#that entire prospect is fucking exhausting and many better writers than me have already gone there

[saunteringvaguelydownwards]

****

Motherfucker, y'all got me writing again, what the fuck?

[maptoourescape]

At least promise you’ll be back on roleplaying and writing when Lucy is back. In fact when will she be back? Maybe you still have contacts with her, even though you don’t rp?

Hey anon!First of all, I’m terribly sorry for not having been able toreply to your previous ask (because I assume it indeed was you who sent it?). There’s honestly no proper excuse I couldthrow your way in regards to my silence. All I can say is that I simply don’tknow where to even start in regardsto the whole Bill/Tom/Klum topic anymore. Truth be told, my thoughts on it areso complex and all over the place, that I rather just avoid thinking about italtogether most of the days. The mere prospect of having to word theentire mess makes me tired already.So I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you, butI really don’t think I’d even manage to write anything substantial in the firstplace. With the tour approaching, though, I’m pretty sure I’ll be indire need of a rant soon enough, seeing how I’m convinced Klum is going to join it as well at some point. I also thinkthe tour will provide me with some much needed first hand insight as well,which will be crucial in putting the pieces of what the fuck is going on togetherin a more coherent way. But let me not dwell on that other ask too long now, andaddress the matter of RPing at hand.I can’t promise that I’ll be back roleplaying - at least not in the format that you’re used to read, that is. Iwish I could, and I’d love nothing more than to jump right back in, but just asmuch as you’ve been left in the dark, I’ve been left in the dark as well.You see,I don’t even know if Lucy will becoming back at all.For lack of a more appropriate wording: she bailed on me.She’d hate this wording, I’m sure (I still know you so well, Lu) – she would think it’s harsh of me to say so,and hold a grudge against me for putting it so bluntly. But that’s literallywhat it was - or well - is. You might think I know something more about thematter, seeing how I’m part of what we had going here ��� hell, Imyself would expect of myself to know something more as well! – butalas, I really don’t.One day she was here, then the next - she was gone.The timeline of how this came to be is blurry when I think back on it. It’sbeen quite a few months in between then and now after all. But I think it allstarted with her being online less and less in the end of 2017/beginning 2018.She was working on her thesis back then, and asked me for some space – she is awoman who is very much so enjoys her educational prospects, and someone who cherishesher career a lot. A bit of a Hermione Granger, if you will. Her disappearanceswere not so far stretched out at first, but as time passed by, she only ever came online everyfew weeks, until she finally disappeared for good in March of 2018. That meansthe last I heard from her was actually more than a year ago now.And it evenfeels longer than that, in retrospective.I tried texting her on Skype a few times. Although I was hurt and feltbetrayed, I didn’t really word that out loud to her, because knowing her, she’dtake that as ammunition to justify her being away even more (“how could I evercome back, knowing you were mad at me” sorta scenario). So my texts consistedmostly of saying that I’m sorry if she felt pressured by me in any way, andthat I’d love to have her back.I still stand by it: I miss her. I am not someone who holds grudges, and I amnot someone who lets people go lightly once I hold them as dear to my heart as Lucy. She still holds, and probably alwayswill hold, a special place in my heart – she is an extraordinary individual whocomplemented me as a writer and artist, but more importantly as a person and asa friend, as well.I’d love nothing more than for her to come back and fill mydays and nights with artistic excitement and nerdy blabber.But I would belying if I’d say I don’t feel hurt, still.So long answer short: yes, I have ways to reach her. More than she mightimagine herself, actually. I could reach out to her irl friends as well, if everything elsefailed. I have my ways.The thing is though – I don’t think Lucy wants me to do that.I doubt she evenwants to be contacted at all.I’m pretty damn sure she knows I’m still around here. She knows where to find me if she would ever choose to do so. Andthis isn’t about pride – as said, I did try reaching out to her a couple oftimes (to no avail). This is about basic human decency. Lucy chose to walk outon me, so I feel like it isn’t exactly on me to pursue (nor persuade) her any further. That is a step she must make herself at this point. If she wants to be away from me, then I don’t feel like intruding her personalspace is really the way to go. She distanced herself from me, not vice versa,and protruding myself into her face just doesn’t seem fair.I love her, so I respect her decision not to be around me, even if I amdisappointed and hurt by not knowing exactly why she decided to just wordlesslyabandon ship.My suspicions are (ones that I voiced out to her as well, way back), that shefelt way too “imprisoned” with what we were doing, but had no idea how toproperly break it to me without hurting my feelings. I told her numerous timesthat if she ever gets bored with what we are doing, she can just tell me so,and that we’ll try to work our way around the issue. See, when I made thisblog, I was always very specific in what I wanted to do. I always wanted toexplore the relationship the twins have in a very “canon” way, if I may call itso. A straightforward, and very day to day like way. I wanted to exploreeveryday issues that they were facing, wanted to take the life they shared withus on social media and make it into a coherent little psychological explorationof their relationship. I was monotonous as fuck. And I think Lucy eventually grew tired of that. Of me. She wouldtell me, repeatedly so, that that’s not the case, but I don’t know if she was being entirelytruthful in that. It certainly doesn’t seem so now. BUt it makes sense. She was always the one that was gleaming with ideas. Ideas fornew and exciting things, AUs, all of it! In that regard, we were different.I feel like maybe I was holding her back – like maybe with me, she couldn’treally fulfil her full potential. I figured that that’s why she made a new blogaccount as well, eventually - in the late stages of our online interactions. She would say it was “because she had way too manythings piled up on her old blog, and couldn’t keep track anymore”. That “she justwanted to start fresh with all the other people she was RPing with, and that ithad nothing to do with what we were doing”. But I don’t think that was reallyall there was to it. Part of it, maybe, but not the entire reasoning. I wasshocked by her making another account, and it left a bitter taste in my mouth.She didn’t tell me she was making one, nevermind why she was doing it, so Ifigured she just wanted to start fresh with me as well, which meant ignoring the building upof our characters that we had going on for more than two solid years at that point. And that was harsh. We were deathbykaulitz andmaptoourescape, you know. It was an experience. It was ongoing, and personal,and very close to my heart. And with her making a new blog, it felt like shedidn’t really feel the same way anymore. Maybe that’s when “the beginning ofthe end” truly began. Perhaps she just wanted to start anew, and felt likethere was no way to do it without hurting my feelings. Perhaps she just feltlike there’s not much more she could begin to do with me any longer. That itwas boring, and repetitive, and exhausting, and unexciting.Last I heard of her, she told me she was “ashamed that she couldn’t keep up herpromises of doing more”. That “she didn’t keep to her word she gave me, when shesaid everything will go back to normal once she finished writing up her thesis”.She said, and I quote this time: “I value reciprocity a lot. Whenever I receive, I want to give back.And I couldn’t do that.”Maybe at the end of the day, what drove her away washer inability to understand that I really wouldbe okay with it eventually if she truthfully told me that she just can’t do this with me anymore.Maybe what drove her away was her thinking “I can’t give back to her as much asshe’s giving to me anymore, so I guess the best way to go about it is just toabandon ship entirely and never come back again, because not facing it is lesspainful than having to admit it and along the way maybe hurt her feelings”.As much as it pains me to say it, I haveto:her leaving me was more painful than her being tired of my RP skills couldever be. But me being me, I still want her back. Perhaps she mightthink I feel like I only lost a RP partner that day. But it was more than that.She robbed me of a very dear friend, and never gave the two of us anopportunity to actually work around whatever the issue at hand might have been.Iimagine she is happier now. I can’t begin to tell you about the amount of timesI went into the GOT RP community, to maybe find her excellent writing amongstthe sea of other, new people – better role players and better friends. Tryingto find her amongst the Cerseis and Jeamies that would excite her more than Iever could. It still gnaws at my conscience that I seemingly wasn’t enough. Butwhether she’s happy in a new found fandom, or maybe just blissfully busy withonly her career which I know she loves so much – honestly, there’s not much moreI could ask of her.Even through all of my misery, I love to see my friends thrive and be happy.Hell, I’m someone who at 13 years old wrote a long ass letter to a girl who wasalso in love with my crush to go get him if she is what makes him truly happylmao. I’d choose my friend’s happiness over mine, anytime.I hope she isdoing well. That she’s happy and healthy wherever life’s road is taking her.Maybe a bit of a TMI answer. But I feltlike getting it off my chest. You deserve to know what went up with us, atleast vaguely. And she also deserves to know how I feel, if she ever stumblesonto this - what seems to have turned into an open letter of sorts.GG for reading through this pile of emotional crap if you managed to get thisfar lol.But most of all, thank you infinitely for caring. For being interested in what we did, and in whatI do here. I never thought anyone would really care for what we were cooking upwith our roleplay, and the fact that there’s people out there who care, andread, and appreciate humbles me so fucking much. I don’t give you nearlyenough credit or appreciation – perhaps because it’s so hard for me to imagineanyone would take a minute of their time to indulge in something I made. But know that when it hits me, it hits me hard. There is no better feeling than knowing someone loves and enjoys what you created.Much love, and in hopes I didn’t disappoint you all too terribly,Tina

[hellomissmabel]

Manhattan Mistress part 8

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bucky x reader, Steve x reader, Tony x reader and OC!Casey (daughter of Y/N and Tony)

Summary: Casey can’t sleep so you tell her a story. Steve turns out to be much more of a bad boy than you initially anticipated. Inspired by “Gangsta“ by Kehlani.

Word count: 4.176

Warnings: Some fluff, definitely some smut, talk of murder and cheating. Foul language too? Please do not read belong the cut if you’re not comfortable with any of forementioned!

A/N: Dedicated to my favourite mob AU writer @caplanbuckybarnes. Enjoy sweetie!

Part 6: the white noise

Part 7: the waiting game

Disclaimer: I do not own this pic, credit goes to the rightful owner.

The heathens

I need a gangsta To love me better Than all the others do To always forgive me Ride or die with me That’s just what gangsters do

It’s 2 a.m. in the morning and I’m contemplating life.

Well, I’m not exactly contemplating my life but more like the mob life in general. After my doctor’s appointment in, let’s say, 6 maybe 7 hours from now, fate will either have screwed me over or given me the greatest gift of all. But what do I have to offer this tiny human being apart from a very fucked up family and even more fucked up friends?

Natasha is an alcoholic and Clint gets off on blood and gore. Sam is a frequent visitor of Fury’s casino’s and an avid gambler, although I’m fairly sure that sooner rather than later he’ll choke on one of his precious peanuts first. As for Wanda, well, who knows what that little bitch is hooked on? Fortune cookies maybe?

What can I say, all my friends are heathens.

The baby’s two potential fathers aren’t much better either. Bucky’s practically a chimney with the way he’s been smoking cigarettes by the dozen these past couple days and Steve’s hunger for power will one day come back to bite him in the ass. My only hope is that my child won’t be a sex addict like her mother, that would bring me at least some small relief.

And God knows what’s on that flash drive I stole from Tony the other week. Every time I think about what I had to do in order to get my hands on it, cold shivers start to run up and down my spine. I swore I would never let that man lay a hand on me again and I broke my oath to myself. He’s neither a good nor a bad person yet all the skeletons I might find when I pay Scott a visit tomorrow might be too much for me to bear. I’m afraid of what I might find.

But I’m even more afraid of the consequences of what I did to obtain this information.

Scott’s a professional Dad but spends his free time playing the role of an ethical hacker. Even though I don’t know Scott that well, he has done some favours for me in the past and I greatly appreciate his help. He also knows that once he dares jeopardize our friendship, he will no longer have enough money to take care of himself, let alone his daughter. He says he found some interesting, highly encrypted files that I might find useful although he wouldn’t disclose anything else and sounded quite hesitant when I confronted him about it. Even so, he is willing to share them with me for a fair price and I also agreed to pay him a bit extra in exchange for his silence.

“Mommy?” A child’s voice disrupts my train of thoughts and I shoot up in my bed, quickly looking over to the other side of the bed to check if I didn’t wake up Steve but he’s still sound asleep, snoring a little and adorably scrunching his nose.

“Yes, Casey? Is everything alright?” My little girl is standing in the doorway, holding her teddy close to her chest and wiggling her feet, big brown eyes peering at me through the dim lighting of the moon.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and walk over to her, picking Casey up in my arms and nuzzling my nose in the nape of her neck which makes her giggle just a little. “Did you have another bad dream, honey?”

She doesn’t say anything, just rests her cheek on my shoulder while I carry her downstairs, careful not to make too much noise and startle Steve. I sit her down on the kitchen counter, leaning my forehead against hers as I cup her tiny face in my hands, my thumbs tracing the dimples in her soft cheeks as she laughs.

“Mommy that tickles!,” she titters and I ask her if she’d like me to make her some hot coco. She eagerly nods and as I gather all the ingredients, she tells me about her bad dream. It’s nothing too scary but she’s a little shaken up nonetheless.

“You want to hear a story?,” I propose and she cheers, waving her hands in the air and reaching out for the cup of chocolate milk. “Careful, little bug, it’s hot.”

Sitting down next to her on the kitchen counter, nursing my own mug of the sweet liquid, I begin to tell her the story of how her mommy and daddy met, experience reminding me it’s most likely the only story she’ll want to hear. “When mommy was younger, she was very in love with a boy called James. But you see, your grandfather didn’t like James so he scared him away and made mommy really sad.”

She makes a disappointed sound as tears well up in her eyes. “Mommy don’t be sad,” she pouts and I pull her in for a hug, kissing the crown of her head and murmuring a reassuring “As long as you’re here, little bug, mommy will never be sad.”

After a minute or so I release her, resuming my story. “Then mommy met daddy who was one of your grandfather’s friends. You see, your daddy had been in love with your mommy for a very long time. But he never said anything because mommy is much younger than daddy and daddy was afraid your grandfather would disapprove. He was the only one who saw how unhappy mommy was and he tried to make it better.”

“Did he kiss it better just like you do with all my booboos?,” she asks innocently, eyes wide in eagerness and batting her thick eyelashes at me.

I chuckle softly. “Yes he did. Then mommy fell in love with your daddy too and we were very happy. And just when we thought life couldn’t get any better, we had you.” Casey’s eyes are twinkling with curiosity. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve already told her the story, she always seems to enjoy it more and more.

Nevertheless, there’s a downside to this story, one Casey knows all too well. “But daddy has a very busy job and with daddy work always came first, making mommy very sad again.”

Puckering, her little hands squeeze yours. “Is that why you met Steve? Tell me, mommy, I want to know,” she quips with her adorable childlike enthusiasm.

“You remember Sam’s bar, the Cuckoo’s Nest?” Casey shakes her head yes. “Well, mommy used to be a singer there too when she was younger and that’s how she met Steve. One night he came to see me sing and he paid mommy a big compliment.”

“I told her she had the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.”

Unbeknownst to you, Steve had woken up shortly after you and Casey went downstairs. He wondered where you had gone and went to take a peek in Casey’s room when he heard your voice. Tiptoeing down the stairs, he remained hidden in the dark shadow of the staircase, eavesdropping on the two of you to see what you were discussing in the middle of the night.

He didn’t like hearing how much you used to love Bucky. The only reason he ever employed the guy is because it’s the only way he could ever keep an eye on him. Steve knows Bucky and his wife are too close for comfort, but there’s nothing he can do about it as long as Tony’s still in the picture. He promised himself that he would get rid of that fucker first before messing with Y/N’s boy toy. However, that doesn’t mean he’s just going to stand idly by when you reminiscence about your lovers Bucky Barnes and Tony Stark. So when you reached the subject of how your first meeting, he decided to intervene.

“You see, I had heard many great stories about your mommy’s voice, but I still wanted to hear it for myself. One night I let the people who were working on my campaign at the time off work early and found myself taking a detour to Sam’s bar. It’s been a while since I had seen him and I wanted to catch up. I didn’t know your mother was going to sing there that evening, but I hoped she would.”

Your little girl is absolutely infatuated with Steve and it awakens a small sting of envy and concern in your chest. It’s understandable that Casey is the apple of Tony’s eye, but the prospect that Steve might be equally besotted with your daughter is something you have never given too much thought. Until now.

“So when Sam noticed just how much Y/N had me under her spell, he asked me if I wanted to meet her in person. Of course I said yes and we spent the entire night talking. Sam even had to kick us out in the end,” Steve says coming to stand behind to you, lacing his arms around your waist and pecking your cheek before resting his chin on the top of your head.

You allow yourself to lean into his broad frame, the comfortable and familiar warmth of his body making you feel at home. A house is not a home until you have someone to come home to, your nanny always used to say. Yet you’re fairly sure your nanny would’ve disagreed with that someone being Steve. She never liked Bucky either and only knew Tony for a brief period of time before she passed away, but she valued her principles more than anything else and if she were still alive, she would’ve smacked you in the face for sleeping with a married man.

Casey holds her hand in front of her mouth, stifling a yawn. “Is my little bug tired?,” Steve coos sweetly and she answers his question with a beaming yet lazy smile, her eyes already falling shut.

“I’ll take her to her room and tuck her in,” Steve suggests, kissing you lightly on the lips before cradling Casey in his arms and carrying her sleepy form upstairs.

You finish your hot coco and follow suit, sliding underneath the duvet and listening to the sounds coming from the room next to the master bedroom. You can make out Steve’s affectionate voice and Casey’s exhausted sniggers, hearing how he promises her to take her out for ice-cream the next day if she has a good night sleep.

I’m fucked up, I’m black and blue I’m built for all the abuse I got secrets that nobody, nobody, nobody knows I’m good on that pussy shit I don’t want what I can get I want someone with secrets that nobody, nobody, nobody knows

A minute or so later, the door to your bedroom creaks open and Steve joins you in the bed. Lazily throwing his arm around you, he rolls you on top of him until your body is draped over his in a warm unison. Your right hand rests on his heart and you can feel the steady beat pulsate underneath your touch. Looking up into Steve’s eyes you catch him smiling down at you.

“You and your daughter,” he whispers tenderly, “Are my girls. I will do whatever is necessary to keep my girls safe.”

“Steve…,” you begin but the soft press of his lips against your forehead silences you.

“I wasn’t finished,” he says gently. “What I’m trying to say is, we have a family here and you never let your family down. I don’t intend to go anywhere, Y/N. Whatever happens, I’ll stick by your side. Whatever decision you make, I’ll wholeheartedly accept it.” By now his voice is slightly breaking. “And I am so sorry for treating you the way I did. I was drunk and I was horny. I love you, Y/N. I love Casey, too. Will you please forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive, my dear,” you sigh, your lips automatically drawn to his when his pleading eyes shine in perplexity at your words.

The kiss slowly comes to a start, hesitation reigning in both your hearts. Steve’s dirty blond tresses are so delicate underneath your fingertips, your hands weaving nonsense patterns into his hair as his mouth gives you open access. Now sliding entirely on top of Steve’s muscular body, he is able to pull you both upwards in one swift motion, tucking your legs around his thighs as you are able to straddle him now.

Your tongue skims his bottom lip, asking for permission to deepen this kiss. It’s then that Steve’s lips move away from yours and you search his eyes for the reason why. “I knew Peggy was wrong about you,” he murmurs into your ear, his teeth nibbling onto your earlobe, lips capturing it into his mouth.

Almost too far gone to properly register what Steve has just said, you swallow a hoarse moan spilling from your lips. One hand gripping his hair tightly, you pull him away from your neck where he is attempting to suck a dark bruise onto the fragile skin of your sweet spot. “Say that again?,” you demand adamantly, tugging at his blond locks so his eyes cannot escape yours.

“I knew Peggy was wrong about you. She was sure you were just a piece of ass to me, sure I would never come running back to you. Peggy was convinced you simply enjoyed taking my cock because no one else would pay any attention to you. But you don’t have to worry about Peggy, sweetheart,” he purrs modestly, brushing some stray curls from your eyes. “She’s dead. She can’t keep us apart anymore.”

“I know, Stevie, I know,” you release in a deep sigh. “Peggy is dead and I am about to fuck her widower. Strange how life works out in the end, isn’t it?” A small smirk appears which Steve takes as a sign to continue his worshipping.

I need a gangsta To love me better Than all the others do To always forgive me Ride or die with me That’s just what gangsters do

He resumes devoting his body to you, teeth tugging at your bottom lip and hands hiking up your night gown. You do not resist as he removes it from you or when his lips suckle on your nipple whilst the fingertips of his free hand pinch the other. You completely let go and throw you head back as his hands cup your sex, alerting you he’s ready for more.

Allowing him to take control, your hands trail down his chiselled abdomen to the hem of his t-shirt as you help him take it off. Sitting back on your calves, Steve is able to shimmy out of his boxer briefs, revealing his rock hard cock. He’s already dripping precum and you lower your head, tying your hair back with one hand so the other can play with his balls while you lick a broad strip from the base of his shaft to the very tip.

“Y/N, I need to be inside of you. N-N-No time for foreplay, hun.”

His voice is strained and you take it as a good sign. “Don’t be vanilla, Stevie” you coo as you hover over his crotch, lining yourself up with his beautifully thick shaft. “Do to me what you could never do with Peggy.”

Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. You can clearly observe the shift in demeanour as the light green specks drowning in his cerulean blue irises visibly light up. “Then get on all fours, baby,” he orders in a domineering tone. “Let your daddy fuck you hard.”

His dick pumps in and out of you at a bruising pace, his fingers digging into the cheeks of your ass as he holds them apart, allowing him a perfect view of his well-endowed manhood ruining your tight cunt. Trying your best to stifle your moans so Casey doesn’t hear what her mommy and Steve are up to this early in the morning, the pillows offers a most welcome distraction.

Steve’s teeth attack your shoulder as he lunges his torso onto your back, lips trailing down your spine in a low growl. He’s close and by the way your pussy is clenching his throbbing penis, you’re on the very brink of your orgasm as well. One hand leaves your soft bottom to play with your clit, his calloused fingertips relentlessly flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves as you bite down hard on your bottom lip, almost drawing blood at the overstimulation of your senses.

Just as you’re about to cum hard on his cock, Steve yanks you by your (Y/H/C) swirls and pulls your back flush against his chest. His left hand remains locked in place on your hip, the other lacing around your throat, turning your head away from him so your neck is exposed to the mercy of his teeth. He soothes the mark immediately after but this moment of tenderness does not last long as the hand that was around your throat, dances lower towards your entrance.

Without much further ado, Steve adds two extra fingers, dipping into you with such force and ferocity the pleasure is overwhelming. He’s testing you, stretching you out to see how much you can take before plummeting into an abysmal state of bliss. Groaning into your ear, Steve whispers an “I love you” knowing it will most likely deliver you the release you have been milking out of him.

Slapping your behind harshly, Steve’s hand on your lower back pushes drives you into the mattress. “Turn around, Y/N. You’ve indulged me, so let me pleasure you now.”

Your arousal quickly gains the upper hand and you roll over onto your back, legs still widely spread and crooking a finger to call Steve over. Kinking an eyebrow in suggestion and seduction, you watch as his hands work his still half-hard cock before lining up at your entrance again. Since all three men you’ve ever laid down with are delectably large, you have no issue taking him in one go, your juices in the aftermath of your first orgasm serving as enough lubricant for the second go.

This time the sex is more intimate. It’s not making love, for that Steve’s too hard on you, but it’s a proper fucking you thoroughly enjoy. Your legs are hooked around his slim waist, one of his hands teasing your breast as the other drawing nonsense pattern underneath your jaw. When you kiss, you do not tangle your fingertips in his hair, rather opting to rake them down his sculpted back and leave a visible red mark.

My freakness is on the loose And running all over you Please, take me to places that nobody, nobody knows You got me hooked up on the feeling You got me hanging from the ceiling Got me up so high I’m barely breathing So don’t let me, don’t let me, don’t let me, don’t let me go

“Go faster, Steve. Don’t hold back on me now,” you encourage breathlessly.

You want him to remember this night just as much as you wanted him to remember the night he forcefully took you without your immediate permission. You want him to commit to memory how good it feels to fuck your woman when you have her consent.

Gasping when he hits your g-spot, you’re about to see stars. “I can be an obedient girl. I can be everything you want me to be,” you heave out in bits and pieces, struggling to form a coherent sentence. Another moan is ripped from your throat as he knocks his pelvis against yours, grunting ferally in approval. “I can be your wife, your mistress and your baby girl. I can even be your whore for fuck’s sake.”

“I don’t need a whore,” he pants into the crook of your neck. “I’m banging the fucking Brooklyn mob boss, why would I ever need a freaking whore.”

Crying out when another wave of cloud nine hits you, your coital haze blurs your line of vision so you can’t see his pearly whites scraping along your cheeks. Feeling his nose caress yours, you peck his lips in a chaste kiss, mainly because you’re unable to do anything else but focus on how he’s pounding into you still.

And then it hits you. “You bastard!,” you exhale loudly over the sound of both of you grunting and grinding in perfect synchronicity, your body remembering every ridge and every valley of Steve’s body. “You knew the whole time!”

He captures your lips in a bruising kiss, his hips jolting forward with a renewed power, laughing darkly at your indignation. Tearing your lips away from his, your fists connect with his firm chest, his thrust faltering just the slightest in anticipation of his orgasm. You continue to punch him but your determination is no match for his strength and he easily pins your hands above your head, a devious grin curling his lips upwards.

“Of course I did, darling,” he chuckles cunningly. Steve’s pupils are lust-blown, the deep black rims have completely absorbed the natural oceanic blue. He leans in closer, sharply snapping his hips and you cry out in ecstasy. “Peggy’s dead and you have me to thank for it.”

His head drops in between the valley of your breasts and you love the soft scratch of his day-old stubble more than you should at this point. Coming undone for the third time that night, Steve tumbles down into the rapture with you. Huffing heavily with the exertion, Steve’s weight settles into your body, the thick vein of his penis still pulsating inside of you.

“That was so good, baby. Please don’t be mad, I did it for us.”

“Get the fuck off me, Rogers,” you grit your teeth. He does as you command, moving over to his side of the bed again, his arm still resting on your bare stomach. The soothing tenor of his laugh is a mixture of recognition and endearment, the bile rising in your throat as your heart still skips a beat at the signature sound.

You sit upright in the bed, prying his arm away from you but Steve doesn’t give up so easily. Suddenly gripping your wrist, he prevents you from leaving the bed. “Y/N, for crying out loud, will you fucking listen to me?”

Snagging your hand away from him when his grasp on you wavers, you bundle the sheets around your exposed chest and turn your head to face him. “Then better start talking. I keep a gun between my stockings, so you are warned.”

“I’ll explain everything to you if you’ll just let me.” He holds his hands up in surrender and you nod in agreement.

Wiping the sweat away from his forehead, the bed dips slightly when he goes to the bathroom to retrieve a wet washing cloth for the both of you. “Here, let me help clean you up first.”

“There’s no way I’m letting you touch me, Steve,” you scowl hot-headedly. “You keep your filthy hands away from me. I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

His eyebrows knit together in an ugly frown while he sets his right knee down on the edge of the bed, drawing his face closer to yours. “If you want to know the truth, you’ll let me take care of you.” It does not sound like a threat, but there is definitely a warning hidden away in the intimidating tenor to his husky voice.

Laying back on the bed with an annoyed glare, you pull your knees up so Steve can settle between them. His touch is caring and careful as he gingerly wipes away the excess arousal. “You know,” he says in a teasing tone when he finishes up, “It’s been a while since I’ve tasted you.”

“Oh fuck off,” you throw back at him, cocking your head so your eyes do not fall on his hands tending to his own member with a second washing cloth, throwing it in the bathroom sink on his way over to the bed.

“I love you, Y/N, don’t you for a second doubt that,” he starts off his soliloquy with a plea. “I never intended to keep this from you, but if you must know all my secrets, I am willing to tell you everything. I don’t want them to create a wedge between us. But you have to promise me that you won’t kill me.”

“I can’t promise you a thing,” you spit out. “You’re lucky I haven’t kicked you out yet. I don’t want a killer near my daughter.”

He releases a bouldering laugh. “You don’t want a killer near your daughter?” He shakes his head, a wicked grin adorning his darkened features. “Oh doll, you have no idea, do you? You have no idea what kind of man I am, what kind of man you love.”

Part 9: the killers

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[monosylla-blog]

I sent Josh a friend request on Facebook when I was drunk at a party many months ago, and then deleted the request a few months later. I don’t know what I expected him to do. I wondered if he’d googled my area code from when I texted him, if he knew where I was from. I wondered if he would find me attractive, if he would date me, now that I am not only older than Olivia was, but also better read and more experienced. I wondered how he feels about what I did, if he ever thinks about me. I wondered if he talked to his friends about me, and what they thought. I wondered if he had ever written anything about me. I wondered if he took a break from online dating. I wondered if he is as disappointing as the other mid-twenties dudes I know and have fucked. Would the sex have been good? Would we still be in love? If I were Josh’s Olivia, would he even have been what I want?

When I created the fake okCupid profile, my intentions were unclear. I told my friends, who were all older than I was, that I was using the profile as a sort of litmus test to see what the social scene was like in the various cities I was considering going to college in. This was partly true. This was the excuse I initially told myself. But it also was not the first time I had an internet relationship, although it would be the last.

Having been around 16 at the time, and fat, and probably understandably angsty and weird, and generally unattractive to every boy I interacted with, or at least not attractive enough to warrant letting me know I was not hideous, I was getting pretty annoyed by my lack of romantic prospects. I was desperate for romance. It was the summer before my senior year of high school and I recently left a megachurch I had happily committed most of my time to for three years. I sought to catch myself up with my peers somehow, I suppose. While I was attending youth band practice and taking care of church members’ children every Sunday morning, my classmates were out experimenting and getting good at all the stuff I had only ever read and fantasized about.

I spent a lot of my time fantasizing about what my life in college would look like. I would to go to parties all the time, and I would sleep with so many dudes, I would read so many books, and finally, FINALLY, I would get a boyfriend. I spent so much time split between worrying no one would ever love me in that way, and wondering what my life would be like once someone finally did. Would the men at school actually appreciate all the Bukowski I read in a misguided attempt to seem interesting? Would they be into the kinky, dom/sub sex I kept reading about on Tumblr all summer?

The pictures I used for the profile were of a model I found on Tumblr. She was incredibly beautiful, almost ethereally so. She wore a long, straight weave and was model thin, with Victoria’s Secret model proportions. She was not a girl next door by any means. I imagined, by the time I start college, I could totally look vaguely like this girl. I gave myself the name Olivia and I picked the age 19, which felt like the age I should have been at the time anyway. I set my location to Pittsburgh, where I thought I might attend Pitt.

I talked to several men with this fake profile. I felt vaguely guilty the whole time, but also wildly powerful. Most men got frustrated when I evaded their questions about Pittsburgh, or about why I was unwilling to meet them, or about why I could not tell them about my favorite bookstore in the city, even though I claimed to love books so much. There was one man in particular I felt compelled to be honest with, and he chastised me for Catfishing, even though I explained I had no intention for it to be long term or, you know, misleading. I tried not to make up details about my life for the most part, and was honest in my interactions, save my name and appearance, so I started calling it a social experiment.

I do not know what Josh’s first message to me read. I am sure it was something eloquent and boozy. Having spent a summer building myself, pretending to like all the male writers and musicians I thought I should like to be the kind of girl I thought I should be to land the kind of relationships with men I thought I wanted, we bonded over our mutual interests in vinyl and literature. I avoided telling him the only Fitzgerald I had actually been exposed to had been against my own will in the 11th grade. I did not tell him the only records I owned were the ones my brother had bought me for Christmas at my request, Justin Timberlake’s The 20/20 Experience parts 1 and 2. But the lies felt less like lies and more like truths about my future self. I was not necessarily wrong, I would probably resemble Olivia eventually.

Josh was 25 at the time, in a band that was actually good, a writer, and genuinely hilarious. I imagined myself on tour with him. We messaged all day for several days, leaving me constantly dazzled by promises of road trips where we would shoot off fireworks in parking lots and make love in his car. I woke up to messages from him and fell asleep talking to him. He told me he absolutely loved the name Olivia, so I wished to exist in the alternate universe where my name really was Olivia. I began to understand things had already gone too far when I started trying to come up with lies to avoid meeting him. I wanted to freeze this reality; I wanted to encase this constant but limited attention in a shadowbox. Mostly, I did not want his opinion to change of me. He had fallen for me after all. Just like, the very best possible version of myself.

Josh revealed himself to me in ways in which I never asked him to, or reciprocated. He told me about his battle with body image issues, and how he used to be fat. I told him I also used to be fat. I omitted the part about still being fat. Josh felt understood; I felt further away from myself than I had ever felt before. The sweeter he was, the more I hated myself, and the more I needed to keep talking to him. I disappeared from the world for a week.

My excuses became increasingly erratic and concerning. I told Josh my grandmother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and that I had to move to Tanzania to help take care of her. Josh suggested we write letters to each other while I was out of the country, until we could be together. He told me when he imagined his future, he couldn’t see one without his Olivia. I didn’t know which was more alarming - my lie, or his response to it.

Finally, wrecked with guilt and sadness, the once-dull ache of my constant and overwhelming fucking physical desire reaching a peak, I took a deep breath and told Josh the truth. Or rather, the truth packed its bags and flung itself out of my body through my mouth, exhausted from living in such a hostile and guilt-ridden environment. I told him I was 16, going on 17. I told him the pictures were not of me. I told him why I had created the account in the first place, and that I felt awash with guilt over how in over my head I had gotten. Josh’s response displayed essentially the entire spectrum of grief in one message. He refused to believe me at first, and was convinced I felt bad about having to move to Tanzania to take care of my fake grandmother with ovarian cancer. He begged me to tell the truth. I did not know what to say to him, so instead I tried to convince him we could be friends until I turned 18. At this point, he became angry, expressed his fear of our online tryst being illegal, and told me to delete my account. Before deleting Olivia, I screenshotted his most meaningful messages.  

One of those screenshots captured a message with Josh’s phone number. I helped myself to a vodka cranberry c/o my parents’ liquor cabinet, which really only ever contains about half a bottle of vodka. It was my first taste of alcohol since 7th grade, when I took a shot of whiskey prior to taking a standardized test I was unprepared for. Saddled with some liquid courage, I began to draft a text to Josh. The vodka cranberry was basically 4 oz of vodka to one teaspoon of cranberry, so I stumbled around my room trying to figure out what I could say to salvage the relationship. It was a desperate drunkenness, a kind I haven’t succumbed to since. I didn’t like the kinds of things this drunkenness made me say and do. I texted Josh and essentially begged him to forgive me. I suggested we write letters to each other until I became legal. I felt myself being pulled apart by a fantasy life I accidentally created and wanted so badly to recreate.

Eventually, I stopped fantasizing about being with him as myself. I learned not to fantasize because I am incredibly pain-avoidant and It hurt to know I was capable of such an intricate lie. I started to joke about it vaguely with friends. “Have I ever told you about the time I catfished a dude? No? Eh, I’ll tell you about it later.”

At the tender age of 17, I had experienced an inordinate amount of trauma and passion, still having never being kissed. I imagined my quasi-relationship with Josh had been more serious than any real relationships any of my classmates had ever experienced, and I was still a virgin. I grew extremely depressed and frustrated. When I expressed my frustration to my childhood best friend, she advised me to lower my standards. “That’s what I did,” she shrugged, looking sort of sorry I was just realizing everything is bullshit.