? Probably not.

“You alright?” Roger’s voice pervaded your thoughts, making you jump as you snapped out of the daze, looking up at him. He’d joined you on the fire escape, walking out so he was out of the shadows, and the sunlight caught his eyes just right so that he looked like an angel staring down at you. That angel joined you promptly, sitting by your side and nicking the cigarette out of your hand before putting it between his lips and lighting it. As he took a long drag, he looked forward, then exhaled slowly before looking over at you, where you were still just watching quietly. “I asked if you’re alright?”

“Oh, yeah,” you murmured, looking away bashfully and catching the tail end of the last person walking into the church. “Just a lot on my mind.”

“Me too,” he agreed, still watching you and taking intermittent drags out of his cigarette. He seemed introspective, almost, as he looked you over, watching the way your fingers gripped the metal bar to your left, the same fingers he’d had running through his hair last night. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with that affectionate feeling in his chest again, and as much as he loathed it, he couldn’t suppress it anymore. When you looked over at him after a prolonged silence, his free hand took you by the nape of your neck, pulling you in for a dizzying kiss that tasted like cigarettes and breakfast food, an interesting combo that still managed to make you putty in his hands.

Within moments, you were kneeling between his legs, carefully avoiding his hand that still held the lit cigarette as you wrapped your arms around his neck, moving your lips in sync with his. His arm snaked around your waist, just lazily resting there as he made no attempt to deepen the kiss, so you held back too, content to just be in contact with him. And you pulled away first, after a minute or two of gentle, subdued kisses that weren’t meant to lead anywhere.

Roger’s nose brushed against yours as you pulled away, and he let go of your waist as you turned around to rest between his legs, leaning back against him and resting your head on his chest. You could hear him take a drag and hold it for a moment before releasing it, the smoke swirling around above your head and quickly getting caught up by the light breeze.

“You know, Freddie could catch us out here.” Roger was the first to break the silence, his chest rumbling against your ear as you closed your eyes, focusing on all your other senses. His voice was gentle, but there was a kind of warning tone to it that couldn’t be ignored. “He’s a hell of a grudge holder – he’d never let me live this down.”

“Just a few more minutes,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around his torso and burying your face in his shirt. It smelled of him, the faint scent of his cologne and just a bit of body odor lingering on it. Curling up your fingers, you took ahold of the back of it, holding onto him like he was your lifeline. He only rested his free hand on your head in response, his thumb lazily rifling through your hair before rubbing small circles into your scalp, a reassuring presence that almost made tears come to your eyes as he spoke again.

“Why were you so upset last night?” Letting the question linger, you mulled over your options. If you were going to go through with your own attack, should you tell him? And even if you weren’t, what was the harm? You tried to recall any moment that Dan had spoke to you about revealing your identity, but couldn’t think of anything – most likely, he hadn’t gotten as close to Roger and Freddie as you had. But he was from the 70’s – wouldn’t it have been hard to disguise himself around all of those former friends? Still, your efforts were fruitless, and you just shrugged as you sat up, opening your eyes to meet his gaze, which was scrutinizing at best.

“I don’t know if I want to talk about it. But I’m okay now,” you murmured. Then, you diverted your attention down to the street, chewing on your lower lip. A queer feeling arose throughout your body, starting at the tips of your toes and rising all the way to the hairs on your head as you saw the church out of the corner of your eyes. You had to incapacitate them. It was the only way. “I’ve got to do something.”

Standing quickly, you left Roger in a bewildered state as you headed for the window. “I thought it was your day off?” he asked, but you were already crawling through, heading for the kitchen once you’d gotten into the apartment. In the kitchen, you grabbed a knife – this wasn’t you, usually, but you had no other focus besides hurting these men that had hurt your mom. They deserved every bit of pain that they caused her and more, and if that meant sticking a knife in their shoulder, then by God, you were going to do it. Then, you could be with Roger – that was, if you weren’t arrested first.

You could faintly hear Roger’s footsteps following you from far away, but you’d already shoved the knife into your waistband and headed for the hallway, deadset on the target, or targets, for that matter. Down the stairs, and then you were out on the street, crossing it, a stormy look on your face as you neared the church. And then, there he was.

Weston, on the steps of the church, staring you down with an intimidating look you’d never seen out of anyone before. “You again?” you almost spit, stopping on the sidewalk maybe ten feet in front of him as he rose to his feet, descending the stairs.

“God, it’s like I have to babysit you,” he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and glancing over your shoulder as Roger burst through the front door of your building, looking around wildly to find you. “You really don’t listen, do you? Go home. All of this? It’s dangerous. You’re playing with fire, and you’re going to get burned.”

“Y/N!” Roger called from across the street, finally having spotted you. When he realized you were talking to Weston, his eyebrows furrowed, and he cocked his head for a moment before starting to cross the street.

“Get out of my way,” you mumbled, pushing past Weston and starting to head up the stairs. When your hand rested on the doorknob of the church, you felt the cold metal of the knife press against your thigh, and then the sound of a car’s tires screeching and a horn honking made you whirl around and forget all about what you’d just been on the warpath for.

Weston had taken off down the street, giving you a look that said it all as Roger stood in the street, inches from a car that was laying on the horn while he stared in shock. Running back down the stairs, you cursed whatever omnipotent being responsible for this giant mess – the past was fighting back again, and this time, Roger was going to be the victim. This was a completely different ballgame altogether now.

When you got out to Roger, he was thoroughly apologizing to the driver of the car, but you cut him off in the middle of his rambling, dragging him over to the curb and back into the building as he took deep breaths, not sure what had just happen. “Jesus Christ, I just about bit the big one,” he muttered, mainly to himself, as you pulled him upstairs, trying to ignore the tears welling up in your eyes. Dan and Weston weren’t joking – now it was personal, and you had no one to blame but yourself. What were you thinking?

Once you finally got back to the apartment, Roger walked in as if in a daze while you followed, shutting the door behind the both of you and heading to the kitchen to put the knife back before Roger had the chance to see. When he rounded the corner slowly, you were already intercepting him, dragging him towards his bedroom and also shutting that door behind you before you wrapped your arms around Roger, pulling him into the tightest hug you’d ever given anyone before.

“Thank God, you’re alright.” He reciprocated the hug, burying his face in your hair, and you could tell that he was trembling just a bit, probably still on an adrenaline high as he embraced you tightly.

“I’m just glad it wasn’t you,” he mumbled, his voice still sounding as if he was in a daze of some sort, and when you pulled back from the hug a bit to look at him, the glazy look in his eyes confirmed your suspicion. Tears finally fell from the corner of your eyes, and you sucked your bottom lip in between your teeth as Roger’s eyes cleared, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to wipe away your tears with his thumbs. “No, no, don’t cry, what’s wrong? I’m sorry, I should have looked both ways, I’m blind as a bat so I didn’t see-“

“God damn it, Roger, shut up,” you choked out, laughing a bit as you tried to keep your volume down so  Freddie wouldn’t come barging in. “Are you alright, really?” you asked, sighing as you took his face in your hands so you could study his reaction.

“Well, it was a bit scary,” he admitted, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close as he took a shuddering breath, apparently recounting the moment. His face was conflicted, a multitude of emotions crossing it including embarrassment, before it softened. “But I was more worried about you.”

You were dumbfounded for a moment – though you had an inkling of a suspicion as to what the answer was, you still asked the simple question. “Why?”

“Because... I fancy you a lot,” he mumbled, giving you a small smile as his face reddened just a bit. It took a lot of courage on his part to just openly admit such a sappy thing, but he was feeling emotional and sentimental, so you’d caught him at just the right time.

“Oh, Rog, I like you too,” you murmured, starting to cry again, which prompted a pout from him as he pulled you flush against his chest, kissing your head.

“Please don’t cry right after I’ve told you I like you,” he begged, making a pitiful giggle escape your lips as you shook your head, realizing that whatever reservations you’d had before about telling Roger the truth were obliterated. You couldn’t keep lying to him.

“I have so much to tell you.”

PT. 1 PT. 2 PT. 3 PT. 4 PT. 5 PT. 6

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[baby-blossoms]

A Hint of Scotch

Pairings: Tony x Reader, Peter Parker x Reader (Platonic), Steve Rodgers x Reader (Platonic)

Word Count: 3,125

Summary: requested fic from Anon, “Can you write an Tony angst fic where he tries to break up w reader bc he doesn't think he's good enough? fluffy end please?”

Warnings: Just very angsty and over-dramatic because that’s how I was feeling when I wrote this? Some light cursing, I believe. Please notify me if I missed anything.

--

   You were hurt, confused, and frustrated. Tony was ignoring you, or at least that’s what you assumed was happening. You couldn’t understand what you had said to make him so upset with you, but all you knew was that you had spent a weekend together cuddling and laughing, and the next day all you got was radio silence. You called, texted, even went out of your way to ask anyone you thought might see him throughout the day to tell him to call you.

  It had been almost a full week and now you stood on the steps of Stark Towers feeling desperate; but isn’t that love? Don’t you deserve to be desperate, to demand an explanation for why the love of your life suddenly didn’t care? Didn’t you at least deserve to try and fix whatever you did? You took a shaky breath, terrified of what you might find in that tower.

   What if you found another woman, and Tony had decided he was bored with you? You thrust that nauseating thought from your head. Tony would never do that to you, and he would at least have the decency… Sighing, you walked into the building, your stomach twisting into a knot when you were stopped at the elevator.

  “I’m sorry Ma’am, we can’t let you enter the upper floors of Stark Towers without an appointment.”

Your heart felt like it was being squeezed by metal compressor, then stomped on by a spiked boot. Holding back tears, you forced a smile at the security guard you had been greeted by so many times before.

 “I’m just here to pick up my things, I guess.”

  You said, deciding it was the truth, if Tony went to these lengths, it was obvious you weren’t welcome back into his life, and you weren’t very willing to humiliate yourself by trying to force your way back into it. The tremor in your voice threw out what was left of your dignity, and Alex softened at seeing the pain you were struggling so hard to conceal under your smile.

    “I’m sorry he’s doing this, Y/N, go get your stuff.”

 He whispered, letting you enter the elevator. When the doors closed, you slowly pressed the button you were so familiar with, and leaned against the wall, letting yourself sink to the floor while you waited to arrive. You stared at the doors, wondering how you should be reacting to this situation, being abruptly dumped by one of the only people you had ever grown to love. You couldn’t even find it in your heart to be mad, you only felt lost.

  When the elevator finally arrived, you hauled yourself off the floor and made your way to the bedroom. You slowly gathered your things and stuffed them into an extra bag you always kept at Tony’s. Each thing you packed away felt like another part of you that was slowly being erased from his life, and it burned you even more to remember that this is how he wanted it. He wanted you to disappear from his life, to never see you again. Why else would he go to such lengths to cut you out?

  Your eyes burned with the tears you wouldn’t let spill when you picked up the last item you had yet to pack. A picture of you and Tony, he grinned lovingly at you while you smiled at the camera, it was your favorite memory with him. It was a Saturday morning you had spent in bed while he held you and murmured sweet things through even sweeter kisses. That morning was the first time he had said I love you. You decided against keeping the painful memory, not wanting to be reminded of the man dragging you through this waking nightmare every time you looked at it. Quickly, you sat the picture down on the bed, and hauled your bag over your shoulder.

  Your knees nearly gave out when you walked into the living room to find Tony leaning against the bar, sipping a drink. In the soft gleam of the fast-coming sunset he looked otherworldly, even if he was violently ripping you out of his life, he still remained beautiful to you. You couldn’t help but feel your abused heart stutter at the sight of the man you were so pathetically in love with. You wanted to scream when he seemed to look right through you, like you were nothing. After putting so much time, effort, and love into your relationship, he looked at you like you were nothing to him.

  “Tony… I…”

  Your voice sounded like it had been squeezed out of you. He looked past you and took another drink, which seemed to be the last straw for you. Tears finally flooded your vision and ran hot down your cheeks as you covered your mouth for a moment to muffle the gaps you took when you tried hard to stop crying.

 “I’m sorry, I don’t- I don’t know what I did but I’m sorry…”

   You closed your eyes, feeling like an idiot for caring so much when he didn’t seem to at all. After a moment of deadening silence, you quickly turned away and headed for the elevator, feeling sick to your stomach. You didn’t see Tony break down the minute you left, hating himself for doing this to you, and you didn’t see him practically drown himself in alcohol for the next few days. All you saw was the Stark Towers disappearing from your rear-view mirror as you forced yourself not to turn around and plead for Tony to talk to you.

--

 Weeks had passed, and you had lost hope for Tony trying to contact you and explain that it was all a mistake, or some cruel prank that you would have ended up ultimately forgiving out of sheer relief. You had transferred jobs and moved into a different apartment, hoping a change of scenery would be better for you. As the weeks passed, however, your anger seemed to finally find its way into your haphazardly patched heart. You were infuriated at being tossed out like some worthless garbage, and you were pissed at yourself for falling in love with the very man that had tossed you out in the first place.

  “Y/N, here’s the hot chocolate for booth 6.”

   You snapped out of your stupor and nodded to your friend, quickly taking the drink and snatching a pre-made sandwich from the front counter. You took the tray to your favorite reoccurring customer, a teenager by the name of Peter who always came back at the most random hours of the day, which always happened to be the random hours you worked, but you thought nothing of it.

 “Here you go, kid, I got you a sandwich on the house.” You paused, taking in his disheveled appearance, “I’m glad I did, too. You look like you need it.”

Peter laughed and accepted the sandwich gratefully,

 “Thanks. You sound like my boss.”

You shrugged, replying,

  “I just don’t want you fainting in the café, kid.”

Peter nodded, bleary eyed.

   “I’m just a little tired. Don’t mind me.”

He said, yawning for extra effect. Your smile turned into pity,

  “Why don’t you go home and get some sleep, Peter?”

You asked kindly.

   “I’m working.”

Peter sighed. The look of confusion you gave him forced him to quickly backpedal,

   “I’m on break, but I work an internship, he sends me on odd jobs after school.”

He amended, taking a sip of his cocoa.

   “Oh,” you smiled, “no offense, but that sounds awful. Who do you work for?”

You asked, then knitting your eyebrows when he seemed hesitant to tell you.

   “I’m not supposed to tell people.”

  Peter said quickly, and you nodded, accepting his response, he was probably at risk of losing the internship if he just went around telling everyone who his boss was. You went to take care of your next order, and the moment you walked out of sight, Peter fished out his phone, typing his updates on you at about fifty miles per hour. He frowned, disliking how guilty he felt for spying on you.

--

  The next few days were uneventful, spent delivering orders, making small talk with customers who had nothing else to do, and getting a permanent headache from the overly rude customers.

  “Thanks, Y/n!”

 Luke said, a newer customer at the café; the man was larger than Steve Rodgers but was somehow even nicer. He had recently gotten sick from the cold weather freezing over the streets of New York, and you had lost count of how many cups of tea you had delivered to him as he tried to soothe his throat.

  You quickly shushed him while you handed him his latest cup,

 “Stop thanking me. It sounds like an old beat up truck stalling horribly every time you cough, which happens after every time you speak.”

He opened his mouth to respond but you silenced him with an arched eyebrow.

“Good, now stay quiet.”

He nodded, smiling in amusement.

 Walking to the counter, you accepted the hot chocolate that had been ordered for booth 6 with a smile on your face. You loved seeing Peter, he was like a ray of sunshine and always managed to make any day better. You walked to his usual booth, happily digging around in your apron, trying to find a postcard you had bought because it reminded you of him.

  “Okay, so I found this amazing postcard on the way to work the other day. I bought it, so I could show you.”

You finally found the postcard and pulled it out, handing it to him along with the coffee.

  “Thanks, Ms. Y/n! Would you mind if I ordered a black coffee with this?”

He asked, seemingly nervous.

  “Sure, that’s okay. Since when do you drink coffee black, Peter?”

You asked while you wrote down the order out of habit.

  “I don’t,” he hesitated, eyeing you carefully for a moment before continuing, “my boss wanted to meet me today, he said something about wanting to see someone he thought might work here.”

 You nodded, turning to get the coffee ordered. Placing the order, a hand waving enthusiastically at you out of the corner of your eye caught your attention, and you turned to find Luke beaming at you and gesturing to his tea, you laughed and went to bring him a refill.

    “Don’t thank me!”

 You insisted while you poured his tea. He laughed silently, simply mouthing the words dramatically to you, causing the both of you to laugh even harder.

   “All good?”

   You asked, and he nodded in response, placing his free hand on the one you had rested on the table. You smiled politely to him, and quickly left when you heard your coworker call you for the black coffee order. Your mind was a frenzy of thoughts, and you weren’t willing to deal with a flirting customer right now, no matter how nice they were. You were annoyed that your shift wasn’t ending any time soon, and pissed that the moment you were shown affection, your mind reverted back to Tony.

  Shaking your head, you rid yourself of the negative thoughts, and let a smile overtake your face, excited to hear some of Peter’s stories from his high-school. You found it amusing to hear him talk casually of the classes you would’ve failed miserably to pass when you were in high school. The kid was smart, and you had to hand that to him.

  Grabbing the black coffee off the counter, the scent reminded you of Tony, how he would always taste of black coffee with a hint of scotch when you kissed him. He would always smell faintly of it when you went to bed at night with his arms wrapped around you, and you knew most days he would wait for you to fall asleep, then stay up working to the ungodly hours of the morning. No matter what, he always made sure that he was there when you woke up in the mornings.

 Realizing you were glaring at the coffee because of the memories it slapped back into your head, you chuckled to yourself and walked toward booth 6.

    “Peter, you never told me if that robotics project worked out! Did you and Ned figure out how to get it up and running?”

  You called as you walked toward the booth. Peter nodded at you, his posture rigid with anxiety as you got closer. You went to ask him what was wrong, but your voice quickly died in your throat at the sight of Tony Stark sitting across from him.

   “Did I not mention that my boss is Mr. Stark?”

Peter asked, his voice taking a higher pitch than usual.

 “No, I’m afraid you forgot to mention that little detail, Peter.”

You hissed, practically slamming the coffee on the table in front of Tony.

 “Enjoy your coffee.”

 You said, venom seeping through your words. You left them at the booth, not bothering to say another word as you begged someone to cover your shift and left the moment you could.

--

  The next few weeks you were bombarded with your favorite flowers being delivered to your doorstep, along with presents, apology notes (you couldn’t stop yourself from reading every single one the moment you got it, even if Tony’s handwriting was atrocious), and teddy bears. You sighed tiredly when you opened your apartment door to find a teddy bear practically the size of the door waiting for you. Somehow, Tony had managed to attach your favorite picture into its paws. You smiled and took the picture, clutching it to you, then remembering the bear dilemma.

“Well, this is just great.”

You groaned.

 “Yeah, this is the best one yet, in my opinion.”

You heard and amused voice call out, muffled from behind the bear.

“Steve? What are you doing?”

You giggled as he picked up one of the bear’s arms to wave enthusiastically at you.

  “Tony sent me to help you get this one through the door.”

He said while walking around the bear and flashing you his award-winning smile. Your heart soared at the sight of your friend, and you didn’t hesitate to hug him.

 “It’s great to see you, doll.”

   He hummed, patting you on the back before going to haul the oversized bear in. Tony had bought you a Costco bear, and it made you soften just a bit to know he remembered that you’d always wanted one. You had told him about it such an impressively long while ago, and you couldn’t suppress a smile at the fact that he had remembered something others would deem insignificant. Your eyes wondered back down to the picture, and you felt your smile widen.

 “Y/n, why don’t you just talk to him?”

You glanced to Steve, who looked at you knowingly.

  “What would I even say? Oh, yeah, it’s fine that you ignored me for almost a full week, then acted like I didn’t exist… Successfully convincing me that you’d completely fallen out of love with me and want nothing to do with me.”

Steve sighed, looking to the bear, then back to you, his eyes filled with sarcasm.

 “He ranted to me about why he needed to buy you this bear the entire ride over here.”

Steve pointed to a vase full of y/f/f,

“He ranted to me about why those are your favorite flowers, too.”

He nodded his head to a stack of teddy bears on your counter,

  “He also ranted for a good hour on why you liked traditionally colored teddy bears above all, and how you like your stuffed animals to be a very precise amount of stuffed, and he dragged me to about seventy different toy stores to find the perfect ones.”

  He gestured to your apartment, which was starting to resemble either a toy shop, a post office, or a garden.

 “Do you really think he would go to all this trouble if he didn’t love you? Would someone who wants nothing to do with you buy you an insanely large teddy bear just because you offhandedly mentioned always wanting one since you were six? Just talk to him, Y/n. Please… hear him out. If I have to listen to one more rant about why he’s buying you another extremely specific teddy bear, I’m going back into the ice.”

You forced back a laugh,

 “Don’t say that Steve, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He grinned at you,

“Then I suggest you talk to him. He’s stressed himself to the point of passing out on the apartment doorstep.”

 You nodded, telling Steve to send him upstairs. Steve practically lifted you off the ground in a hug, and swiftly went to fetch Tony. Your gaze slowly wondered down to the picture you held, your anger melting away to reveal the pain that had been hiding behind it.

  “That’s my favorite picture.”

Tony’s voice said from beside you. You turned to him, studying him for a moment before replying,

“Yeah, it was mine too.”

Tony frowned, taking a small step toward you,

  “Y/n, I should’ve handled it better.”

 You were too tired to get mad again, and too tired to yell.

“Yeah, you probably should’ve.”

You murmured, looking back down to the picture.

  “I’m never going to be good enough for you, Y/n, and I wanted to get everything over with before you had the chance to realize that. The moment I made you cry, I realized that even if I’m not good enough, I’m too selfish to leave you alone.”

Shaking your head, you sighed, finally looking back to him and responding after a moment.

 “For being such a brilliant man, people would never guess what a numbskull you can be.”

Tony grinned, but you held a hand up, silencing any reply he might be forming quickly.

  “Don’t you think I should be the one to judge whether you’re good enough for me or not, Tony? You don’t get to stomp on my heart because you’re scared of the possibility of me stomping on yours.”

 Tony nodded, agreeing with you silently.

  “I would punch you in the face right now,” you started, “but I love you far too much. I mean, even if I beat you to the ground, the obscene amount of teddy bears you sent would cushion your fall.”

Tony beamed when he processed that you had said you loved him, and eagerly brought you into a hug, successfully knocking the air out of you.

   “I love you too, Y/n.”

He said, loosening the hug to bring you into a kiss. He tasted like coffee, with just a hint of scotch.

[gillianfoster]

@basinhounds on the one hand don’t like read this right after you wake up and cry but also i definitely included the reconcilation bit so maybe it’ll be fine?? also there’s a bit i’ve left off the end bc it’s a surprise :> (and there’ll be more at the beginning as well in the finished fic)

One night, mid-March, when Winter still wouldn’t leave the city, I came home with my shoulders tense and a headache forming at the base of my skull. Elio was sitting at the desk with his headphones on, glowering down at his music. I decided that both of us would probably benefit from a little distance. I went into the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove, but after only a moment, I heard him follow me in.

I turned to face him.

“So I don’t even get a hello?” There was something not quite playful about his tone - I’d read his mood correctly at least.

“You had your headphones on. I thought maybe you didn’t want to be bothered.”

“I guess you thought wrong.”

I could tell that he was trying to pick a fight, for whatever reason, but I was too keyed up to stop him. “I guess so. Fine, then. Hi. How are you?”

He scoffed, and didn’t answer.

“So I was right that I didn’t need to ask.”

“So Oliver can read minds. How impressive.”

The comment was meant to sting, and it did. We’d always been jokingly fond of our abilities to read each other - now instead, he wielded it like a weapon. Like it was something that had grown annoying with time. Panic started to rise up in my throat, replacing the stress and anger the long day with my students and the faculty meeting had caused. “If there’s something you want to say to me, Elio, maybe you should just say it.”

“Like what? Are you sure there’s not anything you want to say to me?”

“What? What would that even mean? I haven’t done anything, Elio.”

“No, I guess that’s true - you haven’t done anything, you haven’t said anything.”

This was it, then. The moment where my luck ran out. Where he was finally finished with dealing with boring, repressed Professor Oliver. I turned the stove back off, and it gave me an excuse to look away from him. “I get the picture, Elio, you don’t have to give some kind of big speech.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“So what’s all this? Why not just let me give you space? Or is it that the apartment’s so small you can’t stand it anymore, and you have to get out now?”

“Maybe so. Maybe I’ll go.”

“If that’s what you want, maybe you should.”

“Fine.”

He put on his coat and went out through the door, leaving only the sound of fabric and the slamming door. As soon as he stepped out, I could feel my knees begin to give, and I went over and sat down heavily on the couch. All the anger and stress went out of me in moments, leaving only a horrible emptiness. Was this how it ended? After everything we’d been through? When Elio and I had first met again, in that cabin in Bergamo, I hadn’t been planning on forever - just more time. Now, somehow, I realized that in our time in New York, that had become my plan. I could no longer envision a future without him, and it had happened without me consciously realizing, even as I’d still been afraid he would leave me. Now, suddenly, I did have to picture myself without him again. Alone, again. I had to deal with the actual consequences of the leaving. Things were clearly different for Elio. They always had been. After I’d gone, he’d seen other people, done other things. I’d always been glad - glad that in that one way, I’d succeeded, and I’d allowed him to move on. Still glad that he’d come back to me regardless. Now, though, I realized again what I had realized after I’d broken off my engagement with Caroline through my own stupidity - there would never be another person for me like Elio. I felt tears begin to drip onto my hands - I’d started to cry. I sighed at myself and stood from the couch, walking into the bathroom. I carefully avoided the sight of his toiletries in the shower, and of his toothbrush by the sink, and I washed my face gently.

I paused, just for a moment, to look at myself in the mirror. Elio aside, I was getting older, too. I was over 30 now.  I’d heard the jokes in gay bars about turning 30. It had been difficult enough to meet other men in my 20s - now, with things the way they were, and with the signs of age actually starting to set in, just a little, I doubted I’d be able to really meet anyone unless I got spectacularly lucky. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

I would have worried for Elio, but I knew he had other people he could go to. I knew he could take care of himself walking alone in the city after having lived here for nearly a year now, and I knew, too, that he had friends in the orchestra, parents and families of his students - people he could go to. He wouldn’t be lacking in places to stay.

I padded into the bedroom and looked over the rumpled sheets. It was hard to believe we’d woken up together just this morning. I felt the sting of tears return and sighed and went back out to the couch. Better to sleep out here, where it smelled less like him, and where I had fewer memories of the two of us sleeping together. There were times we’d taken naps or fucked on the couch, of course, but it was nothing like the bedroom.

I laid down, and attempted to make myself comfortable. It was impossible, of course - our couch had always been too short for me to stretch out on comfortably. Our couch. My couch, now.

I shuddered, and this time I let myself cry. Why not? He wasn’t here to see - he’d always felt so safe being vulnerable in front of me, but sometimes it was still hard for me. Sometimes I still felt like I should be trying to impress him somehow, trying to live up to whatever image he had of me from that summer.

I must have cried myself to sleep, because the next thing I knew I was blinking awake, and there was light streaming in from the window. I felt disgusting - my eyes were dry, and I knew I wasn’t well-rested. I walked back into the bathroom again and found that I looked as bad as I felt. I braced myself and walked into the bedroom, but there was still no sign of Elio. Of course there wasn’t.

I was meant to go into the office today - I wouldn’t actually have to lecture, but I did have office hours. Normally no one stopped by, not at this point in the semester, so I cleaned myself up as much as I could and left the apartment, heading in.

I left in part for Elio, too. He knew when I would be gone - if he wanted to come and get his things without having to see me, he could do it while I was at the University. I tried not to think about it, but continued to fail desperately throughout the day.

Even once my office hours were over, I lingered. The thought of the apartment, cold and empty, particularly if he’d gotten his things, made me shiver.

I left the university and took a cab to a bar - just a normal bar. One nearby, that my colleagues went to, but that Elio and I had never really frequented. It was a safe, neutral space. I drank more than I should have - enough that the bartender cut me off. I didn’t even have the energy to grumble at him, and I took another cab home.

I was drunk enough that it was easy to fall onto the couch and pass out again.

When I woke up, I could hear footsteps. I kept my face pressed into the couch cushions, thinking that perhaps he was hoping I would stay sleeping. Then, after some time, I could hear him making coffee in the kitchen. He’d actually come back with the intention to stay for a moment, then. I stood up, and without thinking, walked in to see him.

He turned to look at me. “I didn’t take anything when I left. I needed to come back for some things.”

“Of course.” I nodded. I rubbed at my face, and then my neck - I realized, then, that I hadn’t shaved yesterday or yet this morning, and that I probably looked even worse than I had the day before. Suddenly I couldn’t look at him. Instead, I went over to the fridge and busied myself with finding a breakfast that wouldn’t make me sick.

“…You just let me leave. You didn’t come after me.”

I pulled some eggs out of the fridge, and some bread off the top of it, where we kept it. I looked directly at my food, and at the pan as I started to make everything. “It isn’t my place to keep you here if you don’t want to stay.”

“I guess that’s true. I just thought that you would.”

For the first time since he’d moved in with me, I said what I’d never been able to stop thinking. “I know that living with me, here, isn’t like summer in Crema. Or even summer in Bergamo. I have to work, and not just on a manuscript, and I’m busy and I get caught up in things and I can get closed off when I’m distracted. You never really had to see me like that. Busy that way. Annoyed like that. I know the way that we understand each other seems like it should matter more, but I don’t have a very good track record with actually trying to live with people. I tend to hurt them. Even if I don’t want to. So even though I hadn’t really been… planning on you leaving… I can’t really say that I’m surprised. This is different than summer. We’ve only ever had summers.”

“Oliver…”

His voice was soft, and I felt his hand on my shoulder. I shifted away from him, afraid that if I really let him touch me, that I would crumble. Instead, I flipped over the toast and eggs, trying not to let them burn. “That’s really what our fight was about, wasn’t it? We were talking around it, but that’s what’s going on. It’s not as if I’m not the person you fell in love with - it’s just that I’m this person, too. One of them is easier to put up with.”

“I can’t talk to you if you’re going to shut me out like this.”

“Is there anything to talk about?” I blustered.

“…Maybe not.”

That hurt, more than I had expected it to, and I doubled over, just slightly, as though he’d punched me in the stomach. I think at that point I would have preferred if he’d hit me. I’d let him beat me until I was bloody if it would satisfy him for all the neglecting I’d done, for all the ways I’d hurt him without meaning to, and especially if it could make him stay. I knew he wouldn’t, but it felt like it would have been easier at that point.

I finished making breakfast, and I put it on a plate, but I found that I couldn’t imagine eating anymore.

“Here. Have some breakfast. I have to go into the University, I’m running late.”

I shoved the plate towards him without looking, but he took it and put it on the counter. Then he stepped in front of me and blocked my path until I was forced to look at him.

He was beautiful. Just as beautiful as ever. He was flushed with anger, and his eyes were bright with it. He looked like some vengeful god or muse from Greek mythology. Like Hades, perhaps, somehow come to claim my soul.

“You can’t go into work looking like that. There’s another two hours before you teach, I’m not an idiot, and you’ve got to clean yourself up. Or you can cancel your classes today. Either way, you’re being ridiculous.”

I knew he was right. He usually was. “I’ll… call in and cancel. I think it would be irresponsible for me to try and teach today. But I can still get out of your hair if you want me gone. I can go for a walk in Central Park until you’ve gotten your things.” I looked down again, staring at his feet. He still had his shoes on. He could walk out again anytime.

“I can’t save this if you won’t even try to help me, Oliver.”

That made me look back up. He looked sad - sad and confused, like for once he couldn’t understand what I meant or what I was trying to do, and that that upset him more than anything else.

“I’m not sure I deserve that.”

“What?” He asked.

I hadn’t been clear enough. “I’m not sure I deserve… any of this. Or, in the opposite way, if you… deserve me. After the night you left, and after yesterday, maybe it’s best if you go.”

This time he understood. He put his hands on my face, and I didn’t bother to fight him. “Oliver.” He used my name as a reprimand. He didn’t say anything else.

I closed my eyes, and in only a moment I was crying again - crying in front of him, for the first time in nearly a year.

“Oliver,” he said my name more softly this time.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

I went to pull back, but he grabbed onto the back of my shirt, and wouldn’t let me. Instead, he wrapped his arms around me and held me as I cried. My face pressed against his shoulder, and I stayed in my awkwardly hunched position until the tears had stopped.

By then, he had started to stroke my hair soothingly. When my breathing had evened out somewhat, he pulled my face up and kissed at my eyes, and my tears, the same way I once had for him. I kept my eyes closed.

“I’m sorry, Elio.”

“Oliver. You should have told me. Any of this.”

“...It isn’t that simple, Elio. What was I going to say? Someday maybe you’ll get sick of me? Sorry it turns out I don’t how to live with someone either because I only ever lived with my ex-fiancée and my entire relationship with her was a sham? Sorry I can’t be whoever you thought I was when I was in Italy? Sorry that when I’m here I’m boring and I can try and take you to restaurants and wine and dine you and walk with you through the Metropolitan Museum of Art, but before long we’ll run out of new things to do in New York, and the novelty will wear off, and then we’ll just be two people living together, and you’ll still be a brilliant and beautiful young musician with your entire life ahead of you, and I’ll be a boring old professor that you’re not sure how you’ve ended up attached to but you can’t seem to get rid of?”

“You are so unbelievably stupid,” he said, and then he kissed me, forcefully. I leaned into it, and kissed him back, grateful even if it was a kiss goodbye.

He pulled away before I would ever begin to be satisfied. I tried to follow, but he held me back, keeping my face in his hands. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

I did what he asked. He was still angry, and still beautiful, but I could tell now that he had been crying at some point, probably when I had. I was surprised, and sad.

“I don’t know why I need to tell you this - I thought that you knew. I always thought that you knew, I thought from the first summer that you could read it on me, in my expression.” I opened my mouth, but he shook his head. “No. Let me finish. I worship you. And not some fictional version of you I made up in my head, like you seem to think, but parts of you that you can’t change or hide no matter how much you seem to try. The fact that you use your stupid casual persona to try and mask how much you feel. The way you get when you’re tired and grumpy and all you do is complain or bluster, which you did even that first summer. I saw it happen. The way that on certain days, when you aren’t so busy you get lost, that you come in the door and you come straight for me, like all you’ve been thinking about is coming home to me - because that’s part of you, too. You talk about it like you forget that you live with me, but you don’t. We sleep in the same bed every night. You ask how my day is even if it’s in a tired mumble when you crawl in to sleep beside me. You always make enough coffee for both of us if you wake up before me, and you leave it in the pot. Yes, it’s different that we don’t spend every day together, laying in silence but still in perfect harmony somehow, and yes, that part of our relationship is perfect, and so perfect that it should be the envy of everyone in the world - but I’m not disillusioned somehow by living with you. I’m not disillusioned with you. That’s not what I was fighting about. You’re right, the fight wasn’t about what I brought up, but it wasn’t about this.”

I was utterly overwhelmed. I blinked at him. “What was it, then?”

He looked a little bashful, then - almost ashamed. “...I wanted to tell someone about you. About us. Someone in orchestra. But I think I was still afraid somehow that you’d say I couldn’t. Instead of asking, I turned it into an argument, and I took it out on you. It wasn’t even fair for me to assume what I did in the first place.”

“I... That’s. A conversation we’d have to have. I don’t know that I can have it right now.”

“I don’t think that we should have it right now.”

“I need to call in to work.”

He nodded, and dropped his hands from my face. I immediately wanted to reach out and touch him, but I held myself back instead. “Come back and eat your breakfast afterwards. I’ll heat it back up.”

I went to our phone, and called the main office, and told them I wouldn’t be in. I went into the bathroom after that, and winced at the sight of myself in the mirror. I looked even older than I actually was. I shaved, carefully, then washed off my face and brushed my teeth. It couldn’t do anything for the bags under my eyes, but it was better than nothing.

I walked back into the kitchen and found my plate waiting. Elio was sitting at the table, eating a breakfast he’d clearly made for himself. I sat down across from him, and didn’t say anything. I still wasn’t sure what to say. In spite of his reassurances, I felt like one wrong word could shatter us both. I couldn’t bear to check and see if he still had his shoes on.

I ate, slowly, and found I couldn’t eat as much as I normally would. My nerves and my hangover combined left me feeling sick. I threw out what I didn’t eat and got myself a glass of water. I stood in the kitchen to drink it, then poured myself another, and drank that too.

When I was done, I kept standing there. It felt like our entire relationship had been thrown off-kilter - and really, maybe it had. I didn’t know how to act around him now. Our protocol seemed broken.

He came into the kitchen and stood beside me to wash off his plate. I shifted to the side so our elbows wouldn’t brush.

Once his plate was clean, he still kept his head down for a moment, staring into the sink. “You’re allowed to touch me, you know.”

“Am I?” I asked. I tried to seem playful,  but everything was still too raw. It came out all wrong.

He sighed, and stepped away.

My chest tightened - I was terrified that he was going to leave again. I reached out and grabbed at his elbow, but I moved too quickly, and my grip was too hard. He winced, and realizing that I’d hurt him, I let go as if he’d burned me.

“What can I do to convince you I’m not going to leave?”

His question was desperate, but genuine. I looked down at his feet. “Take off your shoes,” I said quickly.

My own request was strangely desperate, but he didn’t react to it strangely at all. He walked into the living room and stepped out of his shoes, leaving them tucked under the couch, just like always.

I could feel my shoulders relax. “Thank you,” I said.

He reached out his hand. “Come here. Come back to bed.”

I walked over and took his hand, and he pulled me into our bedroom. He took off my shirt, then my pants, and he undressed himself as well. Once we were both naked, he pushed me towards the bed and I laid down. He joined me, and pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me, running his fingers through my hair.

Feeling his skin against mine and the gentle tugging at my hair was like something settling back into place. I finally moved, wrapping my arm around his waist, running my hand along his side, my palm rubbing over the bumps of his ribs. I shifted around until we were completely intertwined, until I could press my face against his neck and smell him - until it was hard to tell where I ended and he began.

“Oliver,” I said quietly.

“Elio?” he said back.

“Thank you.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to thank me for anything. It’s fine for you to need things. You’re not some perpetual host for me here, and you’re not... I know that it’s just the way that you are. That you’ve always been. That you feel some need to protect me. But I don’t want to be protected from you. I want to know you. I want every part of you. I know there’s no part of you that wants to hurt me, so I don’t want you to hold back. I don’t hold back with you.”

“...You’ve always been so open. So brave. I admired that about you from that first summer. That you broke the silence. That you pushed me. I never would have been able to do it. You’re better at that than I am.”

“You’ll just have to make an effort to get better at it, too, then.”

I huffed out something close to a laugh, and he tugged at my hair until I pulled back to look at him. He smiled at me, and I smiled back at him. He kissed me, and I could feel that I was forgiven - we both were. I sighed, and settled back into place against him.

“Get some more sleep. I think you need it.”

“Probably.” I let myself go quiet, then, and let my eyes close, and eventually fell into a calm and peaceful sleep.

When I woke, it was still light outside, and Elio was still there. I shifted until I could lay and watch him sleep.

I thought about what he’d said that morning. Not just all the wonderful things he’d said trying to combat my ridiculous maudlin headspace that had probably come out of too much drinking and too much time alone, but what he’d said about the fight, and what he’d actually been thinking.

I couldn’t exactly tell the University that I was living with another man the way I was living with Elio - not with the way things were right now. Elio, though, could probably tell people in his orchestra without it getting around. It wasn’t as if I didn’t want anyone knowing - I just knew that we had to be careful, and knew it more firsthand than Elio, who had been blessed with parents who truly loved him, instead of parents who only loved some image of their son they’d created in their own minds. I reached over and ran my fingers gently through his curls. Before long, he started to stir, and when he woke up, he blinked blearily at me and hummed, leaning into my touch.

Every time we woke up together and he didn’t push me away still gave me a momentary thrill. It had been long enough now that I should have gotten used to it, but I wasn’t sure I ever would.

He reached over and pulled me closer, nuzzling against my shoulder.

“Sleeping without you is awful. Let’s not do that again.”

I ran my hand up his spine, pressed my face into his curls and breathed deeply. “You think you had it bad? I had to sleep on the couch for two nights because the bed still smelled too much like you, and I didn’t think I could stand it.”

He held me more tightly for a moment, then pushed up onto his hands and leaned in to kiss me, just gently. “Come on. We should get up.”

“Wait,” I said quietly.

He did. He stayed there, leaning over me, watching me.

“You can tell people. In your orchestra. If you still want to. I still don’t think I should risk telling anyone at the University - I just want you to know it’s not that I’m ashamed.”

“No. No, I never thought you were ashamed. I just thought... It doesn’t matter. You’re sure?”

I nodded. “I know what you were thinking. I just thought I should say. But yes, I’m sure.”

“Alright.” He leaned down and kissed me again, and lingered this time.

I could feel myself starting to stir, and I ran my hands up his back, slowly and deliberately. He shuddered against me, and I felt his cock twitch against my thigh.

I broke the kiss, breathing out slowly. “Wait. Do you want me to get a shower first, or...”

Elio kissed along my jaw and my neck, and I could feel him shake his head. “No... I love the way you smell.” I could feel his breath against me, and I shuddered.

“God... Elio.”

“Let me.”

He moved down my body, lingering on each part of me. He traced his tongue around my nipples, licked at my shoulders and my collarbones, rubbed his face into my ribs, sucked each one of my fingers into his mouth, one by one. By the time he made it to my hips, I was fully hard and making noises I couldn’t hold back. I was running my hands restlessly over his hair and his back, caught between looking at him, watching him take me apart, or looking up at the ceiling, overwhelmed by the combination of the sight and the feel of him. When he finally took me into his mouth, I realized just how much I’d exaggerated the distance between us in my head - we’d rarely gone this long without having some kind of sex, even if it was just sleepy and fumbling. Two nights without him meant that it didn’t take long at all before I was murmuring my own name and his and tugging at his curls.

When I looked down, I could tell by the way he was moving that he was rubbing himself against the bed, getting off on the taste and the feeling of me in his mouth. I shuddered, and found that I was there.

I could feel him stiffen and I knew he was coming, too, before I’d even gotten my senses back enough to reach down and help him. I shivered, and relaxed into the bed. He climbed back up my body, pressing gentle kisses all the way up.

“Better?” he asked with a smirk.

I sighed, and smiled. “Come here, you.” I tugged him in, hands in his curls again, and kissed him. I could taste myself on his tongue, and so I lingered to kiss him until it seemed that I had kissed the taste from his mouth. Then I pulled back, licking my lips. “Now we should probably shower.”

“Mm. Alright.”

We went together, clearly both still reluctant to part. We washed each other carefully, like we were both checking that everything was still in tact after the time we’d spent apart. There was a red mark on his arm from where I’d grabbed him the day before - it wouldn’t bruise, but I was right that I’d been too rough. I pressed my lips to the mark and tried not to let the guilt swallow me. Reading my action, he pulled my face up and kissed me.

“It’ll fade by tomorrow. It was an accident.”

I hummed, and nodded.

We dried off, and out of unspoken agreement, we put on each other’s clothes. He wore my shirt, which we often traded off wearing now so that we each got the benefit of wearing it when it smelled like the other. I wore a pair of his shorts, which he’d kept even though they were too big on him, just for days like this. I wore one of his oversized sweaters. He wore a pair of my shorts from Italy.

We went into the living room and settled in on the couch. I sat propped up against one arm, and he sat between my legs, leaning back against my chest. I wrapped my arms around him and felt just as comfortable and relaxed as I had letting him hold me as I fell asleep.

“Do you want to watch something?” I asked.

“We can just see what’s on.”

I fumbled for the remote, and we flipped through the channels together.

We spent the whole day like that, quiet and comfortable, always some part of us touching, well within each other’s orbit. Tomorrow we’d have to go back to our outside lives - today we could take the time to fall back into each other, in a way we hadn’t in a while since I had started to pull away. I realized now that’s what I’d done - tried to somehow make our relationship distant enough to make him leave before he could get sick of me on his own -  or to try and make it easier if he did leave.

There was a lot to sort through - but at least now that we understood each other again, it would be easier.

The light had started to change outside by the time either of us spoke again.

“I love this. It’s no Italian summer, but I still love it,” he said.

I smiled, and pulled him closer. “Yeah. Me, too.”

“...I might even love it a little bit more.”

I laughed. “Alright. Don’t push it.”

[asterdeer]

lorechance drabble #1 for @falloutvevo bc she asked for them, hope theyre what u wanted my love

dance

It’s another afternoon they have to themselves, another evening alone in the big house. They’ve had more than a few of those days lately, and the novelty is wearing off. After a while, their options are either to play board games - Loreleaf is wickedly good at most games, better than Chance imagined he could be - or go outside and walk, though their outside wanderings are circumscribed by careful instructions and a six-foot-tall barbed wire fence.

There’s no movement, and that’s the problem. Even outside, they’re constricted. Loreleaf, as he’s confessed before, is used to open spaces, having room to breathe and wander. He didn’t have to confess this part, but Chance has picked up on it: being cooped up in a house or fenced into a tended backyard isn’t good for his particular breed of anxiety. He gets antsy and distant, his mind going far-off when his body can’t.

Chance is fine with it, for a while. What he misses is stimulation. At the Days, he might have spent a week in one building, but he was always training or moving or planning or studying. Always interacting with something or, more importantly, someone. He has that kind of existence here now, since at least a few D’Arvilles or D’Arville allies are typically in the house, but the off-days that he once looked forward to…

Well, he loves Loreleaf. But Loreleaf is, by his own admission, not the easiest person to live with.

“We have to do something,” Chance declares, just as the sun is beginning to go down.

Loreleaf turns just slightly from the window, where he’s been standing for at least a half hour, just watching the woods beyond the fence, his fingers twitching where they rest against his thigh.

“Like what?” he asks. “There’s nothing. I’ll just beat you in cards again and that - Net - flicker - whatever - it gives me a headache.”

Chance likes Netflix, even if it is a highly outdated form of entertainment. He’d never thought he’d get to experience something like it in his lifetime outside a museum. Still, it’s outside Loreleaf’s comfort zone, even if Brightsword had tried to get him into some of his own favorite shows before.

That’s when Chance remembers Christmas.

He jumps off the living room sofa and bolts out the door, shouting a condensed, “Be-right-back!” over his shoulder.

And he is, though it takes him a while to find the thing in one of the D’Arville house linen closets, buried under several boxes of Christmas decorations. Chance heaves it free and hurries back to the living room.

“Be-right-back,” he says again, as soon as he’s rested the thing on the coffee table. Then he spins back, leans into the room, and calls, “Plug it up, why don’t you,” before running back in a different direction now, towards Judah’s bedroom.

It’s a little invasive, but he thinks Judah won’t mind when he tells her why he raided her record collection.

To his surprise and slight sense of pride, Loreleaf managed to plug the record player up while he was selecting a few key albums. It’s not on, or even open, but at least it’s plugged up. Chance grins and dumps the records onto the sofa, giving Loreleaf a quick kiss on the forehead.

“So…” Loreleaf says slowly, eyeing the record player, “we’re going to… listen to music.”

“Nope.” Chance turns the record player on, opens the lid, and then sits, hefting the stack of records onto his lap.

“Then… what?” Loreleaf probably knows what, judging by the sound of his voice, but when Chance glances up, he sees a flicker of that cagey anxiety in Loreleaf’s eyes.

Suddenly it feels very important that he makes just the right aesthetic choice for this.

“Minou,” he says, reaching out one hand as he shifts through the album with the other, “we’re dancing tonight.”

He finds the perfect album, yelps with triumph, and fumbles the disc free, setting it on the turntable with utmost care - as much care, at least, as he can manage, when Loreleaf is holding his hand tight.

“Wait,” Loreleaf says, as the first soft rustles of static come through the record player speakers. “Wait, Chance, I can’t dance.”

“Ah, but you can rhyme, and that’s basically the same thing.” Chance jumps to his feet and grabs Loreleaf’s other hand, pushing their entwined fingers back and forth, finding a quick, easy rhythm as the first guitar riffs burst into the air.

We’ve only just begun to live—

Loreleaf looks like he’s getting driven over by a very slow bus. “Chance—“

“Relax.” Chance moves closer, slipping one arm around Loreleaf’s waist. The pace he sets doesn’t match the mood or speed of the song, but he does, at least, feel Loreleaf’s tense muscles relax a bit, and his stiff legs start to move with the new rhythm. “It’s just us. Having a little fun.”

“Is dancing fun?” Loreleaf mutters, looking down at his feet. “Is it really?”

We’ll start out walking and learn to run—

Chance turns their awkward little tangle into something resembling a waltz, aligning their rhythm to the song a few times every verse. Loreleaf moves like a stick, but a minute or two of “dancing” later, he isn’t as tense, and he isn’t obsessively checking his feet.

There might even be a little bit of a bend in his spine when he turns.

“See?” Chance says, dipping them towards the record player and bumping up the volume knob. “Kinda fun. Like… running. Except in a circle. With me.”

“Joy,” Loreleaf says, but then, without warning, Chance pulls him close and dips him.

Loreleaf yelps and throws his arms around Chance’s neck, and Chance gets a face-full of blond hair. “What was that?” he demands, his breath warm and tickling against Chance’s throat. “Is this a murder dance?”

“Well.” Chance pulls him up and gently spins Loreleaf around, his back to Chance’s chest. “Not really.”

Loreleaf is quiet, and he must be thinking too much to be self-conscious, because he’s more fluid in Chance’s arms. Chance leads him into a slow, methodical spin as the song switches.

Talk about love—

“Did you ever dance with them?” Loreleaf asks softly, looking up at Chance as he finishes the spin.

Chance takes Loreleaf’s hand again, placing it on his own shoulder. He smiles, feeling it tug at the smile scars. “Sometimes. Usually just the special missions.”

That makes Loreleaf stop, but Chance quickly shakes his head, tugging Loreleaf into the off-kilter waltz again before he can speak. “Don’t,” he said. “I was dancing before then. The Days taught me how and I… I loved it. Especially when I was little.”

Miracle of miracles, the corners of Loreleaf’s mouth tug up. “Child Chance.”

“Watch it, or I’ll dip you again.”

“Sorry.” Loreleaf is studying his own hand, braced against and almost gripping the shoulder of Chance’s shirt. “Isn’t it… never mind.”

“What?”

For love is surrender—

Loreleaf shakes his head. He’s dancing with Chance now, really dancing, smooth in how he follows, and Chance would feel more of a sense of triumph if there wasn’t that frown line in Loreleaf’s brow. “What?” he repeats, lightly running one hand up and down Loreleaf’s side.

Swallowing, Loreleaf gives another shake of his head, but then, even more quietly, he asks, “Isn’t all this ruined for you? After what they did to you? They made you do… so much, so many horrible things, but you… you still like what they taught you. I couldn’t do that, Chance.”

The song changes again in the time it takes Chance to find a reply, and the music is slow and a little sad and resigned in a way that hurts. There’s a tightness in his throat that he can’t swallow down. He pulls Loreleaf close so he won’t be able to read Chance’s face, the way he usually can, and, eventually, he feels Loreleaf relax into the embracing dance, tucking his head against Chance’s neck.

Maybe it’s wise, maybe it’s not—

“I let them contaminate what I loved,” he says at last, softly. “I should have fought back - I know I should have. I didn’t. But I can’t just… Minou, I’m not going to stop liking to kiss you. I can’t not love to dance, not because of them or myself. They ruined me and I can’t let them ruin anything more.”

His only thought was love for me—

Loreleaf is quiet for a long time, swaying his body along with Chance’s, one arm on his shoulder, the other in his hand. He almost freezes up again, almost sets down roots like a tree into the floor, and Chance is scared, just for a moment, that he’s said too much, that maybe he should have kept that to himself.

Then Loreleaf softens, and he turns his head to brush the softest kiss against Chance’s neck. Chance shivers and lets his head fall just slightly to the side.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Loreleaf whispers, his lips a feather’s breadth from brushing Chance’s skin.

Chance swallows, then stops the dance to push Loreleaf away, just far enough to look into his face.

“You won’t,” he says. “I want to do what I love - with you - so I can remember doing them with you and not with - with them. I want better memories, Loreleaf, not no memories.”

Loreleaf searches his face, his eyes damp, then raises his hands, touching the scars to either side of Chance’s mouth. Then he leans up and Chance leans down and the kiss is just long and just warm enough that Chance has to catch his breath when Loreleaf breaks it.

He slides his calloused hands into Chance’s.

Only a fool would want to leave the paradise that I find whenever you’re around—

“Dance with me?” he asks. “I won’t bitch about it this time.”

Chance smiles and kisses him again, and again, and a few times down his neck until it’s Loreleaf whose breathing catches in his throat. When he pulls away, he turns the record player all the way up and spins Loreleaf towards the back door.

The music spills outside as they swing the door open, clumsily dancing into the sunset-colored air. This time, Loreleaf is a little more prepared when Chance dips him, though not prepared enough to keep from slipping out of Chance’s grasp and falling flat on his back into the grass. Chance is just about to apologize for laughing when Loreleaf swipes his foot against Chance’s leg, and Chance goes down, giving Loreleaf his turn to laugh.

They clamber back to their feet and dance until the end of the record, Loreleaf smiling and blushing and making the effort. Chance runs back inside to turn the record over, and when he comes back, Loreleaf is still and serious again, watching the orange-filtering sunset through the trees.

Why do stars fall down from the sky every time you walk by—

“They didn’t ruin you,” he says as the new song starts, sweet and simple, and Chance pulls him into gentle, bobbing dance. “I - I think you’re perfect.”

Just like me, they long to be close to you—

[sportacus-loves-bananas]

CEO and assistant Lazytown AU oneshot

Inspired by this post https://lazybonesblogger.tumblr.com/post/157986077298/sportacus-loves-bananas-lazybonesblogger (This is the first fanfic i've ever written and English isn't my first language so it's gonna be bAD i'm sorry. They'll probably be out of character and i have no idea how these jobs work so,, have a good time folks. This is pretty much just practice and super short.) Robbie Rotten was sitting in his car, leaning back against his seat and letting out an exasperated sigh, dark circles under his eyes barely concealed by his make up. He fixed up his neat pompadour in the car mirror and looked at his watch. It was 7:30, terribly terribly early, much too early to go to work, if you asked him. All he wanted was to grab a pastry at the Sæti bakery, drive home and sleep until noon. But despite those urges he got up, dragging his heavy suitcase along as he entered the large building he was parked at; "Robert Rotten Inc." was written over the automatic sliding doors in large golden letters. Inside he was greeted by his secretary Miss. Busybody, to whom he only responded with a low mumble before getting on the elevator to the top floor where his office was located. Upon stepping out of the elevator he saw a young man a bit shorter than him standing outside his office, wearing a blue buttoned shirt and flared black pants. His hair was golden blonde and curly, though his strangely pointed mustache was completely black, in fact it looked more like whiskers than a mustache. The man was very muscular in build, face beaming like the sun, which Robbie was not very fond of. He immediately sneered. "You're Magnus, right? My new assistant?" Robbie crossed his arms, straightening his back a bit so he was taller than the other. "Yes mr. Rotten!" The man named Magnus smiled widely, arms tightly locked behind his back. "You can just call me Sportacus!" His energized voice seemed to give Robbie a headache. "...i would prefer not to.." He opened the door to his office, raising a brow. "How long have you been here?..." He turned his head to Sportacus, frowning in a questioning manner. "Since 7 AM, Mr. Rotten" Robbie could feel his jaw drop. This was obviously not a normal man. He walked into his office, a large elegant room decorated with paintings of the previous business owners, all of whom he was related to, and many, many, many potted plants (get it bc Stefan Karl loves plants i am so clever). He placed his suitcase on his dark wood desk, about to open his mouth before he heard Sportacus close the door. "What in the world were you doing before i came?" He slumped into his huge purple chair, already tired from standing up for so many minutes. "Oh i was exercising! I had assumed you would arrive earlier." Sportacus seemed way too happy and forgiving at the fact he had been doing pushups for half an hour in a hallway. "...Anyway.. You'll be sorting some files today. Just.. Please sit down. It's painful to watch you move." He sighed, opening his suit case as Sportacus darted into the chair at the desk located at the other end of the room. It was probably a mistake to have a shared office with his assistant. Robbie had explained to Sportacus what his duties would be, not thrilled at having to speak to someone like him for so long, and he was relieved when it was finally lunchtime, returning to his chair as fast as possible (i.e a mildly sped up walk). Finally he could have a break and Sportacus would go to the cafeteria for a while. But when he realized he couldn't hear a door open, he turned his chair to look back at Sportaflops desk. He had taken a lunchbox from his bag, and even though Robbie was already annoyed by the fact Sport would stay the whole break, he was even more annoyed when he spotted the insides of the lunch itself. A salad, a banana and an apple. He was disgusted. The only acceptable way to eat vegetables were if they were steamed, cooked and salted, not this raw nonsense. And fruit was meant to look pretty in bowls on coffee tables, not for CONSUMPTION. He didn't want to admit he had barely eaten anything but fast food and candy for a few weeks. "Aren't you getting something to eat, Mr. Rotten?" Sportacus looked at him with puppy dog eyes, having taken a bite out of the apple. "No." Robbie answered bluntly, sifting through some files and doing his best to ignore the assistant. "But that's not good for you! It's important to eat three meals a day!" Sportacus shot up from his seat and almost ran to Robbie's desk, handing him the banana. Robbie couldn't help but feel slightly uncomfortable at this, but he begrudgingly accepted the offer. "....fine...." He was actually hungry, and he hadn't had any breakfast except a chocolate bar in his car, but he would rather die than thank Sportabuff. He was a proud man. "...could you uh.. Fetch me a cup of water? From the first floor water cooler?" Robbie tried to sound polite, desperate for some alone time. He couldn't imagine getting work done with how loud and fast Sportaloaf hit the keys on his keyboard. "Sure!" He disappeared out the door in a blue blur, and Robbie let out a deep breath as he leaned into his plushy chair. This should be at least 10 minutes of privacy, since he assumed the eccentric assistant would take the stairs. No sooner than he was done with the thought, Sportacus had appeared in front of him with a cup of water. "There you go, sir!" He smiled in such a doofy manner it was almost endearing, and Robbie swallowed a knot in his throat. "..Thanks..." This was going to be horrible.