#his feelings where saying it makes it real. if he just keeps it all in his head he can ignore it.

[krirebr]

More Than This 8

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x f!reader, Steve Rogers & f!reader

Word Count: ~9.5k

Summary: Arranged marriages have always been used to solidify business deals among the ultra-wealthy. Your stepfather wants to be in business with Harlan Thrombey, so now it's your turn.

Warnings: Angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, explicit language, fighting, my own rampant abuse of italics and en dashes, the slooowest burn, family drama - Warnings will be added as needed for subsequent parts. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Ohhhhhhhh boy. Getting this update in right under the six month wire. I'm so sorry this one took so long, you guys. I had to drag this chapter out of me. But uh, it's horrifically long, so that's something?

And, I know I keep saying that we're about to start a happier part of this story and then deliver a bucketful of angst, and yeah, whoops, I've done that again. I should just stop making promises, huh?

Big thanks as always to @paperweight91 who has spent the last almost six months talking this one through with me. And to @bigtreefest who was so great with the encouragement and gut checks and did a quick beta of this chapter! But, of course, all mistakes are my own.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too! As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

The rest of the day was quiet. Calmer, more settled than you were used to. After having gotten everything out into the open, it was so much easier to acknowledge Ransom’s presence, to coexist with him. You hadn’t fully realized how much you’d been holding your breath until you could suddenly breathe freely. It was a wild feeling.

Once you were all cried out, Ransom turned on the TV, turning it to the classic movie channel. That was how you learned he loved old movies. “Grandad and I used to watch them together. When I was a kid,” he said quietly. He didn't volunteer any other information and you didn't ask. But you watched the old noir with him.

One movie turned into two and soon the whole afternoon was gone. It had been… comfortable, in a way you’d never expected to be with him. Neither of you had said much, but the silence hadn’t been stifling in the way it’d been even just the day before. For the first time since you’d gotten here, you felt something a lot like hope.

He made two arrangements while sitting with you on the couch. The first was for movers to come to collect his gym equipment the next day so that your new room would be empty when your things arrived in a couple of days. 

You were made aware of the second when you received a text from him. You looked up in confusion. You were sitting right next to each other. He chuckled lightly. “That’s the number to your new car service. Call it, let them know where you’re going, and a car should be here within half an hour.”

You stared at the number. Holy shit, you’d be able to go places. You felt silly for how emotional you suddenly felt, but it was like your entire world was expanding in real time. It felt like fresh oxygen in your lungs. “Thank you,” you said quietly.

He just nodded in response. “After you’ve used that for a while, we can talk about whether a private driver might be more appropriate. If that’s what you need.”

You looked at your phone again. This was proof in your hands that you could tell Ransom what you needed and he would do what he could to help you get it. That he wasn’t the enemy you’d assumed he was. You could feel the tears starting to gather in your eyes and you took a deep breath to try to quell them without calling attention to your state.

Ransom, of course, noticed anyway. “Is that not ok?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head. “No, it’s perfect. Seriously, thank you. I’m sorry, I just–” You had no idea what to say to him, how to explain yourself. As good and necessary as the last several hours had been, he was still a stranger. And as much as he’d demonstrated a willingness to help you, that didn’t mean he wanted you getting your messy emotions all over him. “Sorry,” you said again, “I’m just emotional today. Hormones probably. I’m afraid you’re going to be dealing with this for the next nine months.” You grimaced in what you hoped was a playful manner as you tried to wipe the tears from your eyes.

He remained serious, concerned. “I think I can handle it,” he said, his tone still so soft. But if you looked very carefully, you thought that you might be able to see a hint of panic in his eyes. You didn’t know if it was for the havoc that your pregnancy hormones might wreak or everything that would come after. You didn’t ask. You knew you wouldn’t be able to answer the question for yourself either. So you turned back to the movie.  

At some point, you both started to get hungry, so Ransom ordered takeout. As you ate, you asked a few questions about the sorts of movies he liked, grateful for a safe topic to fill the silence. You certainly wouldn’t call him verbose, but you learned that he had a soft spot for Billy Wilder movies. You wouldn’t really say the conversation flowed, either, but your questions didn’t seem unwelcome. It was nice. He was starting to feel like a real person.

When you were done, you cleaned up the leftovers together, packing them up and putting them away in the fridge. It was while you were doing that that the doorbell suddenly rang. You both looked up, confused. “If that’s fucking Linda, I swear…” Ransom grumbled.

“She never rings the doorbell when it’s just me here,” you griped. You continued putting things away, sticking your head in the fridge as Ransom went to get the door. Then everything happened so fast.

First, you heard Lola yipping excitedly. As you started to turn around to see what was going on with her, Ransom asked “What are you doing here?!” And then–

And then Ransom was on the ground, clutching his jaw, and Steve was looming over him, his hand still in a fist.

“What the shit?!” Ransom ground out.

Steve’s eyes flitted around wildly until they landed on you. He sighed in relief, clearly doing a quick check as he looked at you. “Are you okay?” he asked, his tone so much gentler than his posture.

“Am I– What– What are you doing here? I don't–” You felt like you couldn’t process anything that was happening. How was he here?? Your gaze caught on your husband, still on the floor. “Oh my god, Ransom!” You dropped to your knees next to him. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I–” he started, then carefully flexed his jaw, “Fucking shit. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Your hand hovered uselessly between you as he slowly stood up. You turned back to Steve, who had stepped fully into the house, closing the door behind him, and now had Lola in his arms, softly greeting her as she snuggled into him adoringly.

“Steve, what are you–” you started but then you saw the suitcase at his feet. “Are you staying here?!”

Steve finally turned his attention away from Lola. “Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously, with a challenging glare to Ransom. 

You sighed helplessly. “There’s no guest room…”

“Yeah,” Ransom grumbled as he rifled through the freezer until he pulled out an icepack, “as thrilled as we are to see you, we do have hotels here. You might be more comfortable in one.” The icy coldness that filled the room wasn’t just from the open freezer. 

Steve took an aggressive step forward. “And leave you alone with my sister for even one more day? I don’t think so. I’ll be just fine on the couch. I’m easy like that.”

“Steve–” you tried but you were quickly interrupted.

“Really? You’re here for your step-sister? That’s interesting because my understanding is that you haven’t had much time for her lately,” Ransom said snidely.

Steve started to puff up in a way that was much too familiar from the playground fights of your childhood. “Oh my god!” you yelled. “Stop! Both of you!” You briefly put your head in your hands and took a deep breath, then one more. You straightened yourself and tried to deal with one of the fifteen problems at hand. “Ok, I, uh, I guess I’ll see about making up the couch,” you said, then stomped your way upstairs to the linen closet.

Steve followed close behind you, still carrying around Lola. “You know,” he said, his tone teasing, “you haven’t actually said ‘hello’ to me yet.”

“No,” you growled, as you looked through the closet without turning around to look at him, “I guess I haven’t.”

He pulled your arm lightly. “Hey, come on,” he said. “I’ll help pull this stuff together if you tell me where to look. We both know Ransom’s just gonna let you do all the work.”

That earned you finally turning to face him. “Well, he did just get punched in the face, so I think he’s a little more concerned with that than making you feel comfortable right now.”

Steve’s face scrunched up. “Wait. Are you mad at me?”

“Am I mad at you? Well, let's see. You showed up unannounced and punched my husband in the face. Yeah! I'm a little mad at you!”

“He deserved it,” he growled. 

“How would you know?!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

You sighed. You did not have the energy for this. And where were all the blankets? You remembered the pile currently in the corner of the gym. Right. You turned around and walked down the hall to your makeshift bedroom, Steve still on your heels. As soon as you walked in, he stopped, putting Lola down. “The fuck is this?” he asked, harshly, his hands on his hips. You realized your mistake immediately. His eyes scanned the cushions and blankets set up, the exercise equipment still there, your few possessions strewn about. “Is this where you sleep?”

“No! Just last night.”

“Why did you need to sleep here last night?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.

It felt like a trap. If you told him you’d panicked and needed some space, he would ask why. Steve never dropped anything. And you just could not tell him you were pregnant right now. It was the absolute worst time for that. But you didn’t know how else to answer his question. “I just needed a little space.”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you. God, you hated being the focus of that look. It was the look he gave you when you scratched his car when you were 16, or when you were 18 and he had to pick you up from a party at 2 AM and wouldn’t tell him what had happened. It was the look you got when you were little and used to steal his paintbrushes so he couldn’t paint and he’d have to hang out with you. You’d hated that look since you were six years old. “Why are you here, Steve?”

He just shook his head for a moment. “You sounded so sad and tired this morning. And I’m just so sick of not being able to see you, not being able to tell what’s wrong.” He took a deep breath. “Not being able to protect you.”

“Steve,” was all you could say at first. Then you couldn’t help yourself anymore. You launched yourself at him and wrapped him in a big hug. He was a fucking idiot. You couldn’t believe he’d punched Ransom. You were so mad about that. But he was your fucking brother and you’d missed him so much.

He hugged you back tightly. “It’s so fucking good to see you, Chipmunk,” he murmured into your hair. 

You stood there, savoring the closeness for as long as you both were able, and then you pulled away and stared down at the mound of blankets and cushions. The big couch downstairs had been pulled apart the night before to give you a place to sleep. That severely limited the options for Steve. You sighed. “I guess it would make the most sense to put you in here.”

“And where would you sleep?” he asked, his tone taking on an aggressive edge, aimed at the man downstairs, you knew.

“I’d go back to the bedroom,” you said, with a put-on casualness like you weren’t aware of the fight that was about to happen.

“Absolutely not,” Steve said firmly.

“Oh my god, Steve! You can’t control where I sleep!” you said, throwing your hands in the air.

“The whole reason I’m here is to make sure you’re ok and that he can’t hurt you! I’m not gonna do something that puts you back in his space!”

“Steve, I don’t need that! He isn’t doing anything!”

“Then why did you text me? Why were you crying?!”

You did not have the energy for the conversation that would answer that question, so all you could do was glare at him, which he answered with a confrontational jut of his chin. The two of you just stood there locked in a staredown until Steve muttered, “What sort of grown man doesn’t have anywhere for guests, anyway?”

“The sort that likes an excuse to stop people from staying at his house,” Ransom said pointedly from the doorway, startling you both. “What exactly do you think I’d do, with you right across the hall? I’ve already gotten a taste of how you solve problems,” he said to Steve, gesturing with the ice pack still held to his face. Then, much softer, to you, he said, “I know you want your own space, but you’re more than welcome to share the bed until your stuff gets here. That’s all I wanted to say.” Then he turned around and walked into his bedroom, Lola scampering behind him, ready for bed.

You stared after him, unable to parse the feelings bubbling up inside you. He’d been so different lately. Or maybe you were just finally looking.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Steve asking “Your stuff?”

You turned your attention back to him. He was watching you too carefully. “Mhmm,” you hummed, trying to feign nonchalance. “I’m having my bedroom furniture shipped here. I’m turning this into my room.” He raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to ask too many questions probably so you cut him off. “It’s been a really long couple of days, Steve. I’m tired. We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

He set his jaw. You could tell he wanted to fight you. Force you to talk to him. But you held your ground, looked him in the eye with a hint of challenge, and eventually he deflated, just a bit. “Yeah, okay,” he relented before he pulled you into another crushing hug. You’d really missed his hugs.

“I am happy to see you,” you whispered.

“Me too, Chip,” he whispered right back. 

After making sure he had everything he needed, you left Steve alone with a quiet “goodnight,” and made your way back to Ransom’s bedroom. He and Lola were already snuggled in bed, snoring softly. You quickly went through your bedtime routine and then joined them, very careful not to wake either of them. After how eventful and emotionally wrought the last few days had been, it didn’t take you long at all to drift off into sleep.

You woke up in the morning pressed up against Ransom, face to face, your feet tangled together, Lola on your legs. You carefully pushed yourself away, watching him warily to see if he roused at all. Thankfully he didn't. You were sure he wouldn't be thrilled with how close you'd both gotten in the night. 

You quietly got up and let yourself out of the bedroom, a now wide-awake Lola at your heels. The door to the gym was open and the room was empty, Steve’s suitcase wide open on the floor next to the nest of cushions and blankets. You didn’t hear anyone moving around downstairs, so he was out on a run, most likely.

You headed down to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee, then started looking through the fridge for the leftovers from the previous morning. As you were doing that, a creak on the stairs let you know Ransom was joining you. 

“Morning,” he said, voice scratchy from disuse. He went to the coffee maker and just stood in front of it, waiting for the pot to finish.

“Morning,” you said from inside the fridge. You found the leftovers and closed the appliance, finally turning to him with a gasp. You put the food down on the counter and went to Ransom. “Oh my god, your face!” A large bruise in a deep shade of purple took up most of the left side of his face, centered on his jaw and cheekbone. You rushed to his side and without thinking, extended a hand to touch him before you realized what you were doing and pulled back at the last minute, embarrassed. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he mumbled, his attention still fixed on the coffee slowly dripping into the carafe. 

You stared at him for another moment, before you just couldn’t keep your feelings inside anymore. “I’m so sorry,” you said softly.

He finally looked at you at that. “What do you have to be sorry for?” he asked.

So much, you thought to yourself, maybe, probably. But for right now, in this instance, you just shrugged. “He’s my brother,” you said, a little helplessly. 

“Did you tell him to punch me?” he asked as he decided he’d waited long enough and filled his mug.

“What? No!”

“Then there’s nothing to apologize for.” He leaned back against the counter as he sipped his coffee. “Where is your brother?”

“On a run, probably,” you said, now helping yourself to a mug and fixing it up how you liked.

Ransom scoffed. “Of course, he is.” He looked at you carefully for a long moment and you struggled not to squirm under his gaze. “You happy he’s here?”

“Of course!” you said, too quickly. He kept looking at you. “I mean, I didn’t invite him here, so… It was just a surprise. I don’t know. He’s very protective, you know?” Ransom raised an eyebrow and you couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle. “Right, yeah. He just– Sometimes, he just– he decides what’s right. And then there’s no changing his mind.”

He made a little hum, then nodded and said, “Yeah, I know. I have met him before. But why are you worried about that?”

“Uh, he just, he isn’t always a good listener. And he’s gonna have a lot of questions for me today. I know he will. And I don’t know how I’ll answer any of them without telling him about the– that I’m pregnant.”

“And you don’t want to?” he asked, his voice unexpectedly soft.

“No, that’s not exactly– I just–” you sighed. “This isn’t what he ever wanted for me.”

Ransom made a small noise of understanding. “You think he’ll be disappointed in you.”

There was no judgment in his tone, but it still made you shrink in on yourself a little. You nodded.

“Listen, it’s no secret that I think he’s a sanctimonious asshole.” You opened your mouth to start defending Steve, but Ransom shook his head. “Let me finish. It’s clear that he loves you. I think you’ll be ok. And if he does give you shit, well, it’ll be just one of a few things he’s done to earn himself a punch.”

“Oh god, Ransom no, please don’t do that.”

He grinned at you. “Nah, I won’t. Some of us have self-control. I know him being here is important to you. I’ll try not to do anything to mess that up.”

You wondered if the warm feelings spreading through you would always be such a surprise. If he would always be such a surprise.

“But,” he continued before he paused to drain his mug. “I am going to try to get out of here before he gets back.”

“This is your house. You don’t need to do that.”

“It’s fine,” he said quietly, “you should have a nice day with your brother.” Then he put his mug in the dishwasher and went back upstairs to get dressed, with you staring after him.

Ransom left and, sure enough, Steve got back a few minutes later. He went straight to the shower and you tried to busy yourself and calm your nerves while you waited for the inevitable conversation.

When he came down, his hair was still wet and he was dressed in jeans and a plain white tee. There was nothing casual about his demeanor though.

“So,” he said, sitting down next to you in the kitchen, “you ready to tell me what’s been going on here?”

You started to get up. “Do you want some breakfast first? We have some pastries left over from yesterday.”

He grabbed your arm and pulled you back down into your chair. “No, I want to know why you've sounded so upset every time I’ve talked to you since the wedding.”

You squirmed under his sharp gaze. You knew him. You knew that he wouldn’t give up until you told him everything. But you also knew how awful his reaction would be and you just weren’t ready to give everything up. “It’s just been a lot of change, you know? Of course, it’s been hard. I’m just… adjusting. It’s been an adjustment period.”

“Adjusting to what, exactly?”

“To marriage! To living in a new place! You know, the obvious.”

“The obvious is why you always sound like you’ve been crying?”

You resisted the urge to bury your face in your hands in frustration. “You know me,” you tried. “I’m emotional.”

“You’re emotional?! Is that what he says to you?” Shit, he was already getting angry and you hadn’t even told him anything yet.

“No! God, Steve. That’s not what I’m saying! I’m just trying to say that it’s been a difficult transition, but I’m starting to feel better about it.”

“And I’m asking you to tell me exactly what about it has been difficult.” 

You wanted to growl. Once he got an idea in his head, he was so fucking intractable. “What’s been difficult about moving across the country to a brand new city and living with a stranger??”

“Yes. Exactly. In detail please.” And then he just stared at you and you wanted to scream. 

“I’ve been a little lonely,” you conceded, hoping a partial truth might satisfy him. “Ransom has to work a lot and it’s been hard to know what to do with my time.” And then, without giving him time to react, you asked. “How about you? How are you? Now that I’m out of the way, is Joseph trying to set up matches for you?” It was a low blow, but you were grasping for any defense you could reach.

“I don't understand why you won't just tell me what's going on.”

“I'm trying! It's just a lot more complicated than you realize and I think that maybe once you're in an arrangement of your own–”

“My marriage won't be anything like this.”

At first, all you could do was gape at him. Then you just sighed. “I don’t think,” you started slowly, “that you can have any idea what a marriage like this is really like until you’re inside of it, Steve.”

He shook his head. “I know what sort of man I am,” he said confidently. “I know how I’ll treat my wife.” And you saw it then, the pity in his eyes, and everything in you bristled.

Sanctimonious. That was the word Ransom had used. You loved your step-brother so much. You’d defend him to the end of the world and back. But he really could be such an asshole sometimes. And seeing him now, like this, you could understand why someone like Ransom might hate him.

“Well,” you said, trying so hard to keep your voice even, “you’ll be lucky then. To have such an easy go of it. I hope you don’t find that it’s harder than it looks. That appearances can be deceiving.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “That’s why I’m asking you to tell me. I don’t understand why you won’t.”

“Because I know you won’t listen! You’ve already decided what’s going on here!”

“Well, it seems pretty obvious! I know you, and I certainly know him. So yeah, when you’re crying every time I talk to you and you send me cryptic texts wishing I was here, yeah, I think I have a pretty good guess about what’s been going on.”

“You’re so frustrating,” you growled a little. Then you sighed. It was inevitable. You knew it. At this point, you just wanted to get it over with. “Ok. Fine. But you have to actually listen to me, ok? Like, to what I’m actually saying. You can’t just jump to conclusions. Okay? I’m serious.”

“Chip, yes, of course. I’ll always listen to you.”

You took a deep, fortifying breath. “It’s been– It’s been really hard here. I’ve been on my own almost the whole time and it’s just been really lonely. You just– you can’t know what it’s like to be married to a stranger. We haven’t known how to talk to each other and I just– It’s been really hard for both of us.” At that, Steve scoffed, but you couldn’t stop now, you had to get this out. “Anyway, um, a few days ago I learned some news, that was–” You paused to try to find the right word. You had no idea how to classify it. It wasn’t upsetting, per se, but what other word was there? “And then Ransom found out and that’s when I texted you. And slept in the gym.”

“What was the news?” Steve asked, gravely. He was looking at you so intently. You really didn’t want to do this, but you knew you had to.

You looked off into the corner of the room, unable to get this out and meet his eyes at the same time. “I’m pregnant,” you said quietly.

Steve stood up so abruptly that you couldn’t help but jump. “I’m gonna fucking kill him,” he actually snarled. You’d never heard his voice do that before.

“Steve, please,” you started, both hands out in a placating manner. “Please, can you calm down so we can talk about this?”

But, of course, he ignored you. “Where is he?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, helplessly. “He’s out. I don’t, I don’t know where.”

Steve didn’t say anything, just clenched his jaw and stood rigidly, his hands on his hips. You could practically see the untapped adrenaline coursing through him.

“Can you please just sit down?” you pleaded. “Just take a deep breath and sit down and we can–”

“I’m going for a run,” he said, curtly, then turned on his heel and walked towards the door.

“But you just got back from one!” you called after him. He wasn’t even dressed for a run. But that apparently didn’t matter. He was gone.

You just sat there for a moment, completely lost, with no idea what to do. Then you got your phone out and texted Ransom.

He knows

Don’t come back for a few hours, I think. He needs time to calm down. I’m sorry.

The checkmark showing he’d seen your message appeared almost immediately, quickly followed by the three dots that showed he was typing, but then those disappeared. A few moments later they came back but quickly disappeared again. No response ever came.

The men from the storage company came to take Ransom’s gym equipment away. You threw yourself into directing them, happy to have a distraction from worrying about where Steve was, what he was feeling. But then they were done, the room was empty, and Steve was still gone.

Ransom got back first. He found you in the former gym, trying to rearrange the couch cushions in the center of the room into something more comfortable. He paused in the doorway, Lola dancing around at his feet. “Where’s Steve?” he asked, as he bent down to pet her.

“He, uh–” you said without looking up, “he went for another run. He wasn’t very happy.”

“Fucking asshole,” Ransom muttered.

You finally looked at him, shaking your head. “No, he just doesn’t handle it well when he doesn’t know how to fix something.”

Ransom looked at you very seriously. “And if he makes that your problem, he’s a fucking asshole.”

“That's not– That's not what happened. That's not what he's doing.”

He stared at you for a long moment, causing you to look away, uncomfortable with the attention. “Okay,” he finally said with the hint of a sigh. “Well, I’ll be downstairs if you want company or…” He trailed off and shrugged, then left the room.

About an hour later, Steve burst back into the house, yelling into his phone. “Well, where the hell did that money go? There’s no reason for him to be that over-budget. I’ve seen the dailies. –No, you get down there and you get that set back under control. –I can’t, I’m not in LA. There was a family emergency. –Yeah, I know Joseph is still there. He isn’t my only family, is he? Listen, just go do your goddamn job.” With that, he hung up his phone forcefully then stomped upstairs without acknowledging you or Ransom where you were seated on the couch.  

You could feel the irritation coming off of Ransom but he didn’t say anything. You were grateful. You had no idea what to make of Steve right now, how to explain him. Or excuse him. The awkward silence was preferable to trying.

Several minutes later, Steve came back down, changed into fresh clothes again. He smiled at you in greeting and if not for the tense set of his shoulders, you would have thought everything was fine. “Hey,” he said, “I just ordered the two of us some food.”

“The two of us?” you asked, looking pointedly at Ransom.

“Oh!” Steve exclaimed and the fucking fake look of surprise on his face made you want to scream. “I didn’t realize he was back. Well, I’m sure it’s fine. It’s his house. He’ll be able to scrounge up something.”

“Steve,” you started. Of all the unbelievably rude– 

Your ramp-up to letting your brother have it was cut short by Ransom’s hand on your wrist. “It’s fine,” he said quietly. He looked tired and sad in a way you hated. He looked annoyed too, beyond belief, but underneath all that, you also saw something pleading in his expression. You remembered what he’d said this morning. He wanted you to have a nice day with your brother. So you swallowed down all of your anger and didn’t say anything. But you cataloged everything so you could have a private conversation with Steve later.

“See,” Steve said with a smug grin, “it’s fine. This will be nice. It’s been too long since we’ve gotten to pig out together. I got all your favorites.”

Despite your protests, Ransom made himself scarce. The food arrived shortly after he disappeared and Steve dished it up like nothing was wrong. You sat and ate with him, even though you weren’t much up for conversation, despite his frequent efforts. He never said anything about the news you’d shared that morning. You tried not to be too hurt by that. 

As you were finishing up, Ransom quietly reappeared, grabbing something to drink from the fridge. Before he could run back upstairs, you stopped him, feeling awful that he must feel so unwelcome in his own home. “Do you want some food?” you asked, gesturing to the copious leftovers. “I could make you a plate.”

Not waiting for Ransom’s response, Steve cut in. “Is that how it works around here?” he asked, not of you but Ransom. “You’ve got her waiting on you on hand and foot?” his voice teeming with anger.

“Steve,” you hissed, trying to stop him, but he didn’t notice.

“I mean, I get it,” he continued, and there was a sharp edge to his voice that made you very nervous, “you must have thought you hit the jackpot, huh? Some sweet, naive little thing who's too young to really be plugged into the right part of the prep school rumor mill. Hasn't heard about the designer drugs, or the girls, or the parties. All the trouble your family's had to bail you out of. That's why they had to look clear on the other coast for an arrangement for you, huh? They had to go that far to find anyone who didn't already know what a piece of shit you are–”

“STEVEN GRANT ROGERS” you shouted, your stool loudly scraping against the hardwood floor as you stood up. It’d barely been there, you’d barely seen it, the flash of deep hurt on Ransom’s face before he’d covered it up, first with a blank mask, then a sneer that threatened to bring everything down. But you wouldn’t let that happen. You were fucking done. You couldn’t deal with this anymore. “Can you just stop, Steve?! I’m so tired of this shit!” you yelled at him.

“What?” they said in unison, both men facing you now, surprised.

“Lola!” you called out. “Come on! Steve and I are taking you for a walk!” She came racing down the stairs, and you quickly put on her harness and leash. Then you were out the door, trusting that Steve was behind you.

You walked in silence for a few blocks. You could feel him watching you warily, but you didn’t turn around to look at him. You didn’t think you’d ever been so mad at him in your life. It might’ve been the angriest you’d ever been with anyone. Your hands were shaking. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you finally seethed, stopping so suddenly that he almost ran into you.

“What?” His obliviousness made you even angrier.

You finally turned on him, your face heating up with rage. “You’re such a fucking asshole! You’re fucking everything up!”

He cowed just a bit at your glare but quickly recovered. “What are you talking about?! I came here to help you!”

“Well, you aren’t! I keep telling you that you aren’t but you never fucking listen to me!”

He recoiled a little, and then his eyes went steely. “Really? I never listen to you? I’m the only one who ever listens to you!”

Even if that were true, there was something about the way he said it that really pissed you off. “Fuck you!” you said and charged forward with Lola running to catch up behind you.

A moment later, Steve was on your heels again. “What is going on with you? You’ve been acting off since I got here.”

You spun on your heels to face him. “I’ve been acting off?! I wonder why! You’ve just barged in here like a bull in a china shop, not caring at all about the damage you’re doing!”

“I’m here to help you. I’ve been defending you!”

“Yeah, now! You’re trying to help me, now!”

“What does that mean?”

“Where have you been, Steve? You’ve been MIA the last three months, and now when things might actually get better, now you’re here to ‘defend’ me.”

“Better? This,” he hissed, flinging an arm towards your stomach, “is better?!”

“We had to do it. There was a clause in the contract. You know that!”

He scoffed. ��Yeah, and I'm sure he reminded you of that every chance he got, as he fully took advantage of it.”

If he hadn't already set you off, that would be the thing to do it. “Never! Ok? I was the one who pushed it. I was the one who rushed It. Me. Never him.”

That brought Steve up short. “What? Why would you do that?”

“Because of your aunt!”

For a frustratingly long moment, he just gave you a confused look. Then you finally saw the realization dawn on his face. “Oh. Laura.”

“Yes, Laura! That wasn't going to be me. Not ever.”

“I never would have let that happen!”

The laugh that burst out of you at that was cold, hard. “How?” you asked. “You're always saying shit like that, but what, exactly, would you have done?”

He started to answer, but you cut him off quickly, shaking your head.

“This is my life, Steve. Mine. I’m the one who has to actually live it. I don’t need you judging me for how I choose to survive it.”

“You shouldn't have to just survive it,” he said. His tone had suddenly turned sad. It made you even angrier. 

“I'll be lucky to survive it,” you growled. “You get to just waltz around, forgetting how this world works whenever it's convenient for you. Meanwhile, I have to claw and fight for just the possibility that I might not turn into my mom.” You took a deep breath. “Ransom, at least, can fucking see that. He's stuck in this mess with me, and I think he might actually want to try. You’re not going to ruin that for me just because he insulted you once at a cocktail party or whatever.” You turned on your heels. You were exhausted. You didn't have the energy for any more of this. “I'm going back. You can come if you want. But you better fucking apologize. He didn't deserve that. No matter what he’s done, he didn’t deserve to be treated that way by you.”

Steve was a few minutes behind you getting back to the house, and he did apologize, although through gritted teeth. The whole time, Ransom’s eyes were on you. 

You declared you were going to bed shortly after. It was too early, but you didn't care. You were done with this day.

As you were changing into your sleep clothes, Ransom quietly let himself into his room. You both looked a little startled by your state of undress. Part of you wanted to cover up. It felt so intimate, changing in front of him. But you knew that was silly. He'd already seen so much more of you. 

He just stood there for a long moment before he finally spoke. “You yelled at him for me.”

“Yeah,” you said. “He deserved it.”

“But he's your brother.” He almost seemed confused. 

The absolutely absurd thought And you're my husband popped into your head unbidden, but thankfully you didn't vocalize it. “That doesn't change the fact that he was wrong.”

Ransom didn’t say anything. Just stood there with a furrowed brow. After too much silence you asked softly, “Did I do something wrong?”

He jolted a little, like he’d been somewhere else, then shook his head. “No, sorry, I just–” He took a breath. “Thank you. I’m not used to people doing things like that for me.” 

“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say. You suddenly felt so sad for him. But honestly, the only person who’d ever done anything like this for you had been Steve. And you’d seen Ransom’s family. You knew he’d never had a Steve.

Sparing you from having to figure out a response, Ransom took a deep breath, “Listen,” he started, “about the things he said, I–”

You cut him off with a shake of your head. “We don’t need to talk about that right now. Sometime, maybe, but not right now.” Nothing about his past would change things for you now. You’d still be married to him either way. It was better to just focus on the man he was showing himself to be now.

Ransom took a long moment and looked at you carefully. Finally, he asked, “Did you yell at him for yourself too?”

You nodded, then added a quiet, “I did.”

“Good,” he said, then started to turn around. “I’ll try not to wake you when I come to bed. Good night.”

“Good night,” you whispered.

Right before he left the room, he turned back to add one more thing. “I’ve never seen you as naive. Not for a moment in this whole thing.” Then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

You just stood there, in the middle of the room, unable to move for a few minutes. Then you took a deep breath and moved into the bathroom. As you finished getting ready for bed, you couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility that maybe you had two people in your corner now.

Your bedroom furniture and other belongings were delivered the next day. The movers set up the heavy furniture and then left everything else to you. As you started to begin unpacking, there was a hesitant knock on the door frame. 

Steve stood just outside your now bedroom, looking far less sure than you were used to. “Would you like some help?” he asked softly. 

“Sure,” you said, with a little shrug, pushing some boxes in his direction.

The two of you mostly worked in silence, only broken by Steve’s occasional questions of where you wanted your things to go. After a while he finally broke, “Dad’s been piling a ton of new stuff on my plate.” You stopped what you were doing and looked at him, listening. “Responsibilities and projects and– He wants me to take on more of being the face of the studio, too, so lots of parties and dinners and stuff. My schedule has been out of control. I’d think he was getting ready to retire if I didn’t actually know him.” He let out a weak chuckle. When you didn’t react, didn’t join him, he put his hands up in defense. “Not an excuse, just–” he shrugged his shoulders a little helplessly and sighed, “just an explanation, I guess.”

“You told me that I could call you any time of day for any reason. That’s what you said. And then I did, and you were nowhere to be found.”

“I know,” he started, “I–”

You shook your head. It was your turn to talk. “I spent months here feeling more alone than I ever have in my life. I’ve had nothing to do, no one to talk to. I was living with someone I thought I needed to be scared of.” You paused, wondering if that would set Steve off, but he just sat there, waiting for you to continue. Like he was really trying to listen this time. “His family’s been so awful to me, his mom especially. And you know my mom's been no help. She just kept telling me to keep him happy, even though I didn't know how. And I didn't know how to talk to him and he didn't know how to talk to me. But I knew the only way I could even start to feel secure here was if we fulfilled every part of the contract. So,” you put your hand on your stomach self-consciously and shook your head. “And the only person I actually wanted to talk to was you, and you wouldn't pick up your fucking phone. It felt like I was just stuck here while you went back to your life and forgot about me.” Tears spilled past your lashes and you hurried to wipe them away.

Steve’s face, which had grown sadder as you'd been talking, completely crumpled. He crawled from his sitting position across the room to you as fast as he could. “Hey, no,” he said emphatically as soon as he was sitting in front of you. “I think about you all the time. I've missed you so much. I've been so worried about you. I know I haven't done a good job showing it. I'm so sorry I ever made you feel like I didn't care. I–” He let out a deep breath and closed his eyes for just a moment. When he opened them, they had the distinct shine of unshed tears. “Talking to you was really hard. I felt like you weren’t actually telling me anything.” Before you even opened your mouth, Steve put up a hand to stop you from saying anything. “I'm not saying any of this was your fault. I know it's all mine. But I just didn’t know how to get you to talk to me. And if you wouldn't tell me what was wrong, then I couldn't fix it. I felt so useless. Every time we talked I felt so fucking useless. And so sometimes,” he paused like he was bracing himself, “sometimes it was kind of a relief to have the excuse of being busy. To have a reason to not call or text you back right away. I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I was always thinking about you. I was always worried about you. But sometimes I just couldn't fucking talk to you.”

It took your breath away, the intense stab of hurt you felt. “I’ve never needed you to be useful,” you gasped out through your tears. “I just need you to be there for me. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I just need you to be there for me.”

“Shit,” he choked out, his voice so thick. “I know.” He moved forward, then paused, waiting for you to stop him. When you didn’t, he lunged for you, wrapping you in his arms. “I know. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry.”

You just sat like that, holding each other for several minutes. When you finally pulled apart, Steve blinked his eyes clear and said, “I hope you know that I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know,” you said softly, and took a deep breath, “and I forgive you for doing it anyway.”

You watched some of the rigidness leave his shoulders. “Thank you,” he breathed out.

Neither of you said anything, and there was still this tension in the room. You were so tired of it. You just wanted your brother back. You just wanted any normalcy you could possibly get, so you wiped the tears from your eyes and said, “You're right. I wasn't telling you anything. I think because I was afraid that if I did, you wouldn't listen past the first two words and then do something completely wild, like fly all the way across the country to punch Ransom in the face. Ridiculous, right?”

He just stared at you in shock and then clocked the wry smile on your face. He laughed despite himself, then rolled his eyes and groaned. “You're sure he didn’t deserve it?”

You pulled a small pillow from the box beside you and threw it at him, annoyed as he dodged it easily. “Yes, I’m sure, you asshole!” You scowled at him, but you couldn’t quite keep the corners of your mouth from ticking up. The whole room felt lighter now, easier to breathe in. It was such a relief.

“I can’t believe you actually like him now,” Steve whined, his whole face scrunched up in disgust.

You shrugged. “I still don’t really know him. But I’m going to try to. We both are, I hope. I don’t know, I think maybe we could be friends, eventually.” You shook your head in disbelief. “That’s a best-case scenario I never really imagined.”

Steve looked at you thoughtfully, and with a hint of playfulness, said, “Well. I’m never going to like him.” His eyes got a little more serious. “But I’m really happy, and so relieved, that things are getting better for you.”

“Yeah, me too,” you said softly. Then you both went back to unpacking, conversation ebbing in and out much easier now.

Eventually, you heard him let out a long sigh. You turned to look at him as he carefully pulled something from a box. Oh. It was Mr. Bun Bun, your favorite stuffed animal as a kid. You remembered crying as you packed it away to put into storage, Steve sitting next to you, gently rubbing your back.

He slowly took a few steps to the head of your bed and then reverently placed it against your pillows. He just stared at it for a moment and then looked around at the rest of the room. “Wow,” he said, and he sounded so sad, “I guess you really live here now.”

“What do you mean?” you asked. “I've been here for months.”

“Yeah, I know. But I guess,” he shrugged, “I guess it still sort of felt like you'd be back any day. But all your stuff's here now. It just– It feels final.”

You looked around the room as well. It wasn't exactly like your old room in your old apartment but this was the closest thing you'd had to feeling home in months. “Yeah,” you said quietly, not quite sure what to do with these feelings. “I guess it does.”

Steve sat down on your bed and you immediately joined him. He knocked his knee against yours. “I know I keep saying this, but I really do miss you. It’s so weird to not have you in LA anymore. To go to all these parties and not be able to talk to you there. Or to be able to just drop by your apartment when I need to see you. Or when you need to see me.”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “That’s why it’s so important for us to actually keep in touch.”

“I know,” he said, seriously. “I’ll be better at it. I promise.”

You hummed in response and grabbed his hand. Now that everything was out in the open, it was such a relief to just be able to enjoy his closeness, without the tension hanging over both of you.

After a few minutes, he took a deep breath and spoke again. “I’m gonna go home tonight.”

“What? Why?”

“You were right. I’m just in the way here. It’s time for me to go.”

“Ok,” you replied, your voice small. You weren’t sure how to feel about that—the last few days had been so hard and so exhausting. But you’d finally gotten your brother back and now he was leaving again? “Are you sure?”

He jostled you with his shoulder. “Hey,” he said gently with a smile. “I’ll be back. And I’ll even let you invite me next time.”

You smiled back. “Advanced notice?” you asked. “How novel!”

Steve grabbed one of your pillows and hit you with it. You collapsed into giggles, feeling lighter than you had for a long time.

You spent the rest of the day with your brother, which warmed your soul even more than you thought you needed. 

You took Lola out for a short walk in the evening, while Steve finished gathering his things before the car would come to pick him up. When you came back in, you found Steve and Ransom locked in a serious conversation. They spoke in hushed tones, leaning across the kitchen island to face each other. There was no yelling. No tensing muscles ready for a fight. All the same, it made you very nervous. 

They both quieted as they noticed your presence. That didn’t help to quell your worry at all. “What’s going on here?” 

Steve gave you his trademarked boyish grin. “Just getting to know my brother-in-law.”

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously then cast a concerned glance at Ransom, but he waved you off with a reassuring shake of his head. Steve was still grinning at you like everything was fine. He really could be such an asshole. “Sure. OK,” you said, resigned to whatever weird dynamic was happening in front of you. “Are you all ready?”

“Yup,” Steve nodded, gesturing to where his luggage was waiting by the door. “Car should be here any minute.”

You nodded back, trying to ignore the way your chest tightened. He pulled you into a hug quickly. He just held you for a moment before you heard Ransom clear his throat behind you. “I’ll give you two your privacy.”

You pulled away just enough to see Steve look over your shoulder so he could say, “Remember what we talked about.”

You looked over to Ransom who held Steve’s gaze and firmly said, “Yeah, you too,” then went upstairs.

“The fuck was that?” you asked Steve.

“Nothing, just a conversation we needed to have.”

“Steve,” you sighed in exasperation as you separated yourself from him.

He put up his hands in defense. “It’s fine. I’m playing nice. I promise.”

“Sure.”

He took a step back and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s one more thing I need to say to you. I should have done it yesterday when you first–” he shook his head. “My reaction when you told me about the baby was awful, I know that. And I don’t know if ‘congratulations’ is something you want to hear right now, so I just want to say that I’ll be here for you, whatever you need. And I’ll be here for the baby too. OK? I just really needed to say that.”

You searched his face, his eyes for anything that might warn you that his words were empty, but all you found was sincerity. You took a deep breath. “All I need is for you to pick up your phone.”

“I know,” he nodded quickly. “I will.”

You were so torn between the exhaustion and frustration of the last few days and just how much you'd missed your brother. You pulled him into another hug. “You’re such a jerk,” you said with a hint of fondness.

“I know,” he said, wrapping his arms around you.

“And I love you so much.”

You felt him exhale, any remaining uneasiness bleeding out of him. “I know. I love you too.”

His phone buzzed loudly in his pocket. “Your car is here,” you said sadly, pulling away.

“Hey, that’s ok. It’s not like they’ll leave without me.”

“No,” you shook your head, “you should go. You don’t want to get home too late.”

“Oh, chipmunk,” he sighed. “Ok, one more,” then hugged you again. “I’m so proud of you.”

You pulled back to look him in the eye. “What for?”

He took a moment to gather his words. Finally, he said, looking you right in the eye, “For being so much stronger than you should have to be.”

You had no idea what to say to that so you walked over to the door, Steve right behind you. 

At the door, he put one hand on his suitcase, and with the other, he grabbed your hand. “I’ll see you again soon. I promise.”

You nodded, searching for something to say. “Uh, thanks for coming.”

That elicited a big hearty laugh from him. “Yeah, sure.” He squeezed your hand. “Take good care of yourself.”

“You too,” you said, opening the door for him.

He gave you a big smile before he walked out the door. You watched the driver take Steve’s suitcase from him and open the back door for Steve to get in. You stayed in the doorway until the car slowly backed down the driveway and turned onto the road. After closing the door, you still stayed where you were, trying to breathe through the flood of emotions overtaking you. You already missed him so much, yet you were so relieved he was gone. What were you supposed to do with that?

You were finally jolted out of your reverie by the sound of Ransom coming down the stairs, the tinkling of Lola’s collar accompanying him. “Steve’s gone?” he asked as he came off the last step. 

When you nodded, you saw the way his shoulders slumped in relief. You held back the apology desperate to crawl out of your mouth. Steve’s actions weren’t your responsibility, you tried so hard to remember. But still, Ransom had lost the comfort of his own home for days. The guilt was there.

He got himself a water out of the fridge and then looked at you carefully. “How are you?”

The reflex to tell him you were fine was strong, but you did your best to resist it and answered honestly. “I don’t really know.”

He smiled a little ruefully. “I have no idea what’s normal for siblings.”

You chuckled lightly. “Neither do I.”

He took several steps towards you and you couldn’t help the way your body swayed in his direction, just a little. “But you’re alright?’

You nodded and said softly, “I will be.”

“Good.” Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the way the fingers on one of his hands drummed against his thigh. “Well. I just wanted to check on you before I went to bed.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, strangely aware of the space between you. “I appreciate it. It was a weird few days, but I think I’m ok. Or I will be.”

“Yeah. Good,” he said again. 

You both just stood there for a moment, the air around you oddly charged, until Lola pawed at your leg. “Right. Well, she needs to go out. So. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he said quietly, then turned toward the sink as you went outside with Lola.

When you got back in, there was no sign of Ransom, so you led Lola upstairs to your new bedroom. She immediately hopped onto your bed, wagging her tail wildly. As you looked around, all of your things almost as they’d been in your apartment in LA, those feelings you felt while unpacking your things with Steve grew in you even more. You smiled at your little dog. “Yeah, feels almost like home, doesn’t it, Lola?”

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[vickytaa]

𝕯𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘? 𝕻.2.

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔶: A new video in collaboration with Sam and Colby, where the group enters an abandoned church full of mysteries. What starts as an exciting adventure quickly turns into a nightmare. Y/n will have terrifying nightmares and must fight her fears after entering the darkness. Part 1.

"She... The girl was one of the few people who saw a nun, even though the place is abandoned. Some say they couldn't stop seeing her when they looked in the mirror, others say it was just that moment, and others say they stopped seeing her but strange things happened around them. What they did notice was that there was a kind of pattern, when the person was afraid, the nun's curse was even stronger, as if..."

"As if it was feeding on fear." Colby finished.

My body began to shake desperately, fear coursing through my veins. I tried to look at Matt, who was also scared but was trying his best not to break down there.

We all looked at each other, knowing that the best thing was to keep me company. "Honey, you..." Matt tried to calm me down, but I interrupted him, "Stay with me. Please, Matt," I begged, grabbing his shirt as if I would die if I didn't.

Matt hugged me tighter as I rested my head more and more against his chest. "I was scared, Matt." He pulled away a little, but just enough to see my face. My eyes were full of panic, even though almost an hour had passed since the incident. It broke him to see me like this, because normally I was the strong one, the brave one, but now? now I was scared.

"It's okay, sweetheart. You're with me now, I'm not going anywhere." Matt said. The words hung in the air as I tried to reach them, to believe them. I knew Matt wasn't going to leave my side, but I was scared of what might happen. What if I go back to the darkness?

Matt sat me on his lap, to have me even closer, showering me with small kisses to try to calm me down. My body began to tremble as my mind replayed the scenarios over and over again, each time feeling more real. I tried to push those thoughts away to drown myself in Matt's love and security.

Another hour passed, and the event was almost forgotten, at the back of my mind. I was laughing at a joke Matt made to make me feel something other than fear. "Matt, I think... I think we should continue with the video," I said, now sure that nothing else was going to happen.

Or so I thought...

We started looking for the others until we found them about to do the 'Estes method' where the person doing it is blindfolded and listens to words coming out of a 'special' radio, through headphones.

It was my favorite part of Sam and Colby's videos, but I still felt a little scared to get back into the game. So, when they asked who was going to do it, I immediately said no.

"I'll do it," Matt said, "I'll go with you," Chris followed. We all agreed and started with the method.

"If any person or being is here with us, please communicate through the devices," Colby said.

Silence.

"I repeat, if any being is here with us, communicate through these devices."

Silence, again.

We all started asking questions every now and then, but with no answers, as if neither Chris nor Matt could connect with the entities here.

Few insignificant words came out despite the long time they were there. Colby touched Chris's shoulder while I touched Matt's.

When they took off the equipment, we explained that it hadn't worked well, and they replied that we could try again. Despite the fear, I didn't want to miss out, for me, the best part of the video, so I decided to be brave and offered to do it.

At first, everyone hesitated, but after insisting a little more, they let me.

I sat in the wooden chair, with the headphones and blindfold on. Matt rested his hand on my thigh to assure me that he was there.

"Death," I heard the neutral voice from the headphones, "Death," I repeated exactly the same, interpreting the tone.

"Father," "Father."

The words weren't making much sense, but I was sure they were answering the questions the others were asking.

Shortly after, I heard a small, gruff laugh, which made me jump a little in fear, as I felt it in my right ear, as if a man was there. "A small laugh, like an adult man," I said.

The meaningless words quickly reappeared, "Fire," "Broken," "Eight," among others.

Suddenly, that gruff-voiced man's laugh was heard again, "The man's laugh again," I said, now a little scared, since normally words or things don't repeat.

Matt's hand was still there, motionless, squeezing my leg every now and then.

The radio went silent, no more words came out of there, until a deep voice said, "Are you afraid of the dark?"

My body tensed quickly, my hands began to shake. It was the same voice as before. I'd had enough.

I desperately took off the headphones and threw them on the floor. My hands traveled to the back of my head, to untangle the knot and take off the blindfold. I quickly opened my eyes, and there...

There was nothing.

Only darkness.

"No, please, not again!" I started to scream desperately, the air trapped in my throat. My eyes filled with tears and poured down my face. My head was killing me, and I slowly started to feel dizzy, my legs were slowly giving out and my heart was getting tired of beating.

I closed my eyes but quickly opened them at the feeling of being shaken. "Y/N!" Matt said, his face was practically inches from mine, but I could read his panic from miles away.

My mind was clouded, as I did nothing. The tears were falling down my face, but I couldn't feel them anymore. Nor did I feel that warmth of Matt when he hugged me.

I was exhausted. My legs felt like I'd run a marathon, and breathing was as hard as if I were at the top of the highest mountain.

"Let's go home," Matt said, hugging me and carrying me to the car. I wanted to stay there to finish the video they'd been planning for months, feeling guilty for ruining it, but at that point, I was so weak I couldn't even form a word.

Matt said goodbye to everyone and took me to the car. He quickly started it and began to drive. The tiredness was killing me, and since I got tired of fighting it, unfortunately, I lost and fell fast asleep.

The softness and comfort of my bed woke me up. "Matt..." I tried to look for him but my eyelids were too tired to open.

"I'm here, love. Let's sleep," Matt said, gently wrapping an arm around my waist, pulling me as close as possible.

Hours passed and the tiredness never came. I really tried to fall asleep, to follow Matt, but I just couldn't.

I decided that the best thing to do would be to get some water and go back to bed, it was simple and quick, right?

Right?

The scenes of today were in the back of my mind, while the glass of water was in front of everything. I slowly got out of his embrace and got up to go to the kitchen. The house was silent, which indicated that Nick and Chris hadn't returned yet. I felt a little bad for ruining their video, but I also didn't want to stay there to continue suffering.

The lights were off, a cold breeze passed, sending shivers down my spine. There was a strange tension in the air, as if something was going to happen, but I decided to ignore it.

I grabbed the glass and poured myself some cold water, trying to calm my nighttime thoughts. I was already out of there, I was with Matt, there was nothing to worry about. Or was there?

I turned to leave the glass on the counter, and there I saw her.

Kneeling in front of me, the nun again.

Panic and fear ran through my veins. I was frozen, not knowing what to do. I dropped the glass on the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces, but I couldn't hear it anymore, I could only hear the nun's sobs, getting louder and louder.

"Matt! Matt, please!!" I started to scream desperately, but for some strange reason, I couldn't hear anything. No matter how hard I screamed, nothing came out of my mouth.

I grabbed my throat in desperation. My eyes wide open, I watched as the nun slowly stood up in front of me, clearly towering over me.

Her burned hands detached from her face, moving slowly towards my neck.

Tears streamed down my eyes without stopping, my body completely frozen, all my strength trying to scream or get something to wake Matt up, but nothing helped.

The nun's hands, cold and dusty, began to squeeze my throat, cutting off my breath.

This was it, there was nothing else to do. All my strength spent, my soul slowly leaving my body.

𝕴 𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖓𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘.

𝐕 -

[cheeseceli]

Boyfriend Taehyung

Pairing: Kim Taehyung × Gn!reader (established relationship)

Genre: fluff, headcanons

Request: can you write dating taehyung headcanons?

Warnings: he's an idol, mentions of marriage, skinship

A/n: last post of the year, how we feeling 💃🏻 | daily click

Jimin ver. | Taehyung ver. | Jungkook ver.

‌Before dating, you both were already friends

‌So looking at you both is just like seeing two best friends having fun around each other

‌And honestly, that might be the cutest thing of your relationship

‌He is currently taking you on random dates

‌"There is this place where you can take care of ducks. We should go there"

‌Okay??

‌He truly just sees anything and he's like "oh I should go there with my partner"

‌Just because wherever he goes he needs you by his side

‌That leads me to my next point

‌He always includes you

‌In conversations, no matter with whom, he'd always say "we"

‌Someone randomly says "taehyung, would you like to go to this new cafe" and he's like "We would love to go"

‌Because he's always including you

‌Since he started dating you it's never simply "I", it's always "we"

‌And if you both go to some place where there is live music

‌Like a restaurant or you were just walking down the street and someone is playing guitar there

‌Be ready because he will call you to dance

‌Always with a knowing/teasing smile, he will hold your hand and just starts slow dancing with you

‌"But what about the people watching" nah he's not thinking about it

‌He's only thinking that if he has any opportunity to have you close, he will have you close

‌Also sings to you randomly

‌If we're talking about a scenario where he's an idol, he would like to keep the relationship private

‌He doesn't think the world should have a place in your relationship. This is about the two of you only, and it should stay like this

‌He'd only want to make the relationship public the moment you get married, because then he'd need to explain the sudden ring on his hand

‌But he sets boundaries very quickly. Not the fans, not the media, not the company, NO ONE will dare to put themselves between the two of you

‌You become the topic of his songwriting

‌Makes a whole album for you fr fr

‌If you allow him, he'd put one of your voicemails in the song. It becomes his favourite song

‌TAKES PICTURES OF YOU

‌He has like a few albums of photos of all these pictures (there are a lot of them)

‌This guy is a kisser

‌You will be kissed every day every hour, be prepared

‌Gives you a lot of hand made gifts as well

‌And gifts for no reason at all, he just wanna cherish you just because

‌He also gives you flowers

‌And takes you to meet his family the moment the opportunity arises!!

‌He can't wait to see you with the people he loves the most

‌And he's also incredibly happy when you're with the boys

‌Although I have this feelings that he would take you to meet the most important people to him the moment you become his crush

‌Silence with him is very... Comfortable

‌There is no need to fill the silence, it's not awkward

‌I feel like you can just turn his brain off with him and simply enjoy

‌This is just a very fresh relationship you know

‌His love is kinda like a sunny day

‌It's bright, warm, it makes you happy...

‌And it's also simple

‌You never have to overthink around him

‌His love also heals your inner child

‌Loves when you visit him at work

‌The boys are never able to tease him because he doesn't care lmao, he's just happy you're there

‌He also LOVES when you call him "my boyfriend"

‌He's just so proud of it lol

‌And if you call him "my husband", he's ready to risk it all and just propose to you on the spot

‌Talking about that lmao

‌I feel like he'd be the fastest of the boys to get married

‌Six months into the relationship and he already bought a ring

‌He's just waiting for you to be ready

Masterlist I you'll probably like: what their love feels like

Reminder this is just fiction!! I'm not trying to portray real life and you shouldn't believe that this is how the members actually are. This is just for the vibe and the delulu!

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans @butnotmontana @sheraayasherrecs

Divider by @bernardsbendystraws | images 1, 2 and 3

[lucifermorningstxr]

Hearing that Chloe hadn't hated Lucifer at all throughout the last nine months was maybe the most healing thing he'd heard in a long time, and that was saying a ton since this entire night had been incredibly cathartic for him. He'd known about his behaviour two years ago and had long made up for it, but as of late, he'd thought there was no real reconciliation, so it felt like Heaven on Earth to hear that from his human. "Right, well, you have no idea how that makes me feel. At the risk of being far too sappy once more, I'll simply say thank you, Detective. And in turn, I'd like you to know I could never hate you. I can be hurt, I can be upset, but I can never hate you. Far from it. I..." He cleared his throat and turned his attention to Chloe's inquiry about Candy. He hadn't told her about that yet? Well, here it goes. "Yes! Well, partially. I met her at a club where she'd picked my wallet and lifted my ring to pay debts on said club inherited from her father. I was impressed with her skills, although nobody steals from the Devil. So, I met with her privately to discuss our issues, and we agreed to help one another. I'd pay off her debts if she married me and agreed to keep tabs on my mother. It was a mutual agreement, but an agreement... a deal... nonetheless." Lucifer tucked Chloe's hair behind her ear before adding one last line. "Oh, and by the way, the only reason I ran off to Vegas is because you nearly died, and I blamed myself because it was my fault. So, I thought I was protecting you by leaving. Anyway, I couldn't stop talking about you with Candy the entire time. That's the foundation on which we built our deal. There you have it. The whole story."

"Yes, I want to be with you, Detective. Only you, with no sharing on either side. I'm not quite sure if you picked up on it, but I bloody hated Pierce besides the Cain thing, because he had you and I didn't. I hate any guy who has you instead of me. I'd tell you to ask Dr. Martin, but that'd probably be in violation of some confidentiality laws. So, ask anyway." He smirked. "Seriously, I want you, Detective, and I don't dare what we're doing. Watching Buffy here, playing the piano there, solving crimes anywhere... I just want to be with you, Detective. That is my truest desire."

"We can do whatever it is that you desire." Lucifer smirked once again, booking Chloe's nose playfully. "As long as we're together, I'd do literally anything. And that's the Dad-honest truth."

Lucifer knew he'd fucked up, but he didn't know how bad it was until tonight. As everything came flowing out into the open, communicating as only they ever could with one another in the spirit of true vulnerability, all he wanted was to fix things between them and put to bed any and all of his bad behaviour once and for all. "Right, we had that chat last night and that's what I began thinking of ending things. But what you may not know is..." Lucifer adjusted himself against Chloe so that he could look extra deep into her eyes as he continued. "I only entered back into this relationship because I thought you were through with me. The night Eve arrived, I was distraught about you, about us, and I thought... 'why the Hell not?' Because the truth is, I didn't think I deserved any better. I knew we were as perfect a match as we presented to be all along, but I didn't think I could do any better. The only woman I truly wanted, I thought she hated me to the core." He adjusted himself once more, this time in a reassuring fashion toward his human. "I'm sorry I hurt you with Candy, Detective. I... it was a strange time, but I never meant to hurt you. I've never meant to hurt you, and I can assure you a situation like that won't happen again, especially with Eve. And if it's just a quick favour, like it was in part with Candy... I'll bring it to you first."

The Devil having a consultant? Only for Chloe.

As Chloe's eyes teared up, Lucifer gently rubbed her face with his thumb to soothe her. He knew it was largely happy tears, relieved tears even, but such emotion still warranted comfort. "I've never preferred monogamy, but I suppose that's because I've never had anyone I liked enough. Everyone is fun for a night, for a drink or for a shag, but they quickly bore me and I'm onto the next. Yet, with you... here we are, four years later, and I'm still with you. We see each other every day and I'm the farthest from bored. I suppose the shoe isn't only interesting, but it's the most interesting. An exquisitely designed custom Louboutin, if you will."

Lucifer smirked, laughing with Chloe as they separated their lippy embrace and continued their discussion. "Right, well excuse the Hell out of me for preserving my ego!" He was playful in his response, but his smile showed sincerity. "Of course there was truth to it. I'm a staunch believer that even the wildest of blue humour has kernels of truth to it. Perhaps my jokes had as many kernels as a cinema when a bloody Marvel film debuts, but I knew it was all one-sided, at least at the time. If you'd prefer to call it unrequited advances, be my guest, Detective. But for the sake of my ego at the time, they were jokes based in fact. In my own truest desire."

[iannmin]

what kinks do you think mingi would have?

KINKS MINGI WOULD HAVE ✮ | 송민기

TAGS • WARNINGS: smut, implied smaller reader x large!bf!mingi, dacryphilia, size kink, ddlg, breeding kink, marking, filming, use of toys, overstimulation (if you squint), use of nicknames, intentional lowercase in writing

A/N: girl i had to dig up some videos of mingi i watched on twitter to see what his possible kinks might be and,,, safe to say, mingi is the nastiest ahh man who only has two extremes - he's either your girliest babygirl princess or the daddiest freaky dom that mankind has ever possibly seen. so today i present to you the side of dom mingi <3 (•ө•)♡

୨୧ ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹ ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆

DACRYPHILIA

it’s not that he will purposefully make his s/o cry but it’s just that every single time he pounds into them, tears just can’t help flowing down their cheeks. and have you watched the video of mingi melting ice in his hands and staring so deeply at the PD-nim behind the cameras? im just imagining the same thing but when his s/o is crying from the overwhelming pressure, feeling all embarrassed at their tears and trying to cover them up with a pillow but mingi just throws the pillow away and grabs them by the chin and stares at them like that while he’s absolutely rearranging their guts O_O and he can just cum untouched by watching his s/o cry for him and only him. omg also to add on, mingi won’t lose the opportunity to place soft kisses on their tear-stained cheeks just because :)

SIZE KINK + DDLG

okay okay so mingi of course being a big ass giant has size kink just like yunho and san, the three nasty trio but anywayss his size kink it a little different from the other two as in he doesn’t really pay attention to himself but more on his s/o,, like how small their fingers are, how every human feature on his s/o seems to be a miniature version of his,, nearly like a human doll…and that’s where the little ddlg kink starts kickstarting for him. like bro, he’ll absolutely relish at the sight of his s/o sitting on his thighs wearing a thigh-high dress, and also,, there may or may not have been once where his s/o accidentally called him “daddy” the first time, and you could tell from the way his ears reddened, cheeks flushed, movement stuttered that he was gonna say “fuck, say it again”

BREEDING KINK + MARKING + FILMING

let me explain this trio combo kink killer. mingi loves marking. absolutely loves telling people that their s/o belongs to him, but oh poor mingi, because he has got a reputation as an idol to uphold so he can’t just possibly go around giving people hickeys right? so how does he do it? simple. breeding. filling them right up to the brim or maybe even spilling over, who will possibly know? so that’s where his breeding kink starts going absolutely bonkers and it just can’t be helped. and then he starts having this brilliant idea — filming. every time he gave them a little creampie, filling up their wet little tight pussy, he films it, and keeps it in his locked gallery for himself when he’s on tours. and just imagine there comes a day when he breeds you for real, and he films it. “f-fuck, baby m’gonna film us making our first child, hmm? gonna be such a precious memories…nnngh” but of course he shows it to no one.

SEX TOY

(bonus) umm…this is so mandatory like don’t you know those flesh light that looks like cylinders? those transparent silicone ones? if he’s feeling extra freaky he’ll probably slip it on, and thrust into his s/o’s hole WITH the fleshlight on to stretch them out to the fullest,, and have a lil size training session. of course it hurts but mingi’s soso good at convincing people to do things for him so of course you can’t deny when he comes to you all pouty like bbyeongming <3

[1425fivefive]

please you don’t wanna know what i would do for a lestappen fic, max has a pussy and charles denying him, humiliating him. i am on my hands and knees 🥲 if you choose to write this, thank you otherwise thank you anyway for your gift to the community

anon, you made a really, really good case. lestappen feat. mostly denial with light humiliation! (for the kink prompt asks)

Charles loves when he gets to take his time with Max.

Most of the time, they fuck in hotel rooms or in stolen moments in their flats in Monaco, everything crammed between races and testing and press duties. But winter break feels different. Charles gets to spread Max out on their bed and enjoy taking Max apart, bit by bit, until Max is sobbing and trembling and begging to come, every bit of him flushed a bright, gorgeous pink.

Sometimes Charles is in the mood to let Max come. Sometimes he isn’t. He never lets Max know until the very end.

Usually, Charles knows what he plans to do. Whether he’ll let Max come in the end. But today he can’t decide, can’t work out whether he’d prefer to see Max begging and desperate or soft and sated. Charles figures he’ll know what he wants when the time comes.

“Charles,” Max whines, and Charles can’t help but laugh at the desperate look on Max’s face. They’ve barely even started.

Max’s hands are cuffed, arms stretched above him, cuffs hooked to the headboard. There are clamps on each of his nipples, pushing the rosy buds out from his chest, sensitive and tender, easy for Charles to tease. There’s a third clamp on Max’s clit and he’s so pink and swollen that it makes Charles’s mouth water every time he catches sight of it. Makes Charles want to eat Max out until he cries, until he begs Charles to stop licking him or he’ll come. That’s Charles’s favorite part. When Max proves exactly how desperately he wants to be good.

The best part of the whole set-up, though, in Charles’s opinion, is the spreader bar attached to Max’s ankles, keeping him from closing his legs. Like this, Max can’t get away from anything Charles wants to do to him.

Charles is still in his clothes, a loose button down and trousers. He prefers it like this, Max naked and on display, Charles pretending to be above it all.

“What should I do with you?” Charles murmurs, eyes dragging over Max’s body. He steps to the edge of the bed and gives a flick to the clamp on Max’s clit, grinning when Max’s mouth drops open, when Max’s legs desperately try to close, straining uselessly against the bar.

“Perhaps I will just leave you like this,” Charles says, delighted when Max’s eyes well with tears. “Let you squirm and cry and think about how desperate you are, how sensitive your pretty clit is.” Charles gives the clamp another flick, just for fun.

Max flinches, lip quivering, a tear slipping down his cheek.

“Crying already,” Charles says, walking around the bed to where he can flick Max’s nipples, smiling when another tear slips free. “You really must be desperate tonight.”

Max whimpers, nods, tugging against the restraints.

Charles lets him struggle. Lets him wear himself out while Charles walks back to the foot of the bed.

Charles grabs hold of the spreader bar and tugs it up, pushing it back toward Max’s chest, shoving his knees back, thighs up, revealing his dripping cunt, the plug Charles pushed inside of him earlier today still sitting snugly in his arsehole.

“Charles,” Max gasps, feet twisting like he’s trying desperately to pull himself free, hide himself from Charles’s gaze.

“What?” Charles asks, eyes fixed on Max’s cunt. “I like looking at pretty things.”

Max moans, long and low, pussy clenching under Charles’s hungry gaze. Charles gets an idea, one he knows Max will hate and love in equal measure.

“It’s a shame, really, that I won’t be fucking it tonight,” Charles says calmly, eyes flashing up to Max’s.

Charles sees Max process his words in real time, sees the realization dawn, the devastated look on Max’s face, the hitching sob.

“But if you beg prettily enough,” Charles continues, bringing his free hand down to toy with the plug in Max’s arse, “maybe I’ll fuck you here.”

Max whimpers, and Charles know he must be heartbroken to find out that Charles won’t be fucking his pussy. That he’ll have to keep feeling empty and achy and needy, cunt dripping pointlessly onto the sheets while Charles fucks his arse. Max can’t get anywhere close to coming from having his arse fucked. It’s why Charles enjoys doing it so much.

But Max takes a shaky breath and says, “Please.”

“Max,” Charles says with a laugh, landing a sharp smack on the back of Max’s thigh, right where it meets Max’s arse, “we both know you can do better than that.”

Max whimpers, even as Charles watches his pussy get wetter, his clit throb with arousal.

“Come on, Max,” Charles murmurs, ghosting his thumb over Max’s clit, the barest hint of a touch, only enough to torment Max. “Beg.”

“Please,” Max moans, looking up at Charles with a desperate expression. “Please fuck my arse, Charles, please.”

Charles groans, cock hardening. He brings his hand down to play with the plug again, pulling it out just enough to watch Max’s rim start to stretch.

“Your arse?” Charles asks, pushing the plug back in, watching Max’s hole swallow it greedily. “You’re sure you do not want me to fuck your pussy?”

He looks up at Max, laughing when he finds Max glaring at him.

“Careful, Max,” Charles murmurs. “I can still leave you like this.”

Max whimpers, brow going slack. “Please,” Max whispers. “Please fuck my arse, Charles. Need it.”

“Good boy,” Charles breathes. His cock is aching in his trousers. He worries he might come the second he gets inside Max, but he reckons Max probably won’t mind. That it’ll only make him feel even needier.

Charles walks around to the headboard and unhooks Max’s cuffs, dragging them forward to hook onto the spreader bar instead. Like this, Max’s legs are pulled back, keeping him spread and open for Charles, leaving Charles’s hands free to wander.

Charles sheds his clothes on the way back to the foot of the bed, smiling to himself when Max moans at the sight of Charles’s cock.

“God, Max,” Charles moans, taking in the sight of Max like this, nipples and clit clamped and swollen, pussy dripping, unable to move an inch. Charles still can’t quite believe Max lets Charles do this to him. That Max wants Charles to do this to him.

Charles ducks down, pressing a quick kiss to the back of Max’s thigh, and he can’t resist breathing a quick, “I love you.”

Max’s eyes soften. “Love you, Charles.”

Heat flares in Charles’s belly, but he stands up and focuses, focuses on making this good for Max. Or bad, depending on one’s perspective.

Charles tugs Max to the edge of the bed, lining him up with Charles’s cock. When Charles pulls the plug free, Max moans, rim clenching, trying and failing to close.

Charles can’t resist dragging a thumb over Max’s stretched rim and saying, “Try to close for me, baby.”

Max tries, fails, stretched too wide for too long by the plug.

“Fuck,” Charles groans. “Such a fucking slut, Max. Look at how loose you are, and I haven’t even fucked you yet.” Charles presses the tip of his thumb in, the slide easy. “I wonder if I will even be able to feel anything.”

Max sobs at that, chest flushing.

“You will have to work very hard for me, Max,” Charles says. “Try to make it good, yes?”

Max nods frantically and Charles watches his hole clench, only able to close a bit despite Max’s best efforts.

Charles lets out a mocking laugh. “Perhaps it is impossible. Perhaps it is not worth my time.” Charles squirts a bit of lube into his hand, starting to stroke himself showily, ignoring Max’s noises of protest. “Maybe I will come like this instead,” Charles muses, thumbing over the head of his cock. “Get myself off and see how good your pretty pussy looks covered in my come.”

“No,” Max gasps, pulling helplessly against the restraints, staring up at Charles with eyes dark with desperation. “No, please, Charles, please fuck me.” He shuts his eyes, takes a shuddering breath. “I can make it good, I promise.”

“You promise, yes?” Charles asks.

Max’s eyes fly open and he nods, head flying up and down. “Yes,” Max says. “Yes, Charles, yes, I’ll be so good, so good for you, I promise. I’ll make it so tight, please, please, please.”

Charles moans, has to squeeze the head of his cock tight to keep from coming.

“Okay,” Charles says, pretending like fucking Max’s gorgeous arse is a burden. “Remember your promise, yes?”

Max whimpers, nods.

Charles starts to push in, but he notices the clamp on Max’s clit and realizes Max might come if Charles leaves it on, the bounce of the clamp as Charles fucks him potentially enough to push him over.

When Charles reaches for the clamp, Max lets out a sob. “No, Charles, please, don’t take it off.”

“Ah,” Charles says, grinning, hand hovering above the clamp. “You want to come.”

Charles sees panic flash across Max’s face as Max realizes the mistake he’s made, revealing how badly he wants to come. It only makes Charles want to deny him more.

“Don't try to lie, Max,” Charles continues. “It is very obvious you want to come.”

Max moans, face and neck flushing.

“Who decides when you come?” Charles asks.

Max whimpers, but he says, “You.”

“Yes, good boy.” Charles pinches the clamp between his fingers. “And if I say you don’t get to come”—Charles tugs the clamp free—“you are not coming.”

Tears flow freely down Max’s face as Charles tosses the clamp onto the sheets, taking takes away Max’s last hope of coming. As Max processes that Charles is going to fuck his arse with nothing touching his pussy or clit, that Charles is going to leave Max dripping and oversensitive and desperate.

With that, Charles plants his hands on the backs of Max’s spread thighs and pushes into Max’s arse.

To Max’s credit, he tries to make it tight even as he lets out devastated little whimpers, tears still slipping down his cheeks.

Charles fucks him deep and slow, avoiding anything brushing Max’s pussy—Charles’s stomach, his hands, his fingers. He can’t stop staring at Max’s cunt. At how empty it looks, pink and soaking wet, at Max’s plump clit, so swollen it’s peaking out of its hood. Nothing touching Max anywhere that matters.

Max cries the entire time, heaving sobs as Charles fucks his arse. It must feel awful, Charles thinks, having Charles so close to where Max wants him, getting fucked in the wrong hole.

“Ask me for it,” Charles murmurs, eyes still fixed on Max’s dripping pussy. “Ask me.”

Max’s tears slow and Charles knows Max thinks Charles might give in, that maybe Charles has changed his mind.

“Please,” Max gasps. “Fuck my pussy, please, Charles, need it so fucking bad.”

Charles can feel himself getting closer. “Yeah, Max, just like that, keep going.”

“Want your cock in my pussy, please, Charles, please,” Max pleads, frantic. “Want you to fuck my pretty pussy, want you to come in me, please, Charles, please, I need it, I need it.” Max starts crying again and sobs, “Need you in my pussy, please.”

Charles moans, long and low, and comes deep in Max’s arse. He comes harder than he has in ages as he watches Max realize what’s happening, watches Max let out a devastated cry, sobbing openly as he feels Charles come in his arse.

“No,” Max sobs, tears streaming, face bright red. His head thrashes to the side, like he’s trying to hide his face, realizing he can’t. “Charles,” he moans, his pussy swollen and red, begging for Charles’s fingers, his cock, his mouth. Begging for things that Charles won’t give it, because Charles likes seeing Max like this too much, knows Max loves it too. “Charles, fuck,” Max sobs. ”I needed it, I needed it, please.” 

“I know, baby,” Charles murmurs, stroking a hand over Max’s thigh. “I know it must hurt.”

Max just cries, moaning as Charles pulls out, pushing the plug back in to keep Charles’s come inside. Charles leaves Max there for just a moment, letting Max sit with the disappointment, the aching arousal, the knowledge that he won’t be coming tonight.

But Charles is too desperate to get his hands on Max, and before long he’s unhooking Max’s wrists and ankles, unlocking the cuffs, kissing the reddened skin.

“So good, baby,” Charles whispers, pulling Max into his arms. “So fucking good for me, perfect, baby.”

Max takes a shaky breath, shoving his face into the pocket of space between Charles’s neck and shoulder. “Yeah?” Max asks, voice muffled. “I was good?”

“So good, Max,” Charles repeats, pulling Max tighter against him. “So good, always.”

[justevelynnnn]

Being Remy’s wife🃏🩶

Summary: How you ended up marrying Remy and what he’s like as a lover

Content: Fem! Reader x Gambit

Warnings: A few nsfw mentions

A/N: I just started Xmen 97 and Gambit is just..❤️❤️ Whew…i feel like i need all the xmen atp (I wrote this a month ago, then right after I watched the ep when he freaking died 💀, but rn I’m just clearing out drafts)

Not proofread

- You both were part of the team before things really took off but of course eventually Remy started to work his usual charm on you after a while

- Training with him suddenly felt more…intimate. More intense.

- He’d pin you more and flirt and at first you brushed it off, but after while it just seems like he was actually into you. Especially after you noticed how he wouldn’t flirt with just anyone anymore, just you.

- So naturally you gave him a chance and started dating him.

- He’s such a sweetheart deep down. He’s a big hugger and even bigger with compliments. This man is in love.

- Everything with him is just passionate. He’s a real gentleman.

- He’s obsessed with kissing you, touching you. His hand is always on your hip or he’s always close to you

- The second you show any sign of feeling insecure? He’s literally worshipping you. Showering you with uplifting compliments.

- After a while he proposes to you. It’s after an anniversary dinner of when you guys started dating when he tells you to look at the moon and while turned around he gets on his knee and has this beautiful ring held behind you.

- You couldn’t even worry about where he got such a ring when you turned around and saw it

- You two get married quickly after at the mansion. The main x-men were there of course and a few trusted friends. Though Xavier couldn’t walk he still wheeled you down the aisle. Remy cried. Scott also cried.

- Remy’s vows were sweet. His accent gets a bit stronger as he choked up a bit. He said how he was super lucky to have you. How he loved you and will love you forever even after death.

- The wedding overall was beautiful. Flowers that were red and black like Remy’s eyes… a tall cake with beautifully placed decorations, fairy lights that lit up the area at night…

- Of course, there was soon a honeymoon.

- Remy planned most of it. He found a beautiful island (mutant safe of course so there would be no issues) and paid (somehow) for everything. The hotel was gorgeous and he found a way to get you both one of those honeymoon suites

- We already know what happened in this room..

- Lots and lots of love making

- He’s such a romantic in and out the bed ofc he’s gonna spend most of the honeymoon doing you

- The marriage never gets boring. He keeps things interesting whether it’s a random love letter or a bouquet of flowers out of the blue.

- You two go on missions as a duo a lot. You guys are the next xmen power couple for sure.

- Though he’d get you both in trouble also.. lots of silly adventures when missions (weren’t too serious of course)

- He really loved being your husband. He’d do anything for you.

- He cooks food for you as it’s one if his love languages, he always makes your favorites

- He’s a big cuddler as well, every night he’s holding onto you tightly.

- You guys get comfortable with each other, no longer scared or nervous about being perfect around each other

- Sharing clothes became a very common thing too. Well, he really couldn’t fit anything of yours but he lent you a lot of shirts

- Random slow dances late at night

- Patiently reaching you French phrases and sayings

- This man is your dream husband even if he’s a but mischievous 🤍

[coolgrl111]

STALKER ! (part two)

fratboy!patrick zweig x reader

part 1

the moment she hit the call button, patrick moved. fast. faster than she expected. he darted around the bed, his hand closing around her wrist before she could lift the phone to her ear.

“no, no, no,” he said, his voice a low, desperate plea. “don’t do that. you don’t need to do that.”

she froze, her breath hitching as his grip tightened just enough to keep her from breaking free. his face was close now, too close, his features a mix of panic and something darker, something wild.

“let go of me,” she said, her voice trembling but firm.

patrick hesitated, his gaze flickering between her face and the phone in her hand. “i’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly, almost tenderly. “i would never hurt you.”

“you’re hurting me now,” she shot back, her voice gaining strength.

he blinked, like her words had broken through some fog in his mind. his grip loosened, and he stepped back, his hands raised in surrender. “okay. okay, i’m sorry. see? i’m letting go.”

she didn’t waste a second. as soon as he released her, she bolted for the door, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. but patrick was quicker.

he slammed the door shut before she could reach it, his palm flat against the wood.

“please,” he said, his voice cracking. “just listen to me. i—i don’t know how to say this without sounding crazy, but you’re all i think about. you’re in my head, all the time, and it’s like… like i can’t breathe without you.”

“patrick,” she said, her back pressed against the door, her eyes wide with fear. “this isn’t normal. this isn’t okay.”

he flinched, the words hitting him like a physical blow. “i know it’s not okay,” he said, running a hand through his hair, his composure unraveling. “but i can’t stop. you’ve got this… this hold on me, and i don’t know how to break free. i don’t want to break free.”

she pressed herself harder against the door, her fingers inching toward the handle. “you need help,” she said, her voice shaking. “real help.”

patrick laughed, but there was no humor in it. “help? you’re my help. don’t you see? you’re the only thing that makes sense in my life.”

“this isn’t love,” she said, her voice rising. “this is obsession.”

the word hung in the air, heavy and damning. patrick stared at her, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to find the right words, the right way to make her understand.

“maybe it is,” he said finally, his voice soft, almost broken. “but it’s all i’ve got. you’re all i’ve got.”

her hand finally found the doorknob, and with a quick twist, she flung the door open. she ran into the hallway, her bare feet slapping against the cold floor as she shouted for help.

patrick didn’t follow. he stood in the doorway of her room, watching her disappear down the hall, his heart aching in a way he couldn’t explain.

“you’ll see,” he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible. “you’ll see I’m the one who cares the most.”

and then, just like that, he was gone.

—

the next morning, her dorm felt like a crime scene. sunlight sliced through the blinds, sharp and unforgiving, exposing the wreckage patrick had left behind—her desk chair overturned, books scattered like broken promises, her phone lying abandoned where it had fallen during her panicked retreat.

her roommate walked in, still smelling like cheap tequila and regret. she stopped in her tracks, taking in the mess. “what the hell happened here?”

her throat tightened. “nothing,” she said quickly, the words brittle and sharp as glass. “just… knocked some stuff over.”

it was a terrible lie, and they both knew it. but the truth? the truth was unspeakable.

she spent the day moving through campus like a ghost. every sound behind her made her heart jump, every pair of eyes felt like his. patrick.

but she didn’t see him.

he wasn’t gone, though. she could feel him.

she couldn’t have known that he was closer than ever, watching her every move with predatory precision. the guy behind her in line at the coffee shop, the one who just happened to know her name, wasn’t a coincidence. the student sitting two rows back in her lecture hall, just within earshot of her plans, wasn’t random.

patrick wasn’t gone.

he was embedding himself into her world, inch by inch.

when she got back to her dorm that night, she locked the door with trembling hands. checked the windows, the closet, under the bed. every shadow in the room felt like it might move. but it didn’t.

she lay awake, clutching her blanket like it was armor, willing herself to sleep.

and then, at 3:04 a.m., her phone buzzed.

the message was waiting for her: “you left your scarf at the library today. i’ll bring it back to you.”

her blood turned to ice. she hadn’t been to the library. she didn’t own a scarf.

her breath came in short, shallow gasps as she stared at the text. she deleted it, but the damage was done. the walls seemed to close in around her, suffocating her with the knowledge that patrick wasn’t just watching—he was playing a game.

she also wasn’t expecting a knock at her dorm door that night, when most of the hall was quiet and the thought of opening the door felt like inviting something sinister in.

but the knock came again—soft, hesitant, as if the person on the other side wasn’t sure if they wanted her to answer.

“who is it?” she called out, her voice steady despite the pounding in her chest.

“art,” came the reply, muffled through the door.

art. she’d seen him once or twice at parties, always lingering near patrick like a shadow, quiet where patrick was loud, detached where patrick burned too brightly.

“what do you want?” she asked, gripping the door handle but not turning it.

there was a pause, then a sigh. “can we talk? it’s important.”

every instinct screamed at her to leave it locked, but something in his voice—an edge, a weight—made her pull the door open just enough to see him standing there, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, his expression strained.

“what is it?” she asked, keeping the door partially closed between them.

art glanced down the hall, then back at her. “can i come in?”

“no.”

he huffed out a breath, nodding slightly. “fair. look, i’m here because… you need to know something. about patrick.”

the sound of his name sent a jolt through her, but she tried to keep her face neutral. “what about him?”

art hesitated, his jaw tightening as he searched for the right words. “he’s… not okay,” he said finally. “he’s been acting—look, i don’t know how to say this without it sounding insane, but he’s obsessed with you. like, really obsessed.”

she felt the air leave her lungs, the confirmation she didn’t want to hear settling like a stone in her stomach.

“i know he’s been… showing up,” art continued, his voice low. “and i know you’re probably scared. you should be. patrick doesn’t know how to stop himself once he’s fixated on something. or someone.”

her grip on the door tightened. “why are you telling me this?”

art’s eyes softened, guilt flickering across his face. “because i’m his friend, but i’m not blind. and if he hurts you… i don’t think i can live with that.”

“how do i stop him?” she whispered, the question barely audible.

art swallowed hard. “you can’t. but i might be able to. just… stay out of sight for a while. keep your door locked. and if he shows up, call me.”

he slipped a piece of paper through the gap in the door—a phone number scrawled hastily—and then he was gone, leaving her alone with the chilling weight of his words.

patrick was obsessed. and now, it felt like the walls were closing in faster than ever. would she ever feel safe again?

[ooooo-mcyt]

Scott's intelligence, charisma, and adaptability are traits held back only by his tendency toward inconsolable affection.

Scott is really good at planning, really good at talking his way out of things, at gathering resources, at preparing, at being calm, rational, at staying alive. Staying on the sidelines enough to not rock the boat, staying friendly enough to always be the last target, and staying aware enough to put up a challenge for anyone who might target him at the same time.

Of course, he performs very well. But he could perform better, if he possessed the ability to let go.

In Thirdlife he placed tenth- why? Because he didn't have the will to continue without Jimmy. Where Scott had been rational all season, taking things slow, keeping his head down, he suddenly stumbled around in a vengeance driven daze, driven to nothing but grief and rage without his partner.

In Double Life and Secret Life, Scott fully sacrificed his final life. He killed himself in Double Life, handed the victory to someone else. He begged Gem to kill him in Secret Life, insistent on seeing her win.

In Limited Life and Real Life, Scott didn't seem to have intention to give up, per say, but he was happy to lose. Martyn stabs him in the back and Scott says he wouldn't have it any other way. Cleo laughs that he wouldn't kill her as they fight, and she's probably right.

Scott's capabilities can only carry him as far as his own will does, and often that will is doused instantly without a partner to shine for.

Of course, there's an argument to be made that 'victory' is what you make of it. How can Scott's love hold him back if he considers seeing his partners win to be a victory? Why does technical victory count for more than personal victory? And, well, it doesn't in a vacuum. But I also get the sense that Scott is unhappy with his role at times.

He says it- "Sometimes you have to take one for the band" and similar endings- with satisfaction, but it also feels..resigned in a sense. Regardless of the meaning he finds in it, being stabbed through the chest by the ones you love is difficult. Boiling down your humanity to what you can give away is difficult. Always having to wonder whether your allies are here out of loyalty to you or ambition seeking what you can do for them (and coming to the conclusion that it doesn't make a difference) is difficult. Waking up again in a new world and being treated like a stranger by those same allies is difficult.

And sometimes I wonder what could be.

Would there would be less misery, loneliness, uncertainty, in a world where he was someone more capable of letting go? If he could find joy in bloodied hands and empty rooms? If he could be happier seeing himself with a crown than he is with a sword through his chest? Or would it just be lonelier? Sacrificing what comes naturally to him- sacrificing his light and the love he fights for- so he can better fit in to the cruel game he's expected to play?

I don't know.

Maybe no matter what you do, there's no way to 'win' a game like this. Maybe small victories in a sea of loneliness and uncertainty is the best you can hope for in a death game.

[hey-august]

DP December 🤡🥴

WC: ~1.3k Warnings: NSFW, Buggy x GN!reader, anal sex - buggy receiving, double anal penetration - buggy receiving, some degrading talk, anal fingering, creampie, cockwarming kinda??, pegging - reader's equipment is referred to as a dick and a cock but could be interpreted as a strap-on, misuse of devil fruit powers of course A/N: TY for this suggestion, anon! Doing this right for you is what kept me going, I hope you like it!

DP December tag (Let's see if I can crank out one more tomorrow)

Oh, your sweet clown is in need of attention. Your attention. 

He looks so pretty on his knees with his cheek pressed against the thick green rug and his ass in the air. He’s real messy, fingering himself like that. So eager. 

“Honey? Baby? Please, I’m ready, I’m so ready,” Buggy whines. 

He’s been working three fingers in and out of himself, moaning and bellowing the entire time. His noises are almost theatrical, which wouldn’t be out of the question for the performer - the shining star himself - but they’re the real deal. Honest, throaty confessions of how fucking horny he is. How damn good he makes himself feel. How badly Buggy wants you to fuck him. How he needs you to fuck him.

“Show me how ready you are.”

Buggy moans into the carpet, letting the green forest muffle his delight and frustration. Inching his knees forward more, the pirate slips out his ring finger. With his pointer and index still buried to the second knuckle, he keeps the tension. There’s a gape.

“Did I do it? Is it right?” He’s absolutely desperate for your answer, whatever it may be. If you said no, he would jam his slippery fingers back in and fuck himself silly. 

The ring of muscle constricts slightly while he waits, but Buggy keeps it taut. He keeps himself exposed while you inspect him.

“C’mooon, don’t ignore me!” How cute, he’s getting agitated.

“Sorry, babe, I was just admiring the view,” you soothe. 

Getting between his legs, you grab the fat of his ass in your left hand and squeeze. The extra spread has him gasping so delightfully. And when you grab his hand and use it like a toy for his ass, his guttural sounds and slack-jawed profanities fill the room and stoke your fire.

“Okay, okay, you’re good. Where’d you put the oil?” 

A hand zips over with a tub of coconut oil that had finger tracks on the surface.

Oh, I put it in my hair. I use it to moisturize. You know, that salty sea air really does a number on your skin. I don’t want to look old and wrinkly like a dried up blueberry. 

What a fucking liar. 

The way the pirate had scooped it out to use for lubrication was too quick and too practiced. Maybe Buggy used it for those other reasons as well, but there was no doubt that the coconut oil was his companion in the moments where he’d cry your name into his pillow and spill all over his hands.

You line up as best as you could. It’s a little tricky, but you manage. Your blunt head presses against his loosened entrance. The way he easily wraps around the very tip was downright filthy. It looks like his body is yearning to suck you in.

“Tell me what you feel, Captain. Don’t stop, I want to hear it all,” you say while easing yourself in.

“You,” he gasps immediately. “S-so much better than my fingers. And, and…unnnggggh..."

“Keep using your words, pretty boy.” 

Your right hand is on the small of his back, thumb rubbing small circles of comfort. Softness and preparation for what comes next. Buggy’s own dick is in your control tonight and also prodding at the clown. 

Fucking himself isn’t something new. You fucking him isn’t new. Hell, he’s had one in his mouth and the other in his ass before too. But using both in the same place had been a topic you two danced around, leaving it as an unspoken gift for an ordinary day.

“Oooohhhh~” What sounds like it might have been the start of a word rapidly dissolves in ecstasy. “Feelsssoogoood,” Buggy slurs, no doubt drooling a puddle into the carpet.

His body tenses when the second member made its grand entrance. While he had worked himself loose, his greedy fingers only served to make this easier, not completely effortless. “S’tight.”

“Hmm?” You pause. The only movement being your thumb on his back.

“‘n full.” With a strained groan, Buggy props himself off the floor a few inches and leans his head against his forearms. “I can- I can feel myself squeezing my dick against y-you. But -haah- I also want to keep stretching myself out.”

Whenever his voice trembles and cracks, he takes a deep breath and tries again. What a good boy. And yet, all you want to do is ruin him. See how long he can keep talking coherently.

You push.

“Uuuuhhhhh, yeah, like that…”

There’s a hint of a growl in that one. A hunger being satiated. So you keep filling him until you bottom out. For a moment, you weren’t sure if Buggy would be able to take both entirely, but a floating thumbs up assured you that he wasn’t done.

“Good job, Captain,” you praise while running your hands along the sides of his back.

“Y-yeah?” came a tremulous response. “O-of course, of course I’m doing a good job.” 

Even while being defiled by his own fucking cock, Buggy couldn’t turn off his inflated ego. How there was room for two dicks and that ego of his, you’d never know.

Reaching around, you follow the trail of hair from his stomach to a broad expanse of skin. A tender area void of an equally sensitive appendage. While you are busy stroking his dick (and yours) in his ass, you begin to rub the empty space.

“What- why-” Buggy sputters.

“Tell me, sweetie. What is it like?"

“I- I can’t describe it,” he whines. “It’s confusing and it’s g-good, don't stop.”

“Oh, Buggy,” you say with mock disappointment. “You’re a creative guy, I’m sure you could do better describing how all this feels.” You slow and deepen everything - slotting into him as purposefully as possible, while pressing your whole hand into his groin.

A whole body tremble takes over and, for a moment, you feel like the entire world is shaking. So you do it all again.

Another low voiced prompt. Another deep thrust. Another grind of your palm. But this time, you follow that last one with a gentle tap, which sparks Buggy back to life.

“-hand feels teasing. Like, like when you play that fucking “just the tip” game.” 

The words came bursting out, tumbling over themselves in an attempt to escape in between moans. 

“...s��practically edging but..uuunnngh-” A gasp for air. “c-can -nnnh- k’you hit it aga-ah~!” 

You giggle and tap away an accompanying drum beat to your pounding.

“-nd I feel- I feel it more inside, m-more than doing it.”

“Aw, do you like being screwed? Tell me what you like,” you asked. 

Whatever ravenous fire you have inside is dogged and determined. You have to feed it. Your pleasure and enjoyment is only kindling, but hearing Buggy fall apart is what you really need.

“C’mon, pretty boy. Come on these cocks and- and tell me how it feels.” You cling to the clown’s sweaty back and keep thrusting. You feel like an animal, something feral and acting on instinct while you feast on your tasty prey.

“Fuck! Yes, I like it, I need it, baby, pleaaaase,” Buggy cries. 

His hands are balled into fists. His muscles are tight. The poor guy is trying so hard to focus and keep talking for you. Words and noises continue to fall from his lips, along with slobber and drool. The carpet by his face is probably wet.

Somewhere in his intelligible babble are the strained words, “I’m coming~!” Then a brief silence before the satisfied grunts from painting his own insides. 

His high is yours, the pleasure shared. Your movements slow in time and soften with Buggy’s vocalizations. The more they get airy and nasally, you ease up. Staying buried inside the dear Captain, you loosely wrap an arm around his midsection and hold him through each heaving breath. The touch is tacky - sticky with sweat and sex.

The window between staying a pliant fuck and becoming too tender and overstimulated is short. Before it closes, you slip out. Partially.

Buggy’s semi-hard dick is left behind, keeping the pirate plugged and full.

He earned it.

[kamimarroco]

this was supposed to be shorter, but i ended up exaggerating. also posting now because i really don't know if i would have the courage to do it during the day while aware of the mistakes that the story has :)

high chance that at some point I will delete it, or not. anyway

Words: almost 900

you find yourself sprawled across the grand, uncomfortably soft bed in the room, your gaze fixed on the luxurious ceiling, distracted by the figures drawn above. the blanket is too low to even cover your feet, the cold of the night hitting your skin protected only by the fabric of your pajamas.

you look to the side and see Fox curled up on part of the bed, his back turned to you and the upper half of his body completely exposed, unlike the lower half. you feel tempted, a desire you haven't felt for a while.

it wouldn't hurt to try, right?

you put boredom aside and decide to make the effort to get closer to him, being careful so that he doesn't notice the changes in weight on the bed. you get close enough to have him within arm's reach, reaching out to gently run your fingers over Fox's fur. your skin instantly picks up the capillaries, not so bold as to actually touch, but enough to feel something. your eye widens, your cheeks slightly burning, and then you move.

you run your fingers down his back, feeling his fur, tracing the scars that adorn his age-affected skin, noticing the details that you never took the time to pay due attention to. it's interesting, and most importantly, it's something to keep your mind busy. 

you lower your fingertips, and lower and lower, getting close to the part of the body where his tail starts, about to feel-

“what are you doing?", comes a harsh, deep and authoritative voice, and perhaps above all, angry.

your wrist is violently grabbed by one of Fox's hands, stopping your activity of exploring his body, your gaze seconds later moving to meet his. furrowed brows deepen the wrinkles that decorate his face, amber eyes glaring furiously at you. 

he didn't expect you to do that.

“nothing. i'm just touching you”, you answer honestly with a calm and collected attitude, not realizing the need to lie about something so small that was more than obvious. 

“touching me? without my permission?”, the way he takes great offense at your little act is ironic when you remember that he scourges your body until you open up, not caring about your consent or the pain inflicted on you.

it's strange, of course. you never had a good relationship with Fox, let alone initiate something as intimate as simply touching him while he sleeps. it's weird when you two point your nails and teeth at each other at least most of the time.

“i was just trying to do something good”

“oh, really? you, who never accepted my affections or showed gratitude for keeping you alive?”

you feel as if a thousand arrows have been aimed at your heart and shot all at once, the discomfort is too real for you to let go, but you really don't want to let it show.

“okay. yeah, fine. have it your way", you quickly remove your wrist from his grip, his gaze never leaving you even as you begin to distance yourself, returning to your spot on the bed, away from him and still without the blanket. you don't hear him say anything or feel him move from his spot, but you know he continues to watch you with distrust.

you turn your back and close your eye, trying to fall asleep as you curl up into yourself, the cold that afflicts you no longer just physical, but emotional.

you don't know how many minutes pass, but when your eyelid threaten to cover your vision, you feel something envelop your body. warm, soft, and furry.

not only does the warm, soft fabric of the blanket catch you, but someone else's body does too. you feel Fox's claws caressing your arm lightly, his chest pressed against your back. you feel his breathing behind you, controlled, not really relaxed. 

“i don't know why you did that", he whispers, the tone lower than the one he usually uses. “you've never done it before, why now?”

do you really need a reason for what you did?

“i don't know. i wanted something different. i wanted something that wasn't just fighting or hate sex”, you open the only eye you have to look at the wall, not finding the strength to turn your head and see him. “maybe i was actually trying to do something good”

you can't fool yourself into thinking that this doesn't sound weird. Fox, then, has every reason to doubt you even more. and yet, your voice sounds genuine, not with the intention of deceiving.

perhaps a part of you really wants to make your relationship more pleasant, despite the intrigues that often come to light countless times. or maybe you're just tired of fighting for something over and over and over again. a genuinely true change would not be terrible, quite the contrary.

"i kind of liked how you touched my body," Fox confesses quietly, warming up to you in both a literal and figurative sense. his claws no longer seem to awaken a fight-or-flight instinct within you. "you really seemed fascinated by it…"

in one of the rare moments, you can tolerate and, incredibly, appreciate each other's presence, so different from the dynamics you usually have. it's refreshing in a way you can't put into words

even if you know that this will not last

[gamerbot-22]

Vere Doing Fox Things

Because if you give a Rosie an animal/animal adjacent character, he’s going to want some behavior to go with it.

TW/CWs: Potential Accidental Canon Deviance, incredibly mild and vague sexy implications if you squint.

This is gonna be more conversational than my other headcanon posts, which probably isn’t saying much considering those posts’ tone. Likes and reblogs appreciated as always!

But yeah, man. I think Vere laughs like a fucking maniac. Like he hears one joke that hits him in just the right spot and he’s barking laughing with his eyes squeezed shut and this real wide smile that shows off all his teeth. It’s either deathly contagious, causing the laughter to fan out across whatever group he might find himself in, or it makes people get nervous because Holy Shit, Those Fangs Are Crazy!

Also the fox sounds carry over to some of the most benign things. Like he gets some dust up his nose and sneezes so hard it sounds like a bark. He’s especially sensitive about that sound so like… go forth and tease him within an inch of his life, it’s payback time.

Also also if, heavens forbid, someone steps or something lands on his tail he 1000% lets out that alarm bark/scream foxes do. Then he gets all defensive again because like. Ow.

Like most animals, fox kits will play fight with each other as practice when they’re tiny and I think it’d actually be really easy to goad Vere into a fight now that he’s an adult, but it might be hard to tip him off to the level of force he’s supposed to be using. You know how sometimes you’ll be wrastling with a puppy and out of nowhere it like Actually Bites You? That happens once or twice and Vere barely feels bad about it when it does—

His ears are really expressive, as we’ve seen already, and building off that I think they’re like. Constantly moving in busy environments. Like he’s flicking from noise to noise all around him trying to keep track of who’s saying what and where. Whatever kind of life he’s had before he meets us justifies a little caution, don’t you think? And as a consequence I think he gets auditory sensory overload really easily and that makes him especially crabby.

Ending on a high note, he’s got BNE, or Big Nuzzling Energy. Once he’s comfy with a person and it’s just the two of you, you can bet your sweet ass he’s cramming his whole face in whatever divot he can get, whether that’s your shoulder, chest, waist, you name it. Also he’s the reigning champ of building pillow nests and diving into them so consider your bedclothes’ days fucking numbered.

[kopiicryptid]

I think it's interesting but also nightmarish how the mouthwashing fandom can't decide whether or not they like Curly.

I don't think there's anything inherently wrong in liking his character, in fact I think it's quite understandable considering how we can probably find a bit of him in us all and how he was meant to be written that way. He has good intentions, he's a people pleaser, he has mental health issues that he keeps closed off about, he feels lost in his life, he wants to keep the peace. However, it becomes all the more nuanced when you consider despite all these 'good' traits, he still ends up failing, making huge mistakes, and worst of all, an enabler.

Like I said in my analysis of his humanity, to portray him a saint is to ignore his failures as a captain, a friend, and a 'good' human and how they led to the demise of his crew. Yet to portray him as a monster only furthers the message of his dehumanization in the game and in real life, taking away from the point of his character and what makes him so horrifying—that he was just an ordinary man and yet his inactions led to such consequences.

Regardless of his struggles, regardless of his past, regardless of even if he knew, understood, and was upset by Anya's situation, nothing changes the fact that his first instinct was to 'fix it', how to get Jimmy out of trouble. Again. Not to comfort Anya, not to show her support, not to consider his options, not even chastise his friend. Because of that, he is worthy of criticism and even hatred or disgust as well. You can find sympathy for his flaws up until the point where it starts to negatively effect the people around him, something that simply can't be ignored about his character. Intentions are fine and all, but it's the effects that can last forever.

Though it pains me to see how black and white the fandom treats his character, even as someone who deeply resonates with Anya. I know people tend to enjoy throwing around the term 'morally grey' with him as an excuse, but I find the best way to describe Curly is, well, just a man. Someone who grew up with all the privileges of a man but experiences the same struggles of the average human. I believe Curly could've most certainly handled the situation a lot better but the problem is he didn't and that is simply something we need to accept as his fault.

Although as Anya says, "I want to believe our worst moments don’t define us." And that is so, so crucial when it comes to Curly's character. Often times I feel angry at him, for his indecisiveness, his power and privilege that he takes for granted. But often times I also see myself in him, a person that is lost, influenced by the world they grew up in and making mistakes and errors as a result of that despite trying their best to do what they believe is right. He isn't a saint, he isn't a monster, he's a human being, one that failed to do the right thing.

You are allowed to love him. You are allowed to hate him. Feeling sympathy or disdain for such a character is only human after all, we cannot deny that about ourselves when it comes to the tragedy that is Curly's character and story. But I don't think that either opinion should be ignored, belittled, or worse, harassed over, and I have seen that time and time again with this fandom.

[fsnotes]

“If I skated for the sake of winning, I would do it differently”

On December 29th a morning radio programme Dome Square on Latvijas Radio 4 broadcasted an interview with Deniss (in Russian). They discussed figure skating in Latvia, plans for the future, ways to deal with tiredness and avoiding the burnout, and of course dived into personal and sports philosophy. There are also some New Year wishes to the listeners!

Full recording available here.

Translation into English below the cut.

In December Deniss Vasiljevs became a seven-time champion of Latvia. ‘If I skated for the sake of winning, I would do it differently’, says the athlete about his performances in an interview with my colleague Natalya Meshcheriakova for “Dome Square”. The talented athlete spoke about his rules of life, summarised the results of the past year, set goals for the future, and also shared how he prefers to recuperate.

DV: I really enjoy coming back to Latvia. When I see all the younger generations, it makes me very happy, and in its own way it motivates me to keep skating and to keep, in fact, skating for them too. And to come to Latvia… There are not so many competitions in December, and to skate at your home ice rink, to do a full competition and try new elements is always very, very nice and very important for figure skating in the country. And I have always been motivated to do something useful for society (Deniss used the English word here, then translated himself). So it is a great pleasure for me to be here.

NM: The languages are getting confused, aren't they? What's that about, is it because you spend most time outside of Latvia?

DV: I speak English practically all the time; also French, and I learnt Latvian, and I speak mostly Russian with my parents, so I have a little bit much [of the languages]. Even German manages to get in. Anyway, I'm still readjusting. I need a couple of days to fully come back and think in the language I speak.

NM: But you are in Latvia for a smaller part of the time. If you take a year, how much time do you spend here?

DV: This year, so far, I have only spent two days in Latvia.

NM: And where are you mostly based then?

DV: Now I'm in Switzerland, in Champéry, but I'm travelling a lot because of figure skating competitions, basically flying around the world. I've flown round the planet at least three times this year.

NM: Three times... Yes, I understand that there are competitions, there is a goal, motivation, but how do you fight fatigue? It probably requires a huge amount of, well, physical strength, and some special approach. How do you avoid the burn out?

DV: We have two opportunities to rest during a season; sometimes three. There are Christmas holidays, or New Year's Eve. These are very social ones. Then in the end of the season — somewhere in May — we get a real vacation, but usually it isn't longer than two weeks. And there's one just before the start of the season, two or three days, because the heavy summer preparation ends and seasonal work begins.

In a way, you get used to it. It's indeed very difficult when you can't sleep, when you have time zone changes all the time. Say, this year: I got a Grand Prix event in the US and another one in China. I went to China to compete for a week, came back for a week; went to America for a week, came back for a week to go somewhere else to compete again; spent a week again, and came back to China for a week; then came back to train for a week, and the next week I had to be [in Riga]. All this travelling, ice sessions, flying and training, it's hard enough. When it's not your first year like this, you adapt in your own way, but it's always very hard on the body. Just like now, when we're halfway through the season and you feel like you're already kind of a squeezed lemon.

NM: And how do you regain your strength? What helps you? What gives you that full-fledged rest, when you have it, yes, you said, in May, in December?

DV: Mostly I barricade myself in my room (laughs). Nothing but sleeping helps. So, my version of rest is mostly finding a quiet place and sleeping. Yet music is mostly used for work. I tend to relax, maybe, listening to classical music in the evening, or jazz, but…

NM: Probably with classical music you already imagine, like, how you would skate to this tune. It's a professional deformation already.

DV: Yeah, yeah, that's exactly what it is. At one point, especially a couple of years ago, everything I did was about figure skating. Completely. Listening to music, watching ballet, doesn't matter no matter. I was watching the body movements and imagining how it's all going to look like, which is a little bit…. It makes you go crazy. To me, studying helped a lot.

NM: What do you mean exactly?

DV: I completed my Masters this year. It really helped me to... get out of figure skating? To just study and then come back to train and work.

NM: Where did you study, and how?

DV: In Latvia, at Daugavpils Universitāte. I got a lot of help with timing there, so I was able to study relatively freely in general. It helped a lot to not go crazy with sports. But in general everyone survives in their own way. My option is to always be interested in what's going on around me; learning something, trying to do something. Drawing.

NM: In the context of the year, how do you evaluate yourself? We know about your achievements, successes. Were these the goals you set for yourself?

DV: I've been skating for quite a few years now, and I have my own opinion of the system which is perhaps different from how many people understand it. So I chose my aspiration a long time ago: to try to compete with myself only. If I skated to win, I would do it differently. I skate because I enjoy it and because I'm as supportive as my coach is of being... a little old school. It's all about charisma, beauty, performance. Sport is a culture in its own way, rather than just athletics on ice. That's why the attitude is different in many ways: how we create the program, how we do everything. We stick to certain foundations, you could say, a certain quality, and we are very proud that we do it with virtue (Deniss used the English word again, translating himself right after).

NM: Seems like this approach is justified. Your awards prove it's the right bet.

DV: Sport is so much more than any award. Sport is a way of life, it's a... path of excellence (the English phrase in original). You have to do it the right way. You have to be honest, you have to really live according to those views; they are not for the sake of results, they are much more than that. And they create a better society. You support society through actually living with these... I don't know, values (the English word again). It's a way of living, and in its own way it requires you to be a leader of your own self.

NM: Does your coach help you with that, or are you just that kind of person on your own?

DV: It's certainly cultivated at first. It's how we teach the kids. Current figure skating is too much like... you take a board, sand it down and make it into a stool ("taburetka" in original). That's not how sport was intended to be. Sport is when you plant a seed and you keep watering it, create sunny conditions, and it grows. That's why you create a greenhouse — so that the seed grows better.

The idea is that you develop yourself. You can be clumsy, you can be gawky, but you do it yourself. You create your own character from the way you understand and explore the world. It's not that you've been grown and made, it's that you've grown yourself. And the help was in telling you: there's a jungle over there, go cut through it. Not just telling you that there is a road over there, take it and follow it, and let everyone rush and stand in traffic. That's why sport is self-exploration, a kind of self-awareness. Freedom to develop yourself. A never-ending road. So being an athlete is more than just doing your sport. And to be a good athlete, you have to develop yourself in so many ways. Figure skating is one of the best options, because you have not only athletics, but also choreography, dancing, theatre art. You need to bring a whole idea of a program to life... And don't get me started on costumes!

NM: But not everyone can probably take it. Too many things at once.

DV: It takes a lot of discipline, which you choose yourself very early on. Someone has to give you a push, but the choice is your own. A lot of kids probably can't make their own choice: you have to know what discipline is, and then you also have to know what you want. I don't even know how to do it right, but so many get off the tracks right at this point.

So I've seen what, four shifts already? I've been to two Olympics. It's been eight... nine years in seniors, and that's quite a long road. But there's no perfect way; you find your own. I don't aim to rack up maximum points or run the maximum time or do the perfect technique. I look at it more generally [broader]. I must be magnetic in my own way; express the idea of striving for perfection, and honour the fact that one can't achieve perfection.

But you should always strive to do your best in whatever you do; it doesn't matter if it's sports, studies, whatever. You've got to build character. And it will epitomise what you do later on. In sports, on the ice, off the ice, everywhere.

NM: Based on that, what are your plans for next year? Are you setting any goals?

DV: For now, I'm just aiming to... Every day it's pretty hard for me to keep myself in control, especially when I'm tired, and I just want to qualify for the Olympics and give my best. I have plans that I don't want to announce yet because they still, well, need to be done, and there's definitely science (the English word followed by self-translation), scientific evidence as to why it shouldn't be done. At least I really want to qualify and go to the Olympics for the third time. To really showcase the Latvian culture of sport!

Sport is much more than what we see on the ice during the four minutes of skating. It is, after all, the way training happens; the way we live; in general, everything we do epitomises a whole different world. In its own way. One illustration would be, for example, if you make coffee, you work on it so intensely that it ends up being some of the best coffee you'll ever drink. A lot of people probably don't question how you can make it better, better, better, better. But if you watch athletes who do strive for something greater, they usually can't separate an ordinary commitment from the sports one. Such aspiration for perfectionism is the lot of athletes.

NM: And your wishes, for the people of Latvia, for the listeners? The next year is about to come...

DV: It is possible to start life every day. Basically... this will probably sound silly, but one of the philosophies is that when you live, you need to die every morning. Every day is the last day. That's the only way you can make the most of it.

I guess my wishes are these: move and aspire every day. Aspire to do a little bit better, and to do a little bit easier, because easier is better! Aspire to live in motion; direct life towards something.

[the-darkestminds]

2024 Fic Writer End of Year Roundup

Answer and then tag three or more creators to keep the game going!

(If you're in my answers consider yourself tagged if you'd like to play!)

1. How many words did you publish on AO3 in 2024?

224,227. Would've been 232,998 BUT I decided to post RMWTLI chapter 3 tomorrow instead of today lol.

2. How many fics did you complete this year?

7!

3. How many in progress or ongoing fics did you start this year?

I currently have three fics in progress... Autumn's Shadow, Remind Me Where The Light Is and Rhysand Is The Most Handsome High Lord... !

4. What was your favorite thing you wrote?

Autumn's Shadow is my favorite fic. I have worked so incredibly hard on it and it's my first ever long fic. I'm very proud of it. I hope to finish it soon!

5. What piece was your most experimental or different from your usual style?

Rhysand Is The Most Handsome High Lord... is definitely the most experimental. It's my only fic that doesn't center around Eris and Azriel and it's very smutty and ridiculous. It makes me laugh lmao

6. Did any fics surprise you - either while writing or their reception

The series He Comes At Night surprised me. Somehow I sat down and wrote both of these each in one sitting and I had a lot of fun with the reader reactions lol. I didn't expect the wonderful responses I got but I am so grateful!

7. Do you have a fic you wrote and loved that went under the radar? (This is your sign to reblog/repost it!)

I am pretty proud of His Father's Son. I wouldn't say it necessarily went under the radar, OC fics tend to be less popular in general. But I didn't think I'd get this one done and when I did I was very happy with the result!

8. Who is an artist that inspired you?

There are soooo many. I wish I could list them all, but these people consistently wowed me with their art. I need more, always:

@palomita-de-la-sangre @fourteentrout @queercontrarian @elleybug @nus4y @lucychanart @olenvasynyt @bonecarversbestie @works-of-heart

9. Who is an author that inspired you?

This question is why it took me so long to make this post lol. I hate to leave anyone out, and I read so many fics this year and loved all of them. I'll do my best!

everything @chunkypossum writes moves me. I'll never get enough of their writing. I feel like they speak to me personally whenever I read one of their fics. @jules-writes-stories for JEL. She's incredible at world building and her writing is beautiful. @mistandmemories for her stunning rhythm !! and the insanely delicious tension and chemistry between az and eris. phew. @g00seg1rl for being hilarious and her crazy hot smut. @fourteentrout for his tamsand. the best I have ever read. and for somehow being just as insanely talented with azris too?! not to mention his art! I am obsessed. @/tessabeth for making me fall desperately in love with cazris. her writing changed me lol. no joke. @neciebee for her uniquely gorgeous style and sadlube. @acourtofladydeath for making me cry. @talibunny30 for her depiction of nesta that has stuck with me for months! I'll wait forever for more. @zenkindoflove for making me fall in love with alexius to the point where I forget he's not real! @crazy-ache for her creativity and beautiful writing. @lovely-vanserra-sunshine for breaking my heart in the best way with eris and lucien's backstories. @buffy-vanserra for eris's SNARK my god. it's so good. @clockwork-ashes for her lovely prose and seemingly endless ideas!! @thequeenofnightmares for her brain. the plot building is insane with this one. @shadowsandlint for keeping me on the edge of my seat! @jolenes-library for her super fun AU!! @born-to-riot for being able to do it all: fluff, intrigue, whump... she's awesome, and so funny.

I know I'm forgetting someone. If you're not here, it's only because my brain is overflowing. I love you all!! 😭

10. Who is a new author you discovered?

EVERYONE ABOVE lol. But also, copying chunky and giving a special shoutout to @jules-writes-stories, @mistandmemories, and @chunkypossum. The first two lovelies have been writing big azris fics along with me, and earlier in the year we all followed What We Deserve together. It's been the highlight for me for sure. Also, extra extra special shoutout to @pippsmcgee for her beautiful mind and incredible talent.

11. Did you do any collaborations? How did it start?

Editing to add that while I didn't technically co-write a piece with anyone, @pippsmcgee is my #1 collaborator and well on her way to becoming co-author lol

12. What accomplishments are you proudest of?

For becoming a writer! This was the first year I've ever written anything and now it's my favorite pastime and has been extremely cathartic.

13. What did you learn about writing or creating this year?

I am most happy with my work when I write exactly what I want without worrying about what might be the most popular. And I found that talking to other writers is motivating and so fun. Makes everything better.

14. Any advice you’d like to share with new or aspiring writers?

Please find joy in the process. If you don't enjoy what you're writing, write something else! And... fandom is about community. Writing has brought me to so many new friends. Don't be afraid to reach out to other authors! Spread the love!

15. What are your creative goals for 2025?

My main goal is to finish Autumn's Shadow. If I do that, I will be happy.

[tellmegoodbye]

It's almost 2025 y'all!

I'm stealing this idea from Michelle and Emily, except instead of just picking one, I'm going to share seven sentence snippets from all of my fics from this year! Also, at the end I'm going to share a snippet of a WIP that I am hoping to finally get the ball rolling on in the new year.

I also posted my end of year roundup if you want to check that out.

Thank you @heartstringsduet @strandnreyes @henrygrass @carlos-in-glasses @carlossreaders

@lemonlyman-dotcom @emsprovisions and @nisbanisba for tagging me!

our love will guide us home

The sights and sounds surrounding him begin to still, the cruel, meaningless world slowing to an agonizing stop. All Carlos feels is darkness. A terrible sickness consuming him from the inside out as he resigns himself to the inevitable. TK is going to die, and a part of Carlos is dying with him. Everything feels slow, solidified. Inching closer towards the end until all that is left is a good man who died a hero, and a broken man who mourned the loss of a love. His first real love. And perhaps, his last.

until the end of time

It's a look that makes him feel complete. Carlos is the final puzzle piece in his life, making him whole in every way. They were made for each other, no evidence of that greater than the way TK feels when he looks into his eyes. Trusted. Wanted. Loved. He sinks into Carlos slowly, joining their bodies and their hearts, watching fireworks erupt in his face, going inch by inch until he's fully buried inside of him and the rest of the world ceases to exist.

leave your love in the lamplight

Every time they have to say goodbye, they follow it with a “see you soon” spoken in kisses pressed to their rings. It's a reminder. It's a promise to always do everything they can to make it back home. Carlos knows he will keep that promise. No matter where this job takes him, no matter where his investigation into his father's death leads – he will always, always, come home to TK. He makes that promise with every kiss, and now he seals it into place with the last words he speaks before TK's alarm comes alive, telling him that it’s time to leave for work. “I love you too, husband.”

tonight your tears will fall from the sky

He knows that if TK is truly about to die, and if that's what's going to kill him, it's going to be a painful, grueling death. “TK…” he breathes. “How long?” “We covered the door with our turnouts but it's not going to work for much longer. Maybe a few minutes.” A few minutes. Nearly thirty years, a whole lifetime ahead of him – and all it takes is a few minutes to put an end to it all.

winds are shifting for our souls

He can hold TK, and he can imagine a world where he'd never have to let him go again. “Come here,” he whispers. “I've got you, baby.” A sob rips out of him and startles Carlos. It comes with the weight of a dam break. TK's cracks crumble into sand as he buries his face deeper into Carlos' shoulder, and his resolve vanishes entirely once he's safely tucked away. Hardened horror falls into the hands that cradle his face, keeping him steady as he cries.

with broken wings we fly

“She told me how much you loved watching him play when you were little.” Hesitant hands graze the newly polished wood. Carlos is gentle, as if even the slightest pressure from his fingers would cause the guitar to remember its age and crumble into a million pieces. Or as if it were a ghost. “I didn't even know she still had this,” he whispers. TK smiles fondly, placing his hand next to where Carlos’ rests against the rosewood. He lets out a soft sound and traces a circle around the blue of his ring.

and the silence sets me free

When TK paced the kitchen after restless nights and early-morning AA meetings, Carlos was there. When he confided to the person over his phone instead of the man in his bed, Carlos made sure to be there when he was done so he could kiss him goodnight again. When TK’s grief unfurled and painted his eyes in tears, tears that were illuminated by the light of the candles he lit in honor of his mother, Carlos was there. Waiting and listening, squeezing his arm, allowing the silence to subside naturally and make way for the heavy conversations that finally came on the final night. Bittersweet sorrow swelled up in a wave that would eventually seep into the air along with the smoky remnants of the flames. Every little step feels like another immeasurable goodbye. “It won't get easier if you never go, Carlos.”

Now for my currently untitled murder mystery au.....I really hope to be able to share this with you guys in 2025, but I make zero promises.

Carlos Reyes was already somewhat of a legend before his name ever made its way into the top scores on the detective's exam. As a patrol officer, he'd worked several cases off the books, which often resulted in reckless decisions, many of which nearly got him killed or fired. Detailed reports of how he chased down a kidnapper while off duty and broke into the house of a serial killer without backup didn't exactly leave TK with a lot of confidence. Sure, he's damn good at what he does. TK just can't help but wonder if the cost will eventually catch up with him. “I'm looking forward to working together,” Carlos says, offering a handshake that TK accepts hesitantly. Behind his forced smile, there's a voice that says no, he absolutely is not looking forward to working with him. At least the feeling is mutual.

Tags!

@paperstorm @alrightbuckaroo @freneticfloetry @literateowl @bonheur-cafe

@ironheartwriter @morganaspendragonss @decafdino @eclectic-sassycoweyes @goodways

@reyesstrand @butchreyes @theghostofashton @nancys-braids @welcometololaland

+ open tag