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krirebr · 2 months

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More Than This 4

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

Word Count: ~6.1k

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: Heavy angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, Linda being Linda, a panic attack, p in v sex, sex in maybe not the best mindset, explicit language, the slooowest burn - 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: I thought this was gonna be a short one. 😂

Gigantic thanks as always to @paperweight91 who helped me figure out what the problem was when I was really struggling to feel inspired on this one, and then later on when the narrative took a bit of a turn that I wasn't expecting, she helped me navigate it and come out the other side. Chelsea, you continue to be the very best!

And an additional hat tip to @thezombieprostitute, who left a comment on the last part that inspired part of Linda's visit here. Thanks, dear!!

Unsurprisingly probably, this is another sad one. But I hope it'll be worth it!

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! 💜

You’ve reached the phone of Steve Rogers. Please leave a message after the beep.

“Hey, Steve. It’s me. Again. Your sister. Um, shit. Yeah, you’re at work now, aren’t you? Sorry, I still haven’t gotten used to the time difference. I got your texts, and, uh, everything is fine. I’m– I’m doing good. But I miss you. And it’d be nice to hear your voice. But I’m fine, I’m good, I promise. I just– I’ll try again soon. Love you. Ok. Bye.”

You hung up and sighed, setting your phone down beside you. You hadn’t actually spoken to Steve since you’d gotten on the plane a week ago. Which was fine. You were doing fine. He’d texted you. And he was busy. You knew he was. It’d be easier, you thought if you were too. But everything had been unpacked. The housekeeper took care of all the upkeep of the house and you got the distinct impression that she didn’t much care for your “help,” so now when she was here you mostly tried to stay out of her way. Even Lola was getting tired of going for walks around the neighborhood.

You’d barely seen your husband since your disastrous attempt at sex. He’d been avoiding you, leaving early in the morning and coming home late at night. You hadn’t talked about what happened. You’d barely talked about anything.

You looked at your laptop on the coffee table and exited out of the WebMD entry on erectile dysfunction. That wasn’t helping. With nothing to do and no one to talk to, all you could do was think about what would happen to you if you couldn’t get Ransom to fuck you. If you didn’t get pregnant. You still hadn’t seen the contract and weren’t sure what the actual terms were, but you knew the consequences would be nothing good.

Steve had had an aunt on his mother’s side who’d been found in breach of contract and had her marriage dissolved. You never really knew her, but you remembered how Joseph talked about her, about the desperate arrangement she’d eventually had to settle for, the sadness in Steve’s eyes whenever she came up. That wouldn’t be you, couldn’t be you. You knew you wouldn’t even start to feel secure in your arrangement until that part of the contract had been fulfilled. You just needed to figure out how.

But, dwelling on it wasn’t helping. Googling possible causes of Ransom’s issue wasn’t helping (although it was better than listening to the voice in your head that wouldn’t stop telling you that he just didn’t want to touch you). You needed something to do. Back in LA, you’d worked part-time at an art gallery Steve had introduced you to. You’d mostly answered the phones and greeted people as they came in, but you’d liked it. There had to be something like that available in Boston. And at least trying to find it would give you something to focus on.

So you lost yourself in compiling a list of galleries you could try to contact, sitting on the couch with Lola curled up beside you. When Ransom came home late that night, that’s how he found you. You looked up, startled when he came in the door, and found a similar expression on his face.

“Oh,” he said. “You’re still up,” as he took off his coat and shoes.

“Yeah,” you said, not knowing what else to say.

He nodded and came as far as the beginning of the living area, then stopped and just stared at you for a moment. You waited for whatever it was he was going to say. Then, finally, “How was your day?”

“It was fine,” then, gathering your courage and hoping you wouldn’t be shut down, you added, “I started to look for a job.”

“Oh,” he looked mildly surprised. “Do you have any experience?”

You pushed down the tinge of hurt that bubbled up at that. The question wasn’t completely uncalled for. Many of your friends back home had never worked a day in their lives. But you couldn’t help feeling a little defensive when you answered, “Yes, I worked at the front desk of an art gallery back home. I liked it. I’d like to find something like that here.”

Ransom hummed thoughtfully as he nodded. “Well,” he said, looking off into the corner of the room, “uh, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help with that.”

“Oh,” you said, too surprised to say anything else for a moment. You’d been sure he’d say no. You weren’t quite sure what to do with an offer of help, of all things. And you would need his help if you got the job, with a way to get yourself there at the very least. But you didn’t want to jinx it or push things too far right now, so you just said, “Thank you. I will.” And then, “Uh, how was your day?”

“It was fine,” he said, stiffly. “Busy, I’ve been really busy. And I’m, uh, I’m exhausted now. So I’m going to go straight to bed. Feel free to stay up as late as you want. Obviously.” And just like that, he turned on his heel and left the room.

You should’ve gone after him, maybe. Made him talk to you about it. Or just taken your clothes off while he was talking (although that hadn’t worked the first time). Something. But you were tired too and you just didn’t have it in you, as important as you knew it was.

So, you gave it about half an hour before you went to bed yourself, going through your nighttime routine as quietly as you could in the ensuite. When you went back out to the bedroom, you found Lola already on the bed, curled up against Ransom’s side. You stopped, wondering if you should move her. She’d slept in the bed with you for the last four nights, ever since that awful night, and Ransom hadn’t said anything about making her stop. And he obviously hadn’t noticed her snuggling up next to him, so maybe it was fine. You climbed in next to her and wrapped your body around hers, ignoring the way it made you brush up against Ransom, too.

The next afternoon, you were busying yourself with trying to reorganize your walk-in closet, when you heard someone moving around downstairs. It wasn’t one of the housekeeper’s days, so you made sure you had your phone on you and started down the stairs with caution.

When you got about halfway down, you saw Linda standing in the middle of the living room. “Linda!” you exclaimed, unable to hide your shock at her standing before you. “Ransom didn’t tell me you’d be stopping by. I didn’t know you had a key.”

“Of course, I do, I’m his mother. And I’m the one who set him up with this house.” She cast a judgemental eye on the room. “I see you’ve been moving some things around.”

“Oh,” you said, now at the bottom of the stairs and looking around a little worriedly. You’d tried so hard to disrupt as little as possible. “Not much, I don’t think. Just a little to make room for my own things.”

Linda hummed in a way that made you want to shrink inside yourself. “Well,” she said and held out a gift bag. “I brought you a little something.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, forcing a smile as you took the gift, slightly afraid of what might be in it. You glanced inside, moving aside the tissue paper to find about a dozen pregnancy tests. “Oh,” you said, afraid if you said anything more you might burst into tears. It was fine it was fine it was fine.

“Just want you to be prepared,” she said.

“Thank you,” you forced out. “You really shouldn’t have.”

“Well,” she clapped her hands together, “why don’t you get us some coffee?”

You forced another smile, trying to cover the panic you felt that she was staying. “Yes, of course.” You took your time getting the coffee prepared in the kitchen. Once it was ready, and you had the cream and sugar and everything else gathered on a tray, you couldn’t delay it any longer and brought everything out to the living room. Linda helped herself to a mug, finishing it to her liking as you did the same. You caught, though, the little face she made at her first sip. That was fine, it was her son’s fucking coffee.

“This is nice,” she said, in that particular syrupy tone of voice she had that meant she was trying too hard to seem friendly. “Just the two of us. Overdue.”

You made yourself nod. “Yes,” you said, “It’s great to see you.”

“I was talking to Ransom this morning, and he mentioned that you’re looking for a job?”

“Oh,” you started, something about her tone making you cautious, “yeah, you know, something to keep me occupied. I used to work at an art gallery and I’m hoping I can do something similar here.”

She took a sip of her coffee, then pursed her lips. “Well, that sounds lovely. But are you sure it’s a good idea with a baby on the way?”

You did your best to chuckle, trying to keep things light as you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. “I’m not pregnant yet, Linda.”

“Maybe not, but you will be soon. And do you really think it’s fair to get a job when you’re just going to have to quit in a few weeks anyway?”

You stared at her confused, your own coffee now forgotten. “We don’t know exactly when I’ll get pregnant.” You may not care for Ransom much, but you certainly weren’t going to discuss his possible impotence with his mother. Or the fact that he just didn’t want you. “And I don’t understand why I would have to quit once I got pregnant anyway.”

“Well, I’m sure Ransom won’t want you working once you’re pregnant. He’ll want you to focus on growing his child and getting everything prepared for the baby.”

You felt the air go out of your lungs. All you could do was gape at her. What? You flashed back to the wedding, to Harlan telling you how good you were going to be for Ransom. To your mother telling you to keep him happy. To Joseph’s speech barely even mentioning you. It was like you as a person didn’t exist anymore. You were just here for him. Your whole life set up just to cater to him. You felt the tears starting to gather in your eyes, but you would not cry in front of this woman.

“But,” you started, “you worked all through your pregnancy and Ransom’s childhood, didn’t you? I don’t understand why I wouldn’t be able to, too.”

“Oh,” she said, as she gave you the most condescending look you might have ever received, “I see. You think you and I are the same. Sweetheart, no. I helped my father choose my arraignment. I came into it with my own money, having already established myself. A real career, not some silly part-time gallery job. I’m the one who supports Richard. I’ve always had the power. I was never you. And you will never be me. So, how about you let Ransom take good care of you and you focus on the things that you can give him, hmm?”

You just stared at her, feeling suddenly numb. What the fuck were you supposed to say to that? You’d only spoken to her a few times and every single time she’d made you feel so small, insignificant, weak.

She placed her mug on the table and stood up. “I’ll get out of your hair now, dear, but this was so nice. We’ll have to do it again soon.” She stood in front of you as all you could do was sit and stare. She raised her perfectly manicured eyebrow at you and you finally realized that she wanted you to stand. You robotically did so, still so numb from this short visit. As soon as you were upright, she gave you a stiff hug and patted you on the shoulder. “I’m so glad we were able to put this silly job idea to bed,” she said. “I’ll show myself out. Have a good rest of your day, darling.” And then she was gone and you were left standing alone in the middle of Ransom’s living room.

You spent the rest of the afternoon running Linda’s visit through your mind, over and over. The thing you couldn’t understand was why, if Ransom was so against you working, he hadn’t said anything about it last night. Wouldn’t it have been easier to just tell you no right away, rather than siccing his mother on you the next day? Why would he say yes? Was it just so that he could look like the good guy before he had his mom do his dirty work for him? Was he really that much of a chickenshit?

When you got to a point when you thought you might actually drive yourself crazy if you thought about it anymore, you got your phone out and tried, once again, to call Steve.

You’ve reached the phone of Steve Rogers. Please leave a message after the beep.

You wanted to scream. You were so fucking tired of talking to his machine. Every time you thought you couldn’t feel more alone, you just fell deeper.

“Hey, Steve. Um, I’d really love it if you could call me back. I know you’re busy. I don’t mean to– I’m sorry. I just– I just really miss you. I’d really like to talk to you. I love you. Ok. Bye.”

You hung up and then just stared at your black phone screen for a moment. You couldn’t just sit in the house anymore. “Lola!” you called out into the house, not sure of where she’d gotten off to. “Want to go for a walk?”

Ransom didn’t come home that night, the absolute fucking coward.

When you woke up the next day, you couldn’t tell if Ransom’s side of the bed had been slept in or not. Lola was sprawled across it, taking up much more space than her tiny body would indicate. You decided not to dwell on it.

There was a text message from Steve, sent in the middle of the night.

Hey chipmunk. I’m so sorry I keep missing your calls. I’ve been absolutely slammed this week. I’ll try to call you soon. Hope you’re doing ok. I miss you so much. Love you.

You couldn’t stop staring at it. The childhood nickname combined with the distance the message represented made your whole chest ache.

As the day wore on, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. The housekeeper didn’t want you around. All the unpacking was done. You couldn’t look for a job. You tried to read but you couldn’t focus. You called Steve but he didn’t pick up, again, and you just didn’t have it in you to leave another message.

You felt like you sleepwalked through the whole day, so when Ransom walked in in the evening, you were startled to realize the day was gone.

Lola lept off your lap on the couch and ran to him as soon as he came in the door, hopping up and down and prancing in front of him. He froze, his scarf halfway off his neck and caught in his hands. “What is it doing?” he asked, turning to you, absolutely bewildered.

“I– I don’t know,” you said, staring at your dog. It was stupid, you knew it was so stupid, but you couldn’t help the frisson of betrayal that ran through you. She was supposed to be yours. She was supposed to love you, only you. And now she was consorting with the enemy. And you were jealous of a dog. But what else did you have? Your husband wouldn’t touch you, your brother wouldn’t call you back, and now your dog loved someone else. It all made you want to sob. “I think she’s happy to see you.”

He looked at you aghast. “Why?!”

“I don’t know,” you said again. “Lola,” you called, but she was still hopping up and down in front of Ransom. “Lola!” She turned at your stern tone and reluctantly ran back to you. You picked her up and cradled her in your arms. “Sorry,” you said to Ransom, then quietly murmured, “What were you doing?” into her fur. You glanced at the time. “You’re home early.”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, somewhat sheepish. “Finally got out of work at a decent hour.”

“Oh.” It felt so weird to have him here. “I guess we could have dinner. Have you eaten?”

“Uh, no. Dinner sounds great.” He finally came out of the entryway and began digging through his fridge, pulling out two of the pre-prepared meals his housekeeper kept there.

As he put them in the microwave, all you could do was stare at him. You’d had the last twenty-four hours to stew in your anger and sadness and now all you really felt was tired. There was nothing you could do. It was his house, his family that held the strings. You were far from home with no one to back you up. He’d seen to it that you didn’t have a job to fall back on. All you could do was go along with what he wanted. The only thing you could do was make your place here more secure. As he bent down to get a plate out of the microwave, you blurted out, “Why won’t you fuck me?”

He straightened up quickly and stared at you. “What the fuck?!”

“I just–” you tried, “Has that happened before? Your problem. I’ve read that as men get older that happens sometimes.”

“I’m thirty-five, not fucking sixty. What the actual fuck?” He loudly dropped the plate down in front of you. “Eat your fucking food. I’m not talking about this.”

You sullenly started in on your food, it was pasta. You barely tasted it. You needed to keep talking about this, but doing it while he was angry probably wasn’t the best approach.

He heated up the other plate and then joined you, taking a seat next to you at the island. You both ate in silence, until he finally said, “I just don’t think this is anything we need to rush into. We have plenty of time.”

You looked up at him. Of course, he wouldn’t think there was any rush. Of course, he didn’t have any personal stakes in you getting pregnant. Of course, he could forbid you from working but then deny you the one thing that would give you something to fucking do here. Something that would take a portion of your anxiety away. “We don’t actually,” you growled. “We have no idea how long it’s going to take me to get pregnant.”

“You keep saying that, but I just– I think rushing it would be a mistake. We have more time than you think and putting this off until we know each other better is a good idea.”

And suddenly, you saw red. Every single fucking thing was on his terms. His hometown, his family, his house, his things, his staff, his single car, his timetable. “And how are we supposed to do that, huh?” you yelled, standing up now. “When you’re gone before I wake up and you cross your fingers I’m in bed before you get home. If you even come home! When exactly is this getting to know each other supposed to happen?!”

“Hey!” he yelled, standing up as well. Lola ran upstairs at the sound of his stool scraping against the hardwood. “Calm the fuck down! What is the big fucking deal if we wait a few months rather than doing it right now?”

“Because the longer we wait the less time I’ll have to get pregnant! And the more likely it’ll be that it won’t happen and we’ll nullify the contract and our marriage will be dissolved. And you’ll be fucking fine! You’ll still be your grandfather’s and your mother’s heir. Nothing will happen to you. But I’ll be sent back to Joseph. I’ll have to accept a second arrangement with anyone who will take me. I’ll– I’ll–” You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t breathe. The room was getting smaller, pressing in on you, and you couldn’t breathe.

You sank down to the floor and suddenly Ransom was in front of you. He called your name, but it was hard to process it. He called it again and you made eye contact with him. “You’re having a panic attack. You’re ok. You’re alright. I’m here.” He was speaking so quietly, so gently. “I’m here to help you, ok? I’m going to stay with you.” You nodded as best you could. “Can I touch you?” he asked, and you immediately shook your head. “Ok,” he said quickly, “that’s fine. That’s ok. I won’t touch you. You’re breathing too fast, ok? You need to slow down. Can you breathe with me? Come on, do it with me.” And then he breathed in slowly and you tried to match his rhythm. In and out, in and out, so slowly. At some point, he started counting. In 1 2 3 4 5. Out 1 2 3 4 5. Eventually, you could do it on your own, without him coaching you.

You spent a few more minutes on the floor with him, you both just breathing at each other. Then finally you were able to find your words. “I’m ok,” you said. “I’m alright. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” he said, still so gentle. “Nothing at all. Can you get up?” You nodded and he helped you up. “Are you hungry?” he asked and you shook your head. “Ok, I’ll clean the food up later. Can I help you upstairs?” You nodded and he, very carefully, put his hand on your back, so slowly that you had all the time in the world to pull away. His touch was warm, soft. His touch was always so soft with you.

He guided you to the bedroom where Lola was already on the bed, shaking steadily and looking at you with big, fearful eyes. You climbed on and curled up next to her. “You’re ok,” you whispered to her. “I’m sorry we scared you.” She scooted so she was snuggled up right against you and you carded your fingers through her fur, scratching gently.

Ransom hovered at the foot of the bed. “Thank you,” you said quietly.

“Of course,” he said. “Has that happened before?”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t think so. How did you know how to help?”

“Oh, uh,” he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, looking down at the floor, “I used to get them when I was a kid. I had a nanny who, uh, she was really good about them.”

You just nodded, feeling like you should tuck away that information. You knew so little about him, real things that hadn’t been in the binder. You wanted to file away everything you could.

“Are you– Will you be ok if I go take care of the food?”

You nodded again. “Yeah,” you said, softly. “I’ll be fine. Lola will take care of me. Won’t you, baby?” Lola flopped onto her back so that you could give her tummy scratches and you let out a soft giggle. You smiled up at Ransom, to reassure him. And he just sort of stopped. And stared at you. Your brow furrowed as you became self-conscious under his gaze and your smile started to drop.

He suddenly shook himself out of whatever had been happening and nodded. “Yeah, ok. Yell if you need me,” and he darted out of the room.

You weren’t sure exactly how long he was gone. You passed the time snuggling with Lola, taking comfort in her. You felt shaky and raw. And scared, still scared of everything that could happen, everything you’d yelled at Ransom about. And Ransom himself, how he would take to being yelled at like that, once he was done being worried.

You heard his heavy footfalls at the top of the stairs and looked up as he came back into the room. He sat on the edge of the bed and turned so you could see half his face. “I didn’t–” he started and stopped. Then, after another moment, “I didn’t realize you were so worried about all of this.”

“How would you?” you asked, your eyes cast down, locked on Lola as you continued to pet her. “You’re never here. We never talk.”

“I’ve been really busy,” he said, just a tinge of defensiveness in his tone. “Work’s been awful.” He paused, then repeated, “I’ve been really busy.”

“Sure,” you said.

Neither of you said anything for long minutes. You just kept petting Lola, your hand moving over her body rhythmically.

Then finally, Ransom said lowly, “We can work on it. Getting pregnant. If that will make you feel better. Make things easier for you.”

“Can we?” you asked. “I don’t know if what happened– if that was something that happens to you a lot, or if,” you looked back down, “or if you just don’t want me.”

He moved his hand so that his fingertips grazed yours on the bed. “It’s not that. It wasn’t ever that, ok?” You couldn’t help the way your whole body heated, just a bit, at the implication. You looked up just as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “I just– You were clearly so scared. You wanted to be anywhere else, I could tell. You wouldn’t let me touch you, you wouldn’t even look at me. I can’t do it like that. I just can’t.” He opened his eyes and looked right at you. “I just can’t.”

“Oh,” you said quietly. “That’s– I’m sorry, I–”

He shook his head. “No, that’s not– I just thought you should know.”

You sat quietly together for a few moments. Then you took a deep breath and said, “I think we should try again.”

He gave you a surprised look. “Now?” You nodded resolutely but he shook his head back at you. “You’re still coming down from your panic attack. This can wait til tomorrow.”

In the aftermath of your anxiety, the anger you’d felt had mostly faded away, but now it bubbled back up again. You were so tired of him dictating how everything would go. “No,” you said firmly. “I don’t want to put it off anymore. I’m fine now. This will make things better.”

He just looked at you, searching your face for something. You tried to show him how calm you were now, how sure. Finally, he let out a long sigh. “Fine,” he said. Then he got off the bed and started taking off his clothes. You scrambled up onto your knees to take your top off, gently coaxing Lola off the bed. She looked up at you, waiting for you to join her, but Ransom, now clad only in his boxers, picked her up, gently you noted, and deposited her in the hallway, shutting the door behind her. He looked at you as you continued to strip down to just your bra and panties, his eyes running over your body, and for the first time, you felt it. Maybe he did want you.

He climbed back on the bed. “Can I kiss you?” he asked. You froze for just a second, then nodded. He slowly brought his mouth to yours and caressed your lips with his own. His lips were soft and warm. The kiss was hesitant on both sides, not exactly passionate, but not chaste either. Nowhere near the worst you’d ever had. A quiet arousal began to pool in your core. Not need, not exactly. But it would be enough, you thought. You broke the kiss and laid down on your back. “I’m not trying to shut you out,” you said, trying to keep your tone kind, “but it’ll be faster, I think, if we both just get ourselves ready.” You started the same as last time, one hand on your breast, the other slowly traveling down your body to play with the hem of your panties. “But you can watch,” you added. “If that’s something you like.”

He cleared his throat and nodded. Then he reached over and lightly grabbed your underwear with both hands. “Is this ok?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you breathed, trying to push down your nerves. Everything was ok, this was what needed to happen. You were fine. You were ok.

He pulled your panties down your legs, then tossed them on top of his own clothes. You closed your eyes to focus again on your goto fantasy. The man standing over you. His voice in your ear. And again, you heard the sounds of Ransom getting himself ready. The snick of him opening the bottle of lube. The wet sounds of his hand working over his cock. This time you didn’t let it bother you. This time, you willed yourself not to flinch when you felt his hand on your leg. You had two fingers in your cunt and you worked yourself open, your thumb rubbing over your clit. Once you were wet enough, stretched enough, you opened your eyes and sat up. Ransom was staring at you, one hand on his hard cock, kneeling in front of you.

“Ok,” you said, “I think I’m ready.” He started to move forward, but you stopped him with a hand on his bare chest. “Can I be on top?” you asked. “Is that ok?”

He looked down at where you were touching him and then back up at your face. “Yeah,” he grunted. “Yeah.”

You switched places as he laid down and you moved over him, straddling his pelvis and then carefully lowering yourself onto his cock. You tried not to grimace as he stretched you. He grunted again, as you slowly took more and more of him. Both of his hands came up to grasp your hips as you began to ride him, slowly at first, then picking up your pace. He was staring at your body and it was– it was a lot. Too much. You closed your eyes against it, hoping you just looked like you were into it. As he got closer, he started to buck up into you. You couldn't help but gasp at it. One of his hands moved from your hip to rub circles with his thumb over your clit, the rest of his hand splayed over your pelvis. You breathed through it, trying to let go enough to let yourself come, but you could tell that wasn’t going to happen. That was ok. That didn’t need to happen. Only one of you needed to come tonight.

He continued to buck up into you, his movements becoming more erratic. You balanced yourself with your hands on his shoulders. “Can I–” he grunted. “I’m gonna– Can I move you?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Yeah.”

He sat up and tucked you into him, rolling you both over so that you were now on your back and he was on top of you. He thrust back into you, once, twice, three times, and then he was coming, filling you up. His whole body stuttered over you and then collapsed on top of you. He breathed into your neck for countless moments and you didn’t know why, but you brought your hand up to gently stroke at the short hairs at the base of his skull. “Do you need me to–” he started to ask.

“No,” you said, knowing he was offering to help you finish. “I’m fine. Good. I’m good.”

You felt him nod, just a little, but he didn’t say anything else. It was so quiet, just the sounds of him catching his breath. Then he placed a soft kiss where your neck met your shoulder and lifted himself up and off you. You whimpered, just a little, as he pulled out.

You quickly lifted your hips up to keep his cum inside of you. You reached blindly next to your head until you found a pillow that you shoved under your lower back to keep your pelvis canted up. Ransom moved around the room, picking his underwear off the floor, and then into the bathroom. A few minutes later he came back out with a washcloth. He moved it towards your cunt and you shot a hand out. “No! Wait.”

“Hey,” he said softly, “it’s ok. Just for your thighs. I know. I understand.” He gently moved the warm washcloth over your legs. “Are you alright?” He asked, not quite meeting your eyes. “Was that ok?”

“Yeah,” you said, moving your hand to brush along his forearm. “I’m alright. That was good.”

You lay in bed as Ransom lightly snored on his stomach next to you, Lola curled up between you. You couldn’t sleep. You’d been tossing and turning for about an hour, probably. You sat up. It was no use. Your mind was too busy. Sleep wasn’t going to come.

You grabbed your phone and got out of bed, moving downstairs to the living room as quietly as you could. You curled up on the couch and hugged your knees. You weren’t sure how you felt. It had been fine. Parts of it had even been good, maybe. It’d just, it’d been a long night. You’d gone through so many feelings, and now– Now, you just felt a little empty.

You looked at your phone. It was just before midnight. That meant it’d be a little before nine in LA. Steve hopefully wouldn’t still be working, but he wouldn’t be asleep yet either. He might be out, or painting, or busy some other way, but. It was worth a shot.

It only rang once. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” Steve gasped. “Work has been a fucking nightmare, but that’s no excuse. I was going to try to call you tomorrow, but I’m so, so glad you called me now. How are you? Are you ok?”

The tears had started as soon as you heard your brother’s voice. “Steve,” was all you could get out before you were full-on crying.

“Oh, chipmunk, no. What’s wrong?”

You wiped your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to get yourself together. You finally had your brother on the phone. You weren’t going to waste the whole conversation crying. “Nothing,” you managed. “I’m ok, I just– I’m just so happy to talk to you.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, and you thought that maybe his voice sounded a little thick too. “Me too. I’m so happy to talk to you. I’m so sorry it’s been so long. How are you doing? Your messages, you sounded– Are you ok?”

You sniffled as you tried to nod and then realized he couldn’t see it. “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m good. It’s just a little lonely here. I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too. Everything’s so different here without you. Shit, it’s late there. What are you doing up?”

You shrugged. “Just couldn’t sleep. It’s been a long day.”

Steve hummed and there was a tone to it you couldn’t quite decipher. “Is Ransom there?”

“Yeah, he’s asleep upstairs.”

“And how is he?” Steve’s tone was decidedly cold now.

“He’s fine,” you said, ignoring it. “His work’s been really busy too.”

“And how’s he been to you?” he asked and you definitely didn’t miss the challenge there.

“He’s been fine, Steve,” you said and you weren’t sure whether or not it was a lie. “Everything’s fine.” You’d already decided you weren’t going to tell him about the job thing. That wouldn’t do anything but upset him. Get him on a plane here, maybe, so he could try throwing his weight around. You rolled your eyes. It was better this way. “I’ve just been unpacking mostly. Nothing too exciting. What about you? What’s going on with you? I want to hear everything.”

“You’re sure it’s not too late there?”

“No, not at all. I’m wide awake. And nothing much to get up for in the morning anyway. But if you’re busy or need to go to bed or something, you can go whenever you need to.”

“Not a chance. I wanna talk to you as long as I can,” Steve said. And you knew he couldn’t see it, but you grinned into the phone anyway.

Tag list is open

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @citronbun @rebeccapineapple @alexakeyloveloki @dancer3205 @i-can-do-this-all-dayy @thecrandle @lokislady82 @thedazzlingburglar @23skidoosteven @she-wolf09231982 @arbesa-mind @samfreakingwinchester @emerald-writes @have-another-doughnut @patzammit @blackhawkfanatic @mooievis @dontbescaredtosingalong @curiousandjoyous @identity2212 @helensdrafts @cricket66 @vyctorya @disgruntled-cat @heyyitsreign

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale x you #reader insert #fanfic #knives out #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans characters #ce characters #arranged marriage au #kris wrote something #more than this

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thebearer · 10 months

Note

can you please write dad!carmen and mom!reader stuck at home taking care of their two sick babies? carmy would be soo worried hate seeing his girls like that 💔

"Teddy, please don't cry, sweet girl."

"I know, Wills, I know it's nasty. Just a little bit more."

One was screaming, the other sobbing with deep, heaving breaths that made your own heart feel like it might spilt in two somehow. Strep had made its way into the Berzatto household. A mandatory forty-eight hours to make sure they both weren't contagious, an extra twenty-four tacked on so they could recuperate, and you weren't sure you were going to make it past day one.

Carmen had to stay home, of course, he wasn't risking infecting his staff or customers. You were thankful you had his help, especially at times like this.

Times when you were having to feed the girls their medicine. The pale pink liquid measured out in syringes, forced down their throats with gentle coaxes over their cries.

"I don't li-ike it!" Teddy sobbed, shoulders heaving. She was exhausted, sick, just uncomfortable all around. You knew she was. You wished you could jus magically make it better for her, take the pain instead so she'd go back to your bubbly, sweet girl.

"I know, baby." You hummed sympathetically, pressing the small sippy cup to her lips, thumb catching her angry tears streaking down her face. "But it will make you feel better."

"I want to feel better without that!" Teddy roared, crankily, throwing her arms out in pure frustration.

"That's the only way you can get better, Teddy Bear." Carmen chimed, soothing a still sobbing Willow in his arms, her face buried in his neck. She was still upset that he'd given her medicine to her. Sobbing in the most heart wrenching way; sad sobs, not like her sister's cries of frustration and anger- sobs that tore Carmen's heart right down the middle.

Somehow, you managed to get the two of them back down for a nap. They'd cried themselves to sleep, exhausted with emotion, collapsing in your's and Carmen's bed.

The two of you had took to the couch instead, falling nearly on top of each other. "Do you think we should take them back to the doctor?" Carmen muttered next to you.

"Why?"

"Because," Carmen hesitated, head lolling over to look at you. "I mean... They act like they're still in pain."

"That was their first dose, Carm. The medicine hasn't even had a chance to kick in." You countered gently.

"I know... I just- I-I was looking up their symptoms and what if it's meningitis or something? What if it was misdiagnosed and-"

"-Carmen, I swear to fuckin' God, I am blocking WebMD from your phone." You huffed lightly. "I don't know how I'm gonna do that, but I am. I'm gonna go to the Geek Squad and make them block it entirely."

"I'm being serious-"

"-So am I." You looked at him with a light glare. "Baby, they ran the tests. It came back strep. They have to like grow it and stuff to make sure, ok?" Carmen still looked unsettled. "If they wake up and don't feel better, we'll take them back."

"Fine." Carmen nodded, letting his head fall on your shoulder. "You think we should nap in there with them? Or stay in here?"

"Maybe one of us should go in there." You mutter. "Make sure Will doesn't throw up."

"True. Good point." Carmen sighed, rubbing his eyes when he sat up. "I'll go in there."

"I can go." You stand before he can, putting the blanket from the back of the couch on his lap. "You got them this morning. I got 'em, Daddy." You give him a playful, yet tired, wink. Carmen flushes, a shy smile that has your tummy pooling with warmth, pressing a kiss to his cheek before you're padding back to your bedroom.

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scoobydoodean · 5 months

Note

so i’ve always been annoyed by the belief that “sam and dean are toxically co-dependent, especially dean!” like it just baffles me once i remember all the times they’ve been apart without one of them being dead (and actually including post swan song to an extent), but i’ve never been able to properly articulate why i think dean at least isn’t really co-dependent on sam. like there’s a difference between being (co)dependent on somebody and dean’s parentification right? thanks!

I'll preface this by saying I am not a medical professional nor have I studied academic literature on codependency in great detail. That said, "codependency" is usually just a buzzword used colloquially to describe people who are obsessed with each other anyway. I address the colloquial use and how Sam is much more unhinged here. I'm guessing the colloquial use is really more what you mean, but if you're looking for something different or a little more specific than that, I can probably write or point you to some other things I've written if you give me something more specific to go on.

That said, there is something about the way fandom talks about "codependency" between Sam and Dean that bothers me, and I think by reading around about codependency today after I got this ask, and finding out that this term is controversial among mental health professionals as well... I finally figured out why.

I think to a lot of people, "codependent" has become synonymous with words like "needy" and "suffocating". However, the WebMD type articles I started with, suggest that the partner of the codependent party is the one whose needs seem to constantly overshadow and outweigh the needs of the codependent partner in the relationship. While the codependent partner can exhibit negative behaviors, the primary problem of the codependent party is that in being a caretaker, they can lose all sense of their identity and boundaries, and don't know who they are outside of being a caretaker for others. However, this is a more modern take on the term. Because these articles I started with mentioned academic controversy, I then found a few academic papers to skim, and this proved to be even more helpful in understanding why I... don't like this term very much.

First, the historical origins of it are... off-putting. The term "codependency" first emerged in academic literature in the 1940s to describe wives with alcoholic husbands who behave as "enablers" [1, 2]. I probably don't have to point out how different things were for women back then, and how rampantly sexist that context makes this first wave of literature sound, but it's discussed extensively in this article. Second, there is more stigma associated with the term partly because Alcoholics Anonymous (shocking /s) latched onto it starting in the 60s and 70s:

The influence of the AA culture in shaping the concept of codependency as an illness offered the idea that people who were close to the substance user were themselves suffering from an illness (O’Briean and Gaborit 1992). These people were viewed as enablers and coalcoholics (Cotton 1979). [ 1 ]

I... think I am probably not the only one who finds that utterly rancid to read (some academics writing on the subject certainly seem to):

According to Gus Napier, a noted family therapist, it is "ridiculous" to label codependency as a disease, because it is a culturally conditioned response of an overfunctioning person in relationship with an underfunctioning person (Meacham, 1990-1991). [2]

Some researchers who have pushed the term "codependency" as a diagnosis have actually suggested that literally anyone who is living with someone with an addiction should be called co-dependent by definition, regardless of any behavior they may exhibit, which tells you a lot about the lack of consensus and how meaningless the term can be [2]. The term (especially within the disease model where codependency itself is a from of addiction) has been criticized by many researchers for the misogyny through which the term originated, for unproductive negative labeling and pathologizing of people (especially women) dealing with incredibly difficult situations with their loved ones, for victim-blaming people (especially women stuck in abusive relationships) for the actions of their partners, for tangentially—negative stereotyping about people with serious addictions, and for conflating addiction with interpersonal problems, and in the extreme case—for suggesting separation from ones family is the solution to addiction and supporting someone with an addiction somehow always enables them [1, 2].

Since the original stream of literature related to addiction, codependency has rebranded and expanded into literature on family experiences with abuse and mental and physical illness. Which is where we get articles like this one I already linked. The codependent party is still a caretaker in these settings, caring for the needs of a loved one who is ill. Still, "codependency" is not an official medical diagnosis (i.e. not in the DSM-5). It's a term that has been used in academic literature by mental health professionals, when trying to describe a range of behaviors within dysfunctional families. These researchers do not agree on the term's meaning or on whether it even is or should be a diagnosis. Many are interested in it only from an interpersonal or personality perspective, which is also where we should stick.

Taking all of this into account though, I think the very first thing we have to ask ourselves is what exactly we get out of using the term "co-dependency" to describe Sam and/or Dean when the term doesn't even really have an agreed-upon meaning. Is the intention to write interesting character analysis, or is the intention to glorify or criticize using a term that has historically stigmatized understandable human reactions to troubled family situations? I think the goal has perhaps too often been the latter.

That said, I've already been referencing it, but I think this article does a good job of summarizing much of the literature, and then actually focusing on people who do choose, of their own accord, to identify with the term "codependent" because it is helpful for them in understanding their own lived experience and their patterns within relationships. I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting to explore this as it relates to Sam and Dean with the right motivations. If you read the accounts of the respondents who choose to identify with the term, you'll see shades of Sam and Dean I think (I have written something pretty close to the chameleon-self about season 1 Dean, and I can apply that one to Sam too through his attempts to fit in at Stanford). When it comes to my experience with these characters however, I just don't find that I personally see any value in analyzing Sam and Dean through the word "codependent" given it's lack of agreed-upon meaning professionally and colloquially.

It seems to me that the term itself leads to more confusing conversations instead of less confusing ones because of the lack of clear definition, and the potential for negative stereotyping instead of actual edifying analysis is extremely off-putting to me. It just doesn't do anything for me personally. The issues to which it relates I think are interesting (especially parentification which is a term I do find useful), and I think criticisms leveled against the term are also useful to read in understanding ones own struggles with how fandom tends to frame Dean as a caretaker who they believe is actually somehow responsible for everyone else's decisions. But I think that perhaps I prefer words and concepts that are better defined than the muddiness of the term "codependent".

Lastly: Even if I'm not a particular fan of the term, the fact is that the actual show uses the term twice—in season 5 (shoutout to butch--dean's transcript search engine). Once in 5.11 "Sam, Interrupted" (to Dean):

DR. FULLER Well, to be frank, uh, the relationship that you have with your brother seems dangerously codependent. I think a little time apart will do you both good.

First, this dude doesn't really know what's going on and thinks Sam and Dean are having delusions. However, in season 5, Sam's experience with demon blood is repeatedly paralleled with drug or alcohol addiction, and Sam is someone for whom Dean has been made to feel responsible for most of his life. This episode addresses Dean's overly burdensome responsibilities in other ways and it's also come up in the past in 1.12, 2.09, 2.10, and 4.05. I prefer to discuss this theme with much more specific terms. In this case, I would say Dean has an "overactive sense of responsibility to others", originating first with his childhood experiences with parentification. Sam also has a tendency to try and make Dean shoulder responsibility for his decisions when they backfire, and does so multiple times related to the demon blood (4.04, 4.21, 5.05). Cas and Zachariah also both blame Dean for Sam breaking the last seal because he didn't stop him in time (5.01, 5.02) and Bobby criticizes how Dean responds to Sam's addiction (4.22).

And then again in 5.18 "Point of No Return", specifically when Zachariah (my favorite manipulative angel) tries to get Adam to be on his side by basically calling Sam and Dean creepy incestuous weirdos:

ZACHARIAH So you know you can’t trust them, right? You know Sam and Dean Winchester are psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent on each other, right?

This one honestly to me is just Zachariah doing Zachariah things. I'll reach these episodes on my rewatch fairly soon though, so we'll see if I end up talking about it more then.

Bacon, I., McKay, E., Reynolds, F. et al. The Lived Experience of Codependency: an Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis. Int J Ment Health Addiction 18, 754–771 (2020). https://doi.org/10.1007/s11469-018-9983-8

Anderson, S. C. (1994). A Critical Analysis of the Concept of Codependency. Social Work, 39(6), 677–685. http://www.jstor.org/stable/23717128

#mail #5.11 #5.18 #parentification #family chains

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pictureinme · 9 months

Note

hcs for taking care of cillian charcters when they’re sick & when you get sick in return?

thank you thank you for this! i decided to put a few more characters for this, i love the concept LOL

patricia 'kitten' braden

» she is the epitome of 'woe is me' when she's sick - pillows upon pillows, tissues everywhere, a hand upon her forehead as she wears her most extravagant nightgown... she has appearances to keep up! » she requests you to dote on her every need - spoon-feeding her soup, putting on her favorite records and lighting the loveliest of candles when the overhead light is just too much to bear » once she recovers, you've fallen just as ill - she apologizes PROFUSELY for making you kiss her constantly, but how could she abstain from you?! » she cooks for you, making sure you're getting every single nutrient to heal fast - picture soups full of veggies, assorted fruit, and, frankly, disgusting smoothies because she read about it in cosmo

neil lewis

» honestly pathetically arrogant, let's be real - swears he's just fine, tries to keep running the store but he sneezed on a copy of 'dr. strangelove' a customer was trying to rent and lucien kicked him out (for everyone's benefit) » once you have him at home, he wears three masks and gloves, spraying everything down with lysol for fear of getting you sick - the only thing he accepts from you is little snacks and the meds he forgot » you somehow get sick despite his best efforts ... even though he did make you throw out all of his various tissues - he immediately goes to webmd with whatever symptoms you present & definitely micromanages your meds schedule » asks marcia and her husband for advice, but only kind they've got is related to their little bundle of joy - they do, however, send him back home with a fuck ton of goodies for you to wake up to from your sickly nap

emma skillpa

» hides her sickness from you as long as possible, to the point of her passing out mid cleaning - luckily you catch her, and she is beyond embarrassed. "oh, please don't worry, i'll be back on my feet in no time!" » you carry her up the stairs, laying her on her bed, and she can't help but swoon at your control of the situation - she tells you exactly the things she needs, sometimes attempting to get out of bed herself to get them. she already has some soup frozen in the ice box, so all you have to do is thaw them » she goes full emma mode when you've fallen ill after taking such good care of her - calls your place of work, telling them you've fallen deathly ill and need a week off (what a gem she is). makes sure you drink every last bit of soup, no ifs or buts » genuinely does not let you leave the bedroom for the entire week, even if you've already recovered by that point - spends time with you, of course, but she has lots to do around the house! maybe being held captive by emma wasn't so bad, hm?

jackson rippner

» cannot STAND being sick, especially with the delays in his job that could occur - however, he very much enjoys you doting on him like his little caretaker. he can't resist playing house » makes sure you attend to his every need, especially while wearing a cute little outfit (nurse costume unnecessary, but not out of the question) - "come on, do a little spin for me, it's the least you can do. i'm a sick man who needs his meds from his oh so sexy wife!" » you falling ill was not in the itinerary, but he loves how cute you look bundled up in the sheets - he pokes fun at you, but still gets you all the stuff you need » if he has to leave for a job in the middle of your sickness, he leaves you with a nest of items you could ever possibly need, as well as an on-call doctor he knows for... reasons - "i'll just be a few states away, but if shit gets serious, don't hesitate to call my burner. yes, i need it for this job, i don't know why. please stop asking so many questions."

jonathan crane

» you can barely tell he's sick for the first few days, but you notice the redness around his nose - when you bring it up, he immediately shoots you down. "darling, if i was sick, i couldn't be doing my job, now could i?" » meanwhile, the next time you see him, he's passed out in his office chair with tissues stuffed in his pocket like a lapel. you bring him back to your place so he can properly rest - he wakes up confused, but silently grateful for the glass of water and medicine you placed on the nightstand next to him » having him stay at your place got you sick pretty fast, and you couldn't believe how he was surviving with the level of congestion you're having - he stays home from work enough to dote on you in his own special way, taking note of your symptoms to properly take care of you » he only goes to the office a few times to bring you back some high doses of medicine you couldn't get over the counter at a cvs, so you could heal as fast as possible - "i know the pills are bigger than normal, but you only have to take them once a day for the rest of the week. don't be such a crybaby."

#patricia braden x reader #kitten braden x reader #neil lewis x reader #emma skillpa x reader #jackson rippner x reader #jonathan crane x reader #cillian murphy x reader

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themculibrary · 4 months

Text

Tony Takes Care Of Sick Peter Masterlist

Am I A Dying Man? (ao3) - Odd_I G, 5k

Summary: Peter Parker didn’t get sick, not any more. He hadn’t been really sick since before the bite, and that was what? Three years ago?

He was pretty sure it had something to do with his super healing, but he wasn’t completely sure. They never really had to test it out, after all. But he healed fast, so it generally made sense that his weird radioactive spider system also fought off any infections and illnesses.

— OR —

Peter gets sick, is a dramatic little shit, and Tony is just done with everything.

Appendicitis (ao3) - tommyparkerr T, 15k

Summary: In which Peter doesn't realize until too late that the flu shouldn't be this painful, and Tony Stark is right there to both lecture and comfort him (and accidentally call him his kid in the process).

Blankets (ao3) - kiwifeather G, 1k

Summary: Tony cares for an under-the-weather Peter the best way he knows how (which is pretty good, because he's a Dad™ now).

et tu, brute? (ao3) - turtle_bean G, 3k

Summary: Peter rounds the corner and gives a half-hearted hop. “All ready for the mission, Mr. Stark!”

Yeah, no.

“FRI, give me a read.”

“What -”

“101.7 degrees Fahrenheit, Mr. Stark,” Karen announces from Peter’s suit.

or, peter is sick, ned’s worried, and tony is... well, tony.

Extra Noodles (ao3) - duskblue G, 4k

Summary: Peter is staying with Tony while May is out of town. Unfortunately, Peter doesn't feel the best, so Tony is on a mission to figure out what's wrong so he can take the best possible care of him. He enlists his good friend, Bruce Banner in this task.

flushed away (ao3) - underpassgraffiti G, 2k

Summary: "I'm dying," he decides, flushing the toilet and resting his forehead against the rim. He feels disgusting. "I'm dying, I'm gonna die. Spider-Man dies to ravioli."

"Should I alert Boss?" Friday chirps, and Peter groans, waving a hand uselessly.

"No, m'fine," he grumbles. "WebMD will save me."

or: peter gets food poisoning & tony takes care of him.

Into the West (ao3) - ChocolateAndRedbull G, 1k

Summary: When a feverish Peter lets himself dwell on the past, Tony makes sure that he’s there to talk him through it

it's in the job description (ao3) - iron_spider_suit G, 8k

Summary: Peter gets sick just in time for movie night with the team. Tony does his best.

lessons in the metric system (ao3) - akapeterman G, 2k

Summary: “Pete,” Tony said slowly, “You’re sick.”

“No!” Peter said more urgently. “I’m hyp’thermic.”

“Trust me, you are the opposite of hypothermic right now, kiddo.”

or; Peter and Tony decide to road trip to Canada. Unfortunately, a peppermint air freshener happens to be Spider-Man's kryptonite. Confusion ensues. And honestly, Peter blames the American school system. They really should be more clear about the difference between Celsius and Farenheight.

Of Chicken Soup and Brooklyn-99 (ao3) - AnnabelleBlack20 G, 2k

Summary: Peter hadn’t gotten sick since the spider bite. But then again, his rotten Parker luck had a mind of its own. Lucky for him, he’s got a superhero in his corner. Nothing but pure fluff between IRONDAD and his SPIDERSON!

shaken up realities (shaking up reality) (ao3) - lemonlillybee M, 5k

Summary: This takes place after Endgame, and it’s a bit angsty, but everyone lives!

Written for the following Sicktember 2022 prompt: Cold Sweat

Sick Puppies (ao3) - OllieCollie G, 7k

Summary: Tony has been through a lot in his lifetime—from being kidnapped by terrorists to saving the world multiple times and just about everything in between—but he may be facing his toughest challenge yet: taking care of two kids with the flu.

Since I Have You (ao3) - lunasquared G, 2k

Summary: He didn’t register the fact that he started falling until he was caught by a pair of arms right before he hit the floor.

“Whoa there kiddo,” Tony said, helping Peter over to the couch. “What’s going on?”

“‘s hot.” Peter mumbled as he laid down on the couch thankful to finally be off his feet.

Peter gets sick and Tony helps take care of him.

we all have a hunger (ao3) - MotherKarizma G, 6k

Summary: “Morgan,” he croaked, throat afire, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hey – hey, it’s okay, I’m just…”

“You’re sick.” She mustered up something like bravery, using it to straighten her back and plaster a very grown-up look on her face. “I’ll get Daddy!”

“No!” Morgan jumped, eyes wide. Peter fought to calm his voice. He offered her a smile that couldn’t have been convincing, not even to a five year old. “No, you don’t have to. I feel better now. You don’t have to tell him.”

Morgan’s lips wobbled. Peter knew what her fake pout looked like well enough to know this wasn’t it. “Petey…”

Peter had a lot of reasons to feel guilty. He felt guilty for scaring her. He felt guilty for forgetting to lock his bedroom door, for making scaring her a possibility. He kind of, in a way, felt guilty for doing it in the first place, though not nearly enough to stop.

But more than anything, he felt guilty for this: “Morgan, promise me you won’t tell him. He…he won’t let us swim anymore if you do. And I’m not sick, my tummy just hurt a little bit, but I’m all better now. Promise me you won’t tell him, okay?”

“But…”

“Morgan. Promise.”

When I'm Sick Or Suffering (I'll Still Call You) (ao3) - l_u_c_k_y_c_l_o_v_e_r G, 2k

Summary: Peter comes down with the flu, but a certain superhero makes sure he doesn't have to deal with it on his own.

Wingman (ao3) - Sahiya G, 4k

Summary: Holy shit, Rhodey thought. Tony’s a dad.

#themculibrary #marvel #mcu #irondad #masterlists #irondad masterlist #sick!peter #sick!peter masterlist

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sortasirius · 2 months

Text

First Place

Fandom: 911

Pairing: Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Words: 2209

Rating: T

Summary: Buck wakes from the same repeating nightmare to a knock on his door.

Title comes from this song.

Also on AO3 here

Stay with me. He was pushing on the wound in Eddie’s chest, soaking the gauze he had packed on there, soaking his hands, a hole blown in a levy, a tidal wave that Buck couldn’t stem.

A loud rhythmic sound, maybe one of the machines on the rig acting up. Buck didn’t have time to worry about that, he just had to worry about keeping Eddie awake. Keeping him alive.

He was not allowed to leave, he wasn’t allowed to go to a place where Buck couldn’t immediately follow.

Stay with me.

He repeated the words like a mantra, like a prayer, saying them over and over as Eddie’s eyes rolled in and out of focus, his hand scrabbling blindly on the metal floor beside him, then coming up to rest on Buck’s forearm, then back down again.

Stay with me, you have to stay with me.

More of that rhythmic noise, louder this time. He thought he heard his own name.

“Open up!”

He looked around, only now noticing that the rig was empty. He looked up at the driver’s seat.

Empty.

Buck, Eddie whispered, his hand coming up to touch his face now, Buck-

Stay with me.

You have to stay with me.

“Buck!”

He sat straight up from the couch, gasping for air, his heart doing its best to beat out of his chest as whoever was at his door knocked loudly again.

He scrubbed a hand down his face as he moved slowly towards the door, trying to shake the fear that clung to him like a second skin.

Just another nightmare, just like all the others he had had since Eddie had had a hole blown right through him.

He had thought, maybe stupidly, that with Eddie home now, things would go back to normal. He was safe, at home with Chris and probably Ana. He was home. He was with Chris. It was fine.

He would tell himself this over and over, even as he would watch the clock tick nearer and nearer to dawn, and would finally gave up on sleeping all together and just sit in front of the tv, not taking in the flickering images in front of his eyes.

He thought it might be easier if he could stay with Eddie, but he couldn’t ask him that. He had his own life, his own son, his own girlfriend. He didn’t need Buck hanging on like a lost puppy, clinging to him like a life raft in a storm.

That never worked out for Buck, but he had never been able to let go.

He pulled open the door, only to see Eddie himself, dressed in that cream colored henley that Buck had always thought looked great on him and…pajama pants?

“Hey,” Buck blinked, looking around, “I didn’t expect-“

“Can I come in?” Eddie was shifting side to side, like he was nervous, and it was rare that Buck ever saw Eddie nervous.

“Sure,” he said, inwardly thankful that Taylor had already left. She didn’t like to stay the night, she said Buck was too cuddly and it made her too hot, “I figured you’d be with Chris.”

“He’s in bed,” he looked over his shoulder, into Buck’s apartment, “Can I come in?”

“Oh, sure. Of course,” he stood by to let him pass, analyzing his movements as he walked by him.

He was moving well. Buck had been up half the night googling signs and symptoms of infection or blood poisoning or a myriad of other things WebMD told him could come along with an extended hospital stay or a heavy caliber gunshot wound.

He’d lost so much blood, seeping out onto the asphalt, his insides out-

He gave his head a little shake, closing the door and following Eddie to the couch, sinking down onto it next to him, and looking at him curiously.

The silence stretched on, Buck watching Eddie, Eddie watching his hands. They were twisting together, like he was working up to something.

“I dumped Ana,” he finally said, so bluntly that Buck was taken aback.

“Oh did- Did something happen?”

Something like a small smile curled Eddie’s mouth, but he still wouldn’t look at Buck.

“Yeah. Carla.”

Whoa. This was a new development.

“You- You’re dating Carla?”

“What? No,” he laughed, “No it- it was something she said to me.”

Another silence. Buck couldn’t understand where this was going, or why Eddie had come to the loft just to tell him this in the middle of the night when they would see each other on shift the next morning.

“What’d she say?”

“That- That I had to make sure I was following my own heart, not just Christopher’s. And I was thinking about it and I realized she was right, I was just with Ana because she was nice and because Chris liked her.”

“Oof. Rough. Hope you didn’t say that to her.”

“But I realized,” Eddie continued, plowing over Buck’s words, “That there was someone we had in common. Someone Chris loves that I- I think I do too.”

There was a sick kind of sinking in his gut, something that he didn’t really understand, but something that was common anytime Eddie mentioned a date or someone he was seeing.

“Oh yeah?” he tried to keep up a bright smile, “Who’s that?”

Eddie didn’t answer him, but just…looked at him instead.

“What?”

“You know,” he seemed to be choosing his words more carefully now, “When I got shot, you were the first thing I saw.”

Buck shifted; he didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to remember that horrible moment, something that he was sure was going to keep him awake for years, screaming nightmares punctuating his sleep.

Eddie on the ground, his warm blood splattered across Buck’s face…

“It didn’t even hurt, really,” Eddie was saying, “The shock of it, you know. I don’t even remember falling, but I remember I couldn’t see you.”

Buck rubbed at his chest, where was he going with this? It’s not like he didn’t remember, it was just a couple of weeks ago and felt like he was still living in the nightmare. He saw him bleeding out, Buck powerless to do anything but watch every time he closed his eyes.

“And then I looked under the rig and I saw you, and I could hear yelling and shots from the sniper and screaming and a fire nearby, but I-”

He broke off, shaking his head, but the idea of him not finishing what he was going to say was suddenly too heartbreaking to bear.

“What? You can tell me.”

He took a deep, steadying breath.

“I was reaching for you. I was reaching for you because- Because I didn’t want to die without touching you, even just for a second. Just one last second.”

Buck felt like all the air had been punched out of his chest.

“You-”

“And then the way you talked after. How it should have been you, how it would have been better if it was you,” Eddie shook his head, looking almost angry, “I can’t- Chris needs you. I- I need you. I need you, Buck.”

“You- You need me?” he said slowly, trying to force his brain to work faster.

“Yeah,” he whispered, shifting closer to him on the couch, so their knees were touching, “I need you more than Chris does, and he’s already complaining that he hasn’t seen you in two days.”

“I just wanted to give you your space,” he mumbled, head low.

“You don’t have to give us- Give me any space. I want you around, always.”

“For now,” Buck let the words slip without even thinking, his internal monologue slipping out uninvited. Instantly, he wished he could take them back, because Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed down in concern and he reached for him, gripping his knee in his hand, warmth leeching through the fabric of Buck’s sweatpants.

“What do you mean, ‘for now’?”

“Nothing,” he said it too quickly, but wouldn’t pull away from Eddie, nothing in the universe could make him pull away from Eddie ever again, “It’s stupid.”

“No,” he was using that same tone he had used in the hospital, when he had told him that he wasn’t replaceable. Forceful. Assured. Like nothing had ever been more true. “Tell me what you meant.”

“It’s just-” he had never said this to anyone, never let it see the light of day. Because if he said it, he would lose them that much faster, “Everyone leaves eventually, when they see me.”

“See you?” he couldn’t escape the look on Eddie’s face, “What do you mean, see you?”

“Just when- When I’m too much. Because I’m always too much. It’s what everyone says.”

“Who says that? I wouldn’t say that.”

“I just- The way I act. I’m too much. I’m…I’m exhausting.”

Eddie’s whole face changed.

“Oh Buck-”

“No it’s fine. It’s fine. I shouldn’t have said anything-”

“I was just mad at you-” Eddie sounded frantic, “I didn’t mean.”

“It’s not you, it’s everyone. My parents, my sister, the rest of the crew, any girl…ever. Even Taylor tells me she can’t stay because I cuddle too much, even when I’m asleep I cling too hard. I know I’m too much and I just- I can’t get my hopes up that anything would be different here.”

He swallowed, blinking back tears that stung his eyes.

“Hey,” Eddie’s voice was so gentle, “Will you look at me?”

He didn’t want to. He didn’t want Eddie to see him going to pieces over something as silly as this. It was just the truth, something that he had known from the time he was a child, even years before he knew that he was only born for spare parts; he loved too hard, and he crushed the people that he loved in the process of loving them.

So it was easier for everyone to leave him, or else risk being suffocated.

A gentle hand came up to lift his chin, and he was looking at Eddie, his gaze something dangerously close to tender.

“You aren’t too much,” Buck snorted wetly, making to shrug him off, but Eddie held fast, “No, listen to me. Really listen to me. You aren’t too much, and fuck everyone for ever making you feel like you were. Fuck me, for all that. I was just angry at you- I didn’t realize what I was saying would leave- Leave such a mark. But it’s not true, Buck. You’ve never been too much, not for Chris. Not for me.”

“I don’t know,” he wanted to try for humor, otherwise he’d be bursting into tears right here in front of Eddie, “You get pretty annoyed at me.”

“Yeah, that’s because you’re pretty annoying,” a ghost of a smile flitted across his face, “But that doesn’t mean you’ve ever been too much.”

Buck closed his eyes, hot tears leaking from them against his will. He felt the pad of Eddie’s thumb wiping them away, and he leaned into the contact.

“Don’t- Please don’t just be saying this. Don’t say it if- If you don’t mean it.”

“I do mean it,” Eddie’s voice was so earnest that Buck opened his eyes, “I mean every word.”

They stayed like that, just looking at each other, and Buck felt almost like it was a standoff, seeing who would break first.

“I don’t- I don’t know how to feel,” he finally said, pulling back from Eddie just slightly, so that he dropped his hands, “I still- I think I need to sleep, I can’t put anything together.”

“Are you sleeping down here?” Eddie looked critically at the blanket and throw pillow Buck had been using as a makeshift bed, “What’s wrong with the loft?”

“I can’t sleep up there,” he looked away from him, “Not that I can sleep much better down here either.”

“Just can’t sleep?” Eddie arched an eyebrow at him, “Or is it-”

“It’s you,” Buck said, nearly bitterly, “I keep dreaming about it. The shooting. Everything. I keep having to stop myself from calling you at three in the morning just to make sure you’re okay.”

There was a pause, one where Buck could practically see the wheels in Eddie’s brain turning, before he said,

“Then come home with me.”

“What?” Buck said loudly, sure he had misheard him.

“Come home with me,” he repeated, steadily, “You won’t have to check on me if we’re in the same bed.”

That strange feeling in his chest had vanished, replaced by something warm and blooming.

“You mean that?”

“Oh yeah, I definitely mean it,” he got to his feet, groaning slightly, and extended his hand to Buck, “What do you say? It’ll give Chris the thrill of his life when he wakes up to find you in the house.”

“Just Chris?” Buck fished tentatively, and Eddie laughed, leaning into his space, so that they were only an inch or so apart.

“Not just Chris,” he whispered, pressing his lips gently to Buck’s. He leaned into the kiss, pulling Eddie in closer, careful with his left side, ever aware of the bullet hole that had torn him apart and brought them together.

#buddie #my writing #911 #911 abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fox #probably first of many lol #buddie fanfic

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your-punk-mom · 3 months

Text

Vash needs therapy Pt. 1

(FYI: My view on therapy is that everyone can benefit from professional support, at least at times. But some people *need it urgently, right now, and maybe long term*. It’s a tool, don’t judge.)

So here’s my personal rule: DON’T DIAGNOSE PEOPLE OVER THE INTERNET. It’s unethical, and even if I were qualified (I am not) it would still be wrong.

But Vash is fictional, so that’s ok. :)

I said previously that psychological character analysis tries to explain how a character’s actions flow naturally from their past, relationships, and assumptions.

Today, we’re going to mostly look at actions. And Vash’s actions say he’s got a Savior Complex.

Savior Complex (SC) isn’t a diagnosis of mental illness. It’s not even in any version of the DSM. It’s more like a state of mind, stemming from toxic beliefs and reflected in toxic behaviors. Anybody can develop this mindset, with or without an accompanying mental illness.

Thanks to not being a “disorder”, SC is not a big subject for serious academics, but practicing therapists write about it a lot, so my citations are a little bit informal.

My favorite version of a definition of SC is from Grouport:

The savior complex is a psychological construct that describes a person's need or compulsion to save others, often neglecting their own needs in the process. It's a behavior pattern often rooted in empathy, but when left unchecked, it can lead to unhealthy dynamics in relationships and personal distress.

Individuals with a savior complex often believe that their worth is tied to their ability to help others. This belief can stem from societal expectations that value selflessness and altruism, sometimes to the point of self-sacrifice.

Doing good deeds is not a bad thing by itself; it even has health benefits for both helper and helped. But taken to extremes, it becomes a problem. People with SC often damage themselves and others in the name of saving someone, even the target of their help.

WebMD has a pretty thorough list of behaviors and beliefs that can indicate a SC. Let's match some of what we observe in Vash's actions and words to these indicators.

Does helping or saving others:

✅Put you in danger physically if you try to save someone in a dangerous situation

Agreeing to duel the Officer Chuck Lee in Jeneora Rock; jumping back inside the worm to rescue the reporters; getting in the middle of Wolfwood and Livio's firefight; walking right into Knives' trap; taking a bullet for literally anyone.

✅Affect your mental state, especially if you aren’t able to save the other person

After Rosa kicks him out of Jeneora Rock, Vash tells Meryl he is smiling because "I don't deserve to cry"; refusing to talk after Jeneora Rock; refusing to eat for two days after Jeneora Rock, refusing to eat for weeks after the Big Fall (especially significant since he only eats for the joy of it); stating that that he “failed” to protect Rem, and so he *has* to save LITERALLY EVERYONE; after the Big Fall, lying about Nai's survival to Luida and Brad.

✅Cause you to neglect your own physical needs, which could lead to illness

Refusing to eat for two days after Jeneora Rock; refusing to eat for weeks after the Big Fall; Letting that one officer in JuLai shoot him over Jeneora Rock, when Vash easily could have dodged; letting the JuLai military police beat him up until he was bleeding, in Jeneora Rock.

❌Lead you to get burned out

Not Vash, but only because he's not human.

✅Affect your personal relationships

In Rosa's first appearance, she says Vash rescued the town before, and that any friend of his is welcome in her diner. But after the Nebraskas, EG the Mine, and Knives wreck the town and Knives steals the Plant, Jeneora Rock has no power or water, and they have an enormous quantity of injured and dead people. Rosa blames Vash and kicks him out.

Wolfwood and Vash continually fight because Vash wants Wolfwood to adopt nonviolence, while Wolfwood finds that totally impractical. This creates conflict when Wolfwood kills the giant worm, then again when he shoots Rollo as a mercy, and again when Livio turns up on the steamer. Vash wants Wolfwood to change, even against his own will.

And then there's Knives. //sigh//

Effin Knives... Let's just put a quote here from VeryWellMind:

They also can have problems in their relationships with family and friends, and frequently find themselves being taken advantage of by others. People close to a person with a savior complex just assume that person will take care of them, without any regard to their needs. It can lead to a toxic, one-sided relationship, where your boundaries and feelings are not respected.

🤷‍♀️Negatively affect the person or people you’re trying to help

This is less clear-cut, because lots of people blame Vash for events that others are acually responsible for (chiefly Knives). We could argue that his previous failures lead to people not trusting his intentions, and acting against his saving them... Or we could just talk about Rollo. Vash essentially failed Rollo twice, when he didn't return in time to prevent him being made a child sacrifice, and again 20 years later when Wolfwood shot him as a mercy killing. Vash was angry, but Wolfwood pointed out forcing Rollo to continue living in pain and misery was cruel, and Vash was not able to cure the monstrous changes done to Rollo. Wolfwood feels the killing was actually compassionate, but Vash insists he could have found a solution without killing.

If we call that one a half-point, giving us a 4.5 out of 6 behaviors. Again, SC is not an illness, this is not at all diagnostic, but it's enough to suggest talking to a therapist would be helpful.

There's other self-assesment lists and articles out there, and some lump Hero Complex into the same broad definition as Savior. I had accidentally confused SC with Martyr Complex in an earlier post. The difference really seems be that both people with a Hero or Martyr complex need acclaim or praise for the good deeds they do, but Vash doesn't care about rewards or recognition at all. Rosa said he fixed the plant before for free, and other than food or drink, we never see him ask for payment or even trade in exchange for helping anyone in Trigun Stampede.

---

Please tell me what you think of Part 1. Part 2 will cover the psychology of Vash regarding how his past relates to his beliefs, and if we have time, we can try to get into what that does to his relationships.

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caffeinetheif · 1 year

Note

Brothers and dateables (+Luke if ya want) platonic, how would they react/treat an mc with a chronic illness and/or chronic pain?

Gn Mc please :)

Thanks for the request! Super sorry for the late post. I started on this then saved it to drafts and completely forgot it was in there rip. I'm planning on making the Datable's their own post for this request and previous ones so people don't have to scroll through an entire post trying to find the one they want.

Brothers With an MC with Chronic Pain

AN: I tried keeping it as platonic/vague as possible

GN! MC

Warnings: brief mentions of chronic pain but not explained in detail

Lucifer

As much as he wants to keep his concern under wraps, he doesn't hide his actions very well. Concerned glances or regular check-ins. Eventually, he gets over himself and just tells you to take it easy and rest regularly. He will demand that you tell him what chores make the pain worse so he can assign them to his brothers.

Has a multitude of pain killers on him at all times. Claims it's so you don't have to leave for the nurse's during class (but really it's because he doesn't like seeing you in so much pain and so he has an excuse to see you throughout the day.)

Mammon

He'll be like a helicopter, constantly hovering and making sure you're comfortable. He'll do anything you ask, just tell him what to do

He definitely has the devildom version of WebMD pulled up and looking up your symptoms of pain. Several times he's called Solomon (because he's the only other human) or Satan (because he's smart) because he has worked himself into a tizzy.

Leviathan

He tries his best. He wants you to be comfy so he offers you his bed/tub and gets so flustered when you mention it might make it worse. It's the thought that's cute though.

He will do anything you ask him to (simp) because he loves you and wants you to not be in pain. He'll be constantly checking in because he's so worried.

Satan

He would be one of the most rational about your pain. With how much he reads and how many books are in his collection, he has a ton of knowledge about different conditions at his disposal. You might need to tell him that the older books (e.g. medical books from hundreds of years ago) aren't the most relaible anymore.

He definitely researches to see which medication or Devildom equivalent would work best for your chronic pain. He'll even make sure it's the correct dosage for your needs.

Asmodeus

Like Mammon, he'd work himself into a tizzy, but he deals with his anxiousness about your health much better. He makes lists of what you use for the pain so he can have them in his room too so you can use them when you stay in his room.

His room will be the ultimate safe haven of chronic pain. Heating pads? Check. Muscle relaxers and pain killers? Check. Supportive pillows for your back, knees, or feet? He's got them all. He also fusses over you a little and does little check-in texts through the day.

Beelzebub

Beel will be the most clueless about what to do if I'm being completely honest. You will need to explain to him that your chronic pain isn't something that goes away like his muscle soreness after a workout or Fangol game. The sweet demon will ask you to tell him more about it so he can better understand

Because he plays Fangol, he'll have ice and heating packs around his room that he'll gladly let you use. He hates seeing you in pain and discomfort, but he isn't sure what exactly will make it better. He'll offer to carry you from one location to another if you mention needing to go somewhere.

Belphegor

He has fluffy blankets and pillows on stand by if you want them. Also has a heating pad that he sleeps with occasionally, but he would willingly give it to you if it helps with your pain

If it's a super bad day, he'll just laydown next to you. If you tell him that you need something, like pain killers, he will get up and go get them and a bottle of water without complaint.

#obey me #obey me imagines #obey me x reader #omswd #lucifer x reader #om lucifer #mammon x reader #om mammon #leviathan x reader #om leviathan #satan x reader #om satan #asmodeus x reader #om asmodeus #beelzebub x reader #om beelzebub #om belphegor #belphegor x reader

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moonstruckme · 5 months

Note

Hii i recently discovered your account and i am devouring all your marauder works! They bring me so much comfort and just ahh i love the way you write! I really like emt!marauders and i was wondering if you maybe wanted to do a fic with them and a reader who has health anxiety?? And maybe she gets sick or something and they help her calm her thoughts and fears and just take care of her?? Only if this is something you would want to write ofc :) have a lovely day!! 💗

Thank you lovely <3

cw: health anxiety

modern au

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“Here you go, m’love.” James sits between you and Remus, holding your tea towards you with the handle out. “Careful, it’s hot.”

You grab it quickly. “Jamie!” You suck in a thoughtless breath, setting off your cough. “Don’t—don’t burn yourself!”

You set the tea down before you spill it, James patting between your shoulder blades while you cover your mouth with a tissue.

“Easy,” he says. “I wasn’t holding it for long, don’t hack up a lung on my account.”

Remus doesn’t disagree, but he takes the offending hand and kisses James’ fingertips lightly.

You take a breath as the fit settles, picking up your tea with a quiet thanks and continuing to read on your phone.

“What’re you looking at so frownily?” Sirius asks, tilting his head where he’s sprawled out on the armchair.

“Just reading,” you murmur, but he casts a suspicious look to the other two on the couch. James leans over, peering at your screen.

He laughs. “Sweetheart, you know this stuff will only stress you out,” he says, leaning his shoulder into yours amicably. “You’ve gotta trust us, we’d be able to tell if it was anything serious.”

“WebMD?” Sirius asks.

“Healthline,” Remus replies, craning his neck to see behind James.

“I know,” you ignore the other two, replying to James, “but I was talking to my grandma today and she—” Sirius groans, letting his head loll back against the cushion. “—she said this is exactly what it was like when she had pneumonia.”

Remus looks at you evenly. “How old is your grandmother?”

You take a sip of tea, hiding behind the rim of your mug. “Eighty-six.”

He gives you a weary half-smile. “Pneumonia is a lot more common in older adults, dove. And your cough doesn’t sound like pneumonia anyway.”

“But how do you know?” you ask anxiously. Remus’ features tighten a bit in sympathy. “I just don’t want to have it and have no idea, and then it gets worse and worse and worse.”

James takes your hand in his. “That makes sense, angel, but—”

“And then while I was looking, stuff was also coming up for whooping cough, which sounds horrific—”

“You don’t have whooping cough,” Remus says.

“But what if I do?” Your voice scratches a bit, and you try to breathe more shallowly to avoid a fit. “Because if that’s what it is, then it’s super contagious and you guys shouldn’t even be around me. And you can start throwing up and—”

Your cough catches up with you. You cover your mouth, eyes watering. Remus and Sirius both wince, James’ hand finding your back again. It’s nice, when you’re sick and miserable like this, to be around people who are so accustomed to it. Who will reach for you instead of cringing away.

“It’s okay,” James murmurs, palm big and heavy between your shoulder blades. “You’re fine, sweetheart, just take a minute.”

When it ebbs, he passes you your tea silently. The honey in it coats your throat, the warmth soothing the ache in your chest.

“I just don’t want it to be more serious than we think,” you say weakly. “There’s a lot of things it could be that are worse than just a cold.”

“Baby,” Sirius says firmly. “Look at me.”

You lower your mug, finding your scariest boyfriend considering you with his usual intensity. He tilts his head to the side, brushing a piece of dark hair behind his ear.

“Did you have your jabs when you were little?”

You feel your brow pucker worriedly. “I think so.”

His tone gentles a bit. “Then you can’t have whooping cough, darling. We all get vaccinated for it when we’re small.”

You don’t want to argue with him, but your eyes flit back to your phone. “Actually, it says we can still get it even if we’ve been vaccinated.”

“But not nearly as bad,” James says, squeezing your shoulder lightly. “You’re right, it could seem like a regular cold in that case, but it really wouldn’t turn into anything worse than that. None of the vomiting or anything like that.”

You swallow, nodding. “Okay. Okay, that makes sense.”

“We know there’s a lot of things a cold could turn into,” Remus says. “Trust me, dove, we know. The reason we’re not worried is because we also know exactly what those would look like if they did turn up, and we could get you to the hospital at the first sign of something serious. Also, the serious things are less common than you might think.”

“Yeah, there’s a reason it’s called the common cold,” Sirius jokes, shooting you a wink.

You smile back, partly for his sake and partly for yours. Remus fixes you with a soft, open look.

“I promise to tell you if we notice anything,” he says, slowly, making sure you hear the weight of every word. “Do you want to talk about pneumonia?”

You nibble your lip, unsure.

“If you’re still worried about it, we should talk about it,” James says. “We don’t want you to just be stressed out and silent, angel.”

You blow out a careful breath. “Okay. I’m coughing up dark mucus and have a fever, which seems like pneumonia. How do we know it’s not?”

“Pneumonia could have mucus or no mucus,” James tells you, as though reciting from a textbook. “And as for your fever…” He takes your face between his hands, pressing his lips firmly to your forehead. “My gauge tells me it’s still not that severe.”

You grin at his antics, ducking your head when he goes for more so that he’s forced to confine his affections to your hair. He makes a gleeful sound of protest, grabbing you around the middle to get you closer.

“Don’t knock her tea,” Remus warns.

“I can run you through the checklist we sometimes use before testing for pneumonia,” Sirius offers. You nod, and he launches in. “Do you have shortness of breath?” You think, then shake your head. “Chest pain? Sweating or shaking? Fatigue—well, fatigue is a yes, right? Don’t worry, doll, that’s a symptom of everything—Chills? Nausea, vomiting, or diarrhea?”

Your mouth puckers in distaste at the last few, but you shake your head to all of them and Sirius spreads his hands magnanimously. “There we go,” he says. “If you were in an ambulance right now, we’d be telling you not to waste time on getting pneumonia tests done.”

“Plus, your cough doesn’t sound like it,” Remus adds, somewhat smugly.

“Okay,” you relent. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” James sweeps a thumb over your ribs, stamping a kiss on your temple. “You can’t help worrying about these things. We just wish the internet didn’t give you so much material, you know?” His eyebrows go up a bit in the middle and he strokes your side again, more gently this time. “You should be allowed to focus on getting better, sweetheart. All this anxiety doesn’t make for great rest.”

You let yourself sink into his side, cradling your mug in your hands. “I just don’t want to badger you guys with questions all day.”

“We don’t mind,” Remus promises you.

“And I’d like to think we have a bit more experience under our belts than healthline,” Sirius scoffs. The teasing look he sends you lets you know his derision isn’t for you. “Anyway, what does healthline say you’re supposed to do if you have pneumonia?”

You scroll down a bit. “See a medical professional.”

“Well, lucky you.”

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the-dominant-wife · 1 year

Note

Hi I noticed a recent post of yours where you were rightly bragging rather wonderfully about how you can make your hubwife cum from pegging.

https://at.tumblr.com/the-dominant-wife/703933322795024384/dl9enqoe7t1i

I wondered whether you could elaborate and maybe share your approach, techniques and equipment you use to achieve this?

My submissive is in p.a secured chastity on a permanent basis and I have no desire to unlock him, I use him sexually to provide me with oral on demand but he will never be permitted to have penetrative sex with me. I may decide to cuck him in the future but for now his talented, eager tounge is very efficient and well trained at this point so my need to replace his penis is not currently a priority or need of mine.

I've decided that the most suitable and appropriate way for @female-leds-boy (my submissive) to orgasm on a strictly controlled monthly basis should be while still secured in chastity and from me pegging him. I've so far been unsuccessful after numerous attempts and would very much appreciate any advice or techniques you might be able to share with me. It's my desire he should only ever cum for me this way.

Thank you in advance.

In admiration and respect of your FLR.

MS xx

Thank you for what is clearly a well-thought out question. I also think it's admirable that you're being so considerate of your submissive and his needs while at the same time establishing parameters that fit your needs!

Chastity doesn't mean someone can't enjoy orgasms. Sure, they won't be orgasms that a more alpha male will have, but nonetheless, it's an orgasm and one befitting of their status.

I'll share what I've found works for me and in turn, works for her/hubwife :)

First let me say that I make love to my hubwife this way (pegging) because I find it enjoyable. I do take her feelings into consideration but my enjoyment is the primary motivating factor to "fucking" my wife. Her enjoyment is really a by-product of my own.

Also, her orgasms are never "guaranteed." In other words, she doesn't orgasm every time I make love to her. I would say that it happens probably about 60-70% of the time. Here's a list of things to consider:

Finger Fuck Your Sub: The first thing I would recommend is your (the Domme) becoming familiar with your submissive's prostate. Using plenty of lubricant and your finger, do some exploring of his boi-pussy. If you find it too messy use some latex gloves...make believe you're a doctor doing a prostate exam...lol. Get in the mood with him, get him to relax, and gently "do your thing" and see if you can bring him to orgasm this way. It might take time but it can be lots of fun. Here's a link to WebMd that discusses the prostate and orgasms. I think it would be very helpful: Prostate Orgasm: What is it?

The Strap-on Dildo: Once you've enjoyed finger-fucking him, it's time to move on to doing it with your "girl-cock!" While women love a man-sized cock, a boi's pussy isn't made the same way as ours. It might make for great pornography, but the pictures of Dommes with massive sized dildos is simply not realistic or for that matter, safe. Find a realistic looking dildo (don't ever buy one that is hollow plastic) that is of reasonable size, sturdy and somewhat flexible. It shouldn't cost a fortune, but to look for the cheapest either. You get what you pay for. Shop around, read reviews, etc. If possible shop in person. Big cities have fetish shops that usually have quality toys.

The Harness: Next, don't skimp when you buy a harness. Shopping online is ok, but I bought the harness I use in person, at a fetish shop that sold quality leather goods and other toys. You want something that is going to fit you comfortably and can be worn securely. The dildo you use also has to be attached securely. You want to be able to "go through the motions" naturally without things becoming loose or flapping around! Bottom line is: Get quality toys.

Lubricant: More important than anything else is to make sure you use plenty of it. "More than you really need" is always better. In my opinion, thicker lube is better. You may want to explore by trying out a few different ones. It's worth the effort and time, and it's not like you can't have fun with the exploration. Here's a link from Women's Health Magazine reviewing different lubes: 19 Best Lubes for Anal Sex, per Sex Therapists.

Technique & Positions: I've been able to give my hubwife orgasm in different positions. Variety is good and it might depend on your own mood. I like the missionary or "diaper" position because it lets me look into her eyes when I'm making love to her. I've done it a couple of ways both when we're both on the bed or with her at the edge of the bed while I'm standing on the floor. The diaper position is probably my favorite. Doggie style is good for when I'm feeling more dominant, getting her on all fours and slapping her girlish ass at the same time, maybe grabbing her hips as I thrust into her (I'm getting a little horny just writing this...lol). You'd also be surprised at how well you can penetrate your submissive lying side by side, you behind him in a spooning position. Again, explore them all.

When it comes to technique, take it slow. While you're the Domme and in charge, this shouldn't be a rape scene for the two of you. Though he will experience some "fullness" and different feelings, it shouldn't be a painful experience for him/her. Be sensual about it. Tease him gently with the tip of your well lubed "cock" rubbing against his pretty little rosebud. Penetration should be slow. Go back and forth just a little bit at a time. Don't be in a hurry to go deep all at once. Note that the aforementioned finger fucking I recommended will be a big help when it comes to developing your own technique. You'll know when the tip of your "cock" brushes up close to your sub's prostate. Be patient. You'll get there!

Set the mood: Know what turns your submissive on. Be tactile if necessary. Words matter....be verbal with them. If you're a good dominant, you already know how to push their buttons. Now's the perfect time to use that knowledge. In my case, I honestly believe that my words are what really set her off. I may tell her what a good fuck she is, make her beg for my cock, etc. It could be a blend of sexy talk, humiliation or whatever works for both of you. The mood you're in is incredibly important. Remember, the brain is the most powerful sex organ, it's there that all orgasms begin and are enjoyed!

Other Toys: Something else you may want to experiment with, particularly in the beginning of your "journey" is the use of a vibrator against her chastity cage as you are penetrating her. It's a form of masturbation I suppose, but it will bring her to orgasm most times. Maybe consider it a treat!

Preparation: This is something that isn't discussed very much. It's hard to get comfortable and difficult to enjoy yourself if your submissive's rectum isn't ready. You get what I'm talking about. If you're planning a lovemaking session with your submissive ahead of time, you might want to make them douche. It'll be worth it. If you're into making love this way regularly, make sure they are on a healthy diet that is high in fiber. Here's another link from WebMD: Anal Douching: What to Know

As you can see there are several factors that in my opinion, are necessary to consider if you want to enjoy pegging your submissive and bring him to orgasm. In many ways it is a trial and error process but a worthwhile one as you figure out what works for you. Providing a chastised male, sissy, hubwife etc. is a beautiful thing - a gift they will certainly appreciate.

Best of luck. I'd love to hear how you progress!

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