#I’m trying to control my thoughts so bad

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Captain's Orders 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, controlling behaviour, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The Captain takes it upon himself to change your life.

Characters: Steve Rogers

Note: I am still dizzy her and there but feeling a bit better.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You wouldn’t call it doom scrolling. That’s not what this is. You try not to search out the depressing headlines or the studies of the human character assuring you of your race’s inherent flaws. Yet, all those boastful posts about engagements, weddings, and promotions still make you feel crummy. 

Jealous? Sure. You don’t have any of those things and it isn’t as if you can hope for as much, either. You’re in a dead-end job, living in cramped apartment with your sister and her irresponsible friend, and your romantic life is next to non-existent; not that you’ve been looking. None of that is meant for you, otherwise, you’d have had some glimmer of interest by now. 

It’s like quicksand. Not very quick but it pulls you down lower and lower. Sinking and sinking until all you can see is the muck. There’s no way out now, you’re waist deep in it. 

You click under your favourite communities and start a new post. You don’t make many. Mostly you read and judge silently. You’re a lurker. Like in many facets of your life. You watch, you don’t do. But you’ve had a shitty day and you need to just let it out. 

Your fingers move as your thoughts boil in your head; your nagging manager, your lazy landlord, and your immature roommates. Nothing ever goes your way. Everyone else has it figured out and you’re just left to rot. You try! You do. Resumes, profiles on friendship apps, online courses; free, of course, it’s all you can afford, but you do try to improve yourself. It just doesn’t work. 

You hit ‘post’ and close the lid of your ancient laptop. It’s as thick as a book. The battery doesn’t hold a charge and the fan is as loud as a jet. You fall back onto your bed and look around your tiny room. That’s all you have. This space is as much as you can call your own and not really. You rent it, it can be taken away with one of those red stamped notices. 

You yawn and drag yourself up. A whole shift and you didn’t bother to have more than the bland break room coffee spewed from the off-brand pod machine and a couple sticks of gum. Tia got herself sushi before her shift but she can just ask her parents to send her money to cover her Door Dash addiction. 

You plod out to the kitchen. Your sister closes the fridge and cracks the tab of a beer can. You’re sure it isn’t her first.  

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Shea bobbles her head. 

Funny since Donna pretty much hollered at you for interrupting her TV show. You all pitched in on the flat screen yet it’s never your turn with it. You shrug and go to the cupboard. It’s not sushi but the spicy shrimp ramen isn’t too bad... 

“You work?” You ask. 

“Pfft, no. Didn’t I say I was going to lunch with Mason?” 

“Did you?” You take down at bowl. She probably did. You never remember. She’s always got a date or a party or a fall back. If she can’t make rent, she’ll smile a cute guy and get some money. 

“He bought me some shoes! You’ll never believe.” 

“Right,” you try not to seethe. 

You’re scraping the bottom of the barrel. You’re eating sodium-laced noodles and holding back tears against old people wanting to print out their life story from a corrupt PDF. She’s pretty. She doesn’t have to try. Shea is all the proof you need that some people are just lucky. 

You put the electric kettle onto boil and the smell of burnt—something makes your lip curl. You pop the lid and look inside. It’s brown. What the hell? 

“What’s wrong with this?” You ask as you flip off the switch. 

“Donna!” Shea yells, “what did you do to the kettle?” No answer. Your sister hollers again. 

A door swings open and Donna stomps out with a huff. Her face is green as she has a mask spread over it and eye masks pasted beneath her lashes. 

“I’m getting ready--” 

“The kettle stinks,” you reach for a pot and find none. They’re all stacked and waiting to be washed. You snatch one off the top and flip on the faucet. 

“Oh, I heated up some bone broth in it. I’m doing a cleanse,” she smirks. “Tasted kinda weird.” 

“Bone broth?” You scoff. See. You try, they can’t even clean dishes. “Great.” 

“I’m sure it’s fine, just rinse it out,” Shea says. 

You scrub the pan and ignore her. You glance up as she slurps noisily from the can. Pre-drinks. Her and Donna are going out. Again. They can afford to because they don’t buy their own drinks. They don’t need to. You went out with them once and paid for all of your own, even though you’d have been happy enough with a single round. 

“Have fun,” you dry out the pan and slam it on the burner. 

“Jeez, maybe you should loosen up?” Donna chides. 

“Yeah, come with us. Dance it out,” Shea drawls. 

“No thanks,” you twist the knob and light the burner. “I have work tomorrow.” 

“Call innnnn,” Shea insists. 

“I can’t,” you sniff and step back to wait for the water to boil. 

“Boring,” she chirps. 

“Yep, I am,” you cross your arms. Your annoyed. When the go out, you’ll have to clean up this mess. You can’t handle another bout of fruit flies. 

You put the noodles in and let them soften. You stir in the oil and powder then retreat to your room with the bowl of boiling cholesterol. You let it cool and put a video on your phone. You don’t want to think. 

You eat deliberately. You savour the processed flavouring. You can’t go out sneak a midnight snack; Donna ate all your cookies. You label all your stuff in thick marker and she apparently can’t read. 

You hear them leave. They’re loud. They leave the television on. At high volume. 

You go out and shut it off. You need to sleep soon. Opening always comes after a late shift. Otherwise, how else would the corporation keep you disempowered. 

You open your laptop. You’ll but on some lo-fi while you charge your phone. Heck, the fan is like white noise on its own. 

The little red number at the bottom of the page stops you. You left the browser open. Someone actually responded to your post. You click and your stomach drops as you read the first sentence. 

‘Sounds like you cause a lot of your own problems. Maybe try some mindful exercises and get out more. You should also consider making some friends.’ 

You read it over and over. You’re angry. Hurt, too. But most that first thing. You can’t stop from replying. 

‘You got all that from me venting? I wasn’t asking for advice. I walk to and from work and I have friends.’ 

It’s mostly true. You do walk. Most days. And your sister is a friend, isn’t she? By association, so is Donna. 

Before you can look up your favourite twelve-hour lo-fi, another notification pops up. 

‘Looking at your post history, your diet could use some improvements. More veggies. And walking is a good starting point but you need to increase your endorphins. I’d be happy to send you some helpful guides. They’re easily searchable on the internet. We live in the age of information, you should consider taking advantage of that.’ 

Wow, what an asshole. He’s smug and obviously better than you. You click on his username and scroll through. Just as you expect. He posts in fitness communities. Not any videos of him but sharing tutorials and recipes for high-protein smoothies and fibre-laced juices. He wouldn’t know flavour if it puked in his mouth. 

You his ‘esc’ and go back to your own post; ‘thanks for the advice. Have a good one.; 

That’s it. You’re not arguing with some faceless douche on the internet. His response is as quick as the first. 

‘A helpful link.’ He hyperlinks the words. ‘You should at least stretch in the morning and go outside on your breaks at work. You might work long shifts but it’s no excuse to be lazy. If you’ve been in that role for so long, you should have more than enough references to move on to something that doesn’t make you miserable.’ 

You don’t answer. You know if you do, you’ll just embarrass yourself. Judging by the few pics of his real life and his cadence, he’s got everything. He just thinks it’s a matter of mindset. There can’t possibly be anything else which could make things more difficult for people. You just don’t work hard enough. Duh, everyone always says so. 

You close out of the page. If he replies again, you’ll block him. Simple as. You put on a lo-fi track and dim the screen. You roll over and tuck into bed. You fall asleep in a ball of stress; you have to wake up, shower, do all that human stuff, then make yourself face another eight hours of hell. 

⭐

“I hate working at the fucking copy desk,” you hiss as you take your bag from the cubby in the break room. “Good luck.” 

Darcy gives you a look as she sits at one of the tables, waiting for her shift to start. You grit your teeth as you should your purse and grip your jacket tight. You punch your employee number into the clock then head out. 

As you march down the aisle of toner, a customer tries to stop you. “I’m off duty.” 

“But I need a keyboard.” 

You ignore them and keep going. 

“I’m going to tell a manager, young lady!” 

You don’t care. Besides, why are they looking for a keyboard in the toner aisle. The signs above with the giant letters clearly show that the computer accessories are in the opposite corner. 

People are stupid. They might be able to read, technically, but they definitely lack comprehension. Just like Donna who can’t keep her hands off your snacks. 

You walk home in a simmer. If you let your temper get away from you, you won’t be able to hold back when you walk into the inevitable shit show waiting for you at home. Shea and Donna hungover, probably having got into more of your sparse groceries, and amidst a brand new mess for you to tidy. You won’t not this time. 

You have a mission. Go to your room and don’t come out. 

As you enter your building, you find the elevator non-responsive. A tiny post-it is stuck to the doors. ‘Out of Order’. Couldn’t have made something a bit more legible? 

You take the stairs. The hallway smells like onion and dirty clothes. You take out your keys as you get to your door, ignoring the rabble coming from the apartment next to yours. Before you can get your key in the slot, the door opens. 

“Heyyyy, she’s back,” Shea greets. You blink at her in confusion. Is she already drunk again? 

“Starting already?” You ask as you try to get past her. 

“Hm, no,” she says tritely, “you have a guest.” 

You roll your eyes, “don’t be a bitch, alright?” 

“No, really,” she grins. You stop and look her up and down. She isn’t falling apart like usual after a Friday night. Her hair is done, her makeup too, and she’s not in her sweats.  

“Is it mom?” You whisper. 

She snorts, “you’re stupid. No, it’s your friend. Steve.” She backs up with a shimmy, “I think some people call him Captain.” 

You make a face. What? 

“Who...” 

“Ahem,” a figure appears by the corner of the kitchen counter, “I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

You crane to see over Shea’s shoulder. The man behind her is tall. And familiar. Steve Rogers. Your expression contorts as your lashes flutter in confusion. 

“Not at all, Stevie,” Shea spins, “I’ll give you two the room. So nice to meet you.” 

She squeezes by him and touches his forearm as she does. He doesn’t react. She giggles and flits off. Her door shuts but you can tell that the latch didn’t catch. She’s listening. 

“Should we go outside? Get some sun?” He asks. 

You glance at him again. You’re lost. 

“Do I know you?” You grimace. 

“After all day under fluorescent, you should really get out--” 

“I-- I’m sorry, can you slow down and explain--” 

“Outside. Privately,” he says. 

You peek past him then look into the hallway behind you. You search your mind for an explanation. The only place you know him from is the internet or a history book. 

“Like I said before, going outside can really help with mood issues.” 

You hesitate and your mouth falls open. It can’t be... 

“Was that you? Last night?” You shake your head. 

“How about I buy you a smoothie?” He offers. 

You snap your mouth shut. He can’t be serious. This can’t be real. 

[lila-lou]

✨His true fate - Part 38/?✨

Summary: Jensen hasn't been happy for years. But it seems almost impossible for him to escape. After another nasty argument between him and his wife, he decides to visit his ´former´ best friend for his birthday. Back in Austin, an encounter awaits him that will turn his life completely upside down.

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language, age gap, ANGST

Word Count: 10996

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The silence that followed was deafening. Jensen froze, his body stiffening like a live wire had run through him. His hands, which had been cupping yours moments ago, fell away abruptly as he leaned back, staring at you in disbelief.

“Come again?”, he asked, his voice colder than you’d ever heard it. The warmth and vulnerability from just moments ago evaporated, replaced by something icy and sharp. “You think you’re what?”.

“Pregnant”, you said again, this time slightly louder, though your voice still wavered. You finally forced yourself to look up at him, but the expression on his face made your heart sink.

Jensen’s jaw clenched, and his hands gripped the edge of your chair tightly as he stared at you like he was trying to decipher a puzzle he didn’t want to solve. “You know I got a vasectomy years ago”, he said, his voice low and steady, but there was an undercurrent of something dangerous beneath it. “So how the fuck is that possible?”.

The implication hit you like a punch to the gut, and your chest tightened as tears welled in your eyes. “Jensen, I didn’t—”.

“You didn’t what?”, he interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “Cheat on me? Because that’s the only fucking explanation, right? If fucking you’re pregnant, it sure as hell isn’t mine”.

Jensen’s ears drummed loudly, his heartbeat quickening as his chest heaved with anger. His neck flushed a deep red, the tension in his body building like a storm ready to break. He shot up from the couch, pacing a few steps before whirling around to face you, his voice rising.

“How the hell do you even have the fucking nerve?”, he shouted, his words sharp and cutting. “You made me the bad guy for days—left me hanging, thinking I was the one screwing fucking everything up, destroying this fucking relationship! And now you sit here, dropping this bomb on me? Admitting that you—”. His voice cracked as he threw his hands up, unable to finish the thought, his face a mask of betrayal. “Telling me you’re fucking pregnant?”.

Your mouth opened to protest, but no words came. The sheer intensity of his anger left you frozen, your heart pounding as his accusations cut deeper than anything you’d imagined.

“I’ve been killing myself trying to fucking fix this, to show you I’m here, that I fucking love you!”, he continued, his voice shaking with raw emotion. “And now this? The only way this happens is if you—if you cheated on me!”.

Tears streamed down your face as you shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t cheat on you, Jensen. I swear I didn’t. I don’t even know how—”.

“Then explain it!”, he interrupted, his voice a mix of anger and desperation. “Explain to me how the hell you’re pregnant when it’s not fucking possible!". He stopped, his breath hitching, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he struggled to control himself.

You stood, your legs trembling as you faced him. “I don’t know!”, you cried, your voice breaking. “I don’t know how it’s possible, but I’m telling you the truth! I haven’t been with anyone else. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t!”.

Jensen let out a harsh laugh, his hand raking through his hair as he turned away from you, his shoulders tense. “Do you even fucking hear yourself?”, he muttered, his tone bitter. “You’re asking me to believe something impossible, something that doesn’t make any fucking sense”.

Jensen’s anger only seemed to grow, his voice getting louder as he threw his arms out in frustration. “The tables have fucking turned, haven’t they?”, he snapped, his tone dripping with irony. “I spent days begging you to believe me, to trust me. And now you’re the one standing there, asking me to take your word for something that doesn’t fucking add up!”.

His words hit like a slap, and your stomach churned with a mixture of hurt and frustration. “It’s not the same”, you said weakly, your voice trembling. “I didn’t cheat on you, Jensen. I wouldn’t. You have to know that”.

“Oh, do I?”, he fired back, his green eyes blazing with emotion as he took a step closer. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks an awful lot like you’re asking me to ignore the facts and just blindly believe you. How is that fair? How is that any different from what you did to me?”.

Tears streamed freely down your face now, your chest tightening as the reality of his doubt hit you harder than any of his words. “I know it sounds crazy”, you admitted, your voice breaking. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but I’m not lying to you. I swear on everything, Jensen. I haven’t been with anyone else”.

Jensen let out a bitter laugh, pacing back and forth like he didn’t know what to do with himself. “And I’m supposed to just accept that?”, he said, his voice still sharp. “I’m supposed to believe this miracle baby somehow happened out of thin air, and you had nothing to do with it?”.

His words made your heart shatter further, and you felt your knees weaken as you dropped back onto the couch. “I’m begging you to believe me”, you whispered, your hands trembling in your lap. “Please, Jensen”.

“The fuck should I believe?”, Jensen roared, his voice so loud it made you flinch, your body recoiling slightly as his anger filled the room like a thunderstorm. His hands balled into fists at his sides, trembling with barely contained fury.

Without thinking, he kicked the coffee table, sending it crashing into the wall with a loud, splintering crack. The sudden violence left you frozen, your breath catching as tears streamed down your face. You had never seen him like this—so raw, so completely consumed by his emotions.

“I can’t get anyone fucking pregnant anymore!”, he shouted, his voice breaking with the weight of his anger and disbelief. “I had a goddamn vasectomy, for fuck’s sake! So you tell me how the hell I’m supposed to believe this bullshit!”.

You sat there, trembling, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to find your voice. But before you could speak, he continued, his tone turning cruel, sharp, and cutting in a way that felt almost deliberate.

“If you think I’m fucking stupid enough to believe you got pregnant with my kid—when I know damn well it’s not possible—you’ve lost your fucking mind”, he spat. “What’s next? You expect me to raise someone else’s bastard kid?”.

The word bastard hit you like a slap to the face, your hands trembling as you pressed them against your lap. His words were venomous, meant to lash out in his pain, but that didn’t make them sting any less.

“Jensen…”, you started, your voice barely above a whisper, but he wasn’t finished.

“I’ve been bending over backward for you”, he continued, his tone mocking now. “Moving across the country, buying a house, trying to fix everything, and now this? And you expect me to just… what? Take your word for it and play along?”.

Your body was shaking uncontrollably now, the sheer force of his anger leaving you feeling hollow and small. “I don’t know what else to say”, you whispered, tears choking your voice. “I’ve told you the truth, Jensen. I swear on everything, I haven’t cheated on you”.

But he didn’t respond, his chest heaving as he stood on the other side of the room, his hands raking through his hair as though trying to make sense of his own anger. The silence that followed was deafening, and the distance between you felt insurmountable.

You weren’t mad at Jensen—how could you be? You understood where he was coming from, his anger fueled by shock, confusion, and betrayal he thought was real. He had every reason to doubt you, especially after the way you’d handled the last week. You’d questioned him, accused him, made him feel like the bad guy. And now, here you were, asking for blind faith in return.

But that didn’t erase the fear now settling in your chest.

Jensen’s rage wasn’t directed at you personally, not really—it was aimed at the impossible situation, at the breaking point the two of you had reached. Still, seeing him like this, his face twisted in anger, his voice echoing through the room, made your stomach churn. You pressed a trembling hand to your abdomen, trying to steady yourself as nausea threatened to overwhelm you again.

You didn’t want to throw up—not now, not here. You weren’t even sure you could move from the couch without collapsing. The weight of everything—the stress, the hormones, the exhaustion—pressed down on you like an iron weight. Your body felt weak, your mind spinning as you tried to process his words, his accusations, his pain.

“Jensen”, you said softly, your voice trembling as you tried to cut through the silence. “I know… I know you’re mad. And I don’t blame you. I’d feel the same way if I were you”.

He turned to look at you, his chest still heaving, but his expression flickered with something else—confusion, maybe, or guilt at how raw he’d let his anger become. His green eyes bore into yours, the frustration still simmering just beneath the surface.

“I didn’t handle any of this right”, you admitted, tears slipping down your cheeks as you spoke. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. I should’ve talked to you instead of shutting you out. But Jensen, I swear to you, I haven’t been with anyone else. I don’t know how this happened, and I’m scared, too. I’m scared out of my mind”.

His jaw tightened, his hands flexing at his sides as he seemed to struggle with himself, his anger warring with something deeper. He took a step closer but stopped, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“You’re scared?”, he repeated, his voice still tense. “What the hell do you think I am, standing here? You drop something like this on me, and you expect me to just…”. He trailed off, shaking his head.

You swallowed hard, willing the nausea to stay at bay as you looked up at him with tear-filled eyes.

Jensen caught your eyes, his chest still rising and falling with uneven breaths. His green eyes, usually so steady, glistened as he shook his head slowly, his lips pressing into a tight line. “Don’t look at me like that”, he breathed, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “Don’t… don’t do that”.

Your stomach churned harder, not from the nausea this time, but from the realization of just how much pain he was in. He wasn’t just angry; he was unraveling, and you couldn’t tell if you were the one holding the thread or the one tangled in it with him.

Jensen looked away, his jaw clenching as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You have no idea what this feels like”, he muttered, his voice low and ragged. “To stand here, after everything I’ve been through, and feel like…”. He stopped, shaking his head again. “It feels like you’re doing everything she did to me, only fucking worse”.

The words hit you like a freight train, and your breath caught in your throat. “Jensen”, you said softly, your voice trembling. “That’s not what I’m doing. I swear to you, I’m not trying to hurt you”.

He let out a hollow laugh, one that carried no humor. “It sure feels like it… Do you know what it’s like to spend years being lied to? Manipulated? Made to feel like you’re never enough? That no matter how hard you try, you’re always the problem?”.

You shook your head, tears spilling freely down your cheeks. “I didn’t mean—”.

“That’s the thing”, he interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “You didn’t mean to. And yet here we are. You’re asking me to believe something that doesn’t make sense, and I want to. God, I want to believe you more than anything. But do you know how hard that is when every instinct I have is screaming at me to protect myself?”.

His words left you speechless, your hands trembling in your lap as you tried to find something—anything—to say that could bridge the gap between you. But everything felt inadequate, like a drop of water on a wildfire.

Jensen’s shoulders sagged, and his voice softened as he ran a hand through his hair again. “I’m not saying you’re her. I know you’re not. But right now, it feels the same. The doubts. The confusion. The fear. And it’s killing me because I don’t want to lose you. But I don’t know how to make sense of this”.

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Neither of you spoke, the weight of the conversation pressing down like an unbearable force. Jensen eventually let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping as he walked away from where he had been standing. He sank into the armchair across the room, keeping a noticeable distance from you but still watching you carefully, his face a mixture of exhaustion and pain.

For minutes, the room was filled with nothing but the faint hum of the heater, each second stretching into what felt like hours. You stared at your hands in your lap, trembling slightly, while Jensen leaned forward in the chair, his elbows on his knees and his fingers interlaced, like he was trying to hold himself together.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice quiet and almost hesitant. “Did you… have you seen a doctor?”, he asked, his words measured. “To know for sure?”.

You looked up at him, your throat tightening at the question. His green eyes met yours, not angry now, but guarded, as though he was bracing himself for what you might say.

You nodded slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I did”, you said, your fingers twisting together. “They ran some tests. I won’t have the official results until tomorrow, but… I took tests here, Jensen. At home. And they were all positive”.

Jensen leaned back slightly, his jaw tightening as he processed your words. His expression hardened, as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. You watched, your stomach knotting as his fingers moved purposefully across the screen, searching for something. His energy had shifted—no longer explosive, but cold and precise, as though he’d locked himself in a protective shell.

“What are you doing?”, you asked shakily, your voice barely above a whisper. Fear gnawed at the edges of your mind, bracing yourself for the worst—for him to accuse you again, for him to tell you to leave, to call the police and let you kicked out of the house.

He held up a hand to quiet you, his green eyes not meeting yours as he dialed a number. His grip on the phone was tight, his knuckles white as he brought it to his ear.

“Yeah”, he said when someone answered, his voice tight and clipped. “This is Jensen Ackles. My date of birth is March 1, 1978. I need to confirm a procedure—a vasectomy I had done with you. It was…”. He paused for a moment, his hand running through his hair as he thought. “It was in 2016. Summer. I need a follow-up. Like, immediately”.

You stared at him, your heart pounding as you processed what was happening. He was calling the doctor who had performed his vasectomy. The realization sent a chill through you. This wasn’t a conversation about the two of you anymore—this was about facts, about evidence. He needed proof, one way or the other.

The voice on the other end of the call spoke for a moment, and Jensen’s grip on the phone tightened further. “Yeah, I understand that”, he snapped, his frustration barely contained. “But this is urgent. I need to know if there’s any chance—any chance at all—that something could’ve failed”.

He paced a few steps as he listened, the tension in his body visible in every movement. You could hear the muffled sound of the person on the other end of the line, but their words were indistinguishable. Jensen’s jaw clenched as he responded. “Fine. I’ll come in tomorrow morning. First thing. Just… make it happen”.

He ended the call with a sharp tap, his hand dropping to his side as he let out a long, heavy sigh.

The silence after Jensen hung up the phone was deafening, stretching between you like an insurmountable wall. His shoulders were tense, his breathing shallow, as if the weight of everything was pressing down on him all at once. He didn’t look at you, didn’t offer any words of reassurance or even anger. Instead, he simply muttered, his voice low and devoid of emotion, “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight”.

The words hit you harder than you’d expected, and before you could respond, he turned and walked toward the hallway. His footsteps were heavy, the sound of his retreat echoing in the quiet room. He disappeared into the guest room, shutting the door firmly behind him without so much as a glance in your direction.

You sat frozen on the couch, staring at the empty space he’d left behind. The tightness in your chest grew until it felt unbearable, and you pressed your trembling hands against your thighs in an attempt to ground yourself. But it was no use. The ache, the confusion, the fear—they were all too overwhelming.

For a moment, you considered going after him, trying to talk again, to fix the broken pieces between you. But the memory of his cold tone, his distant demeanor, held you back. He needed space. Maybe you both did.

With a shaky sigh, you pulled yourself up from the couch and headed toward the bedroom. The quiet house felt even emptier than before, each step amplifying the loneliness that had settled deep in your chest. Once inside, you closed the door softly, leaning against it as tears slipped down your cheeks.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This wasn’t how you pictured your life with Jensen—the man you loved more than anyone. The man who had once made you feel safe and cherished now felt like a stranger. And you couldn’t shake the fear that this chasm between you might never be bridged.

Neither of you could sleep. The house was steeped in a heavy, almost oppressive silence, broken only by the faint creaks of the floorboards as Jensen shifted in the guest room. Despite his exhaustion—days of little rest piling up—his mind refused to quiet. He stared at the ceiling, his thoughts looping endlessly. The anger and frustration had simmered down, but in their place was a hollow ache he didn’t know how to fill.

You weren’t faring any better. Your body felt drained, your mind weighed down by the emotional toll of the past few days. By three in the morning, you were hunched over the toilet again, your stomach rejecting even the water you’d managed to sip throughout the evening. The nausea felt relentless, and the exhaustion was so profound that you could barely keep your eyes open. Yet, sleep refused to come.

The sound of you retching must have carried through the house because, before long, there was a soft knock at the bathroom door. You didn’t have the energy to answer, but the door creaked open slightly anyway.

Jensen leaned against the doorframe for a moment, his jaw tight and his expression shadowed with exhaustion. He was still angry—angry at the situation, at the impossible mess you were both tangled in—but he couldn’t ignore the awful sound of you retching, for over 30 minutes now. It was pitiful, like someone barely hanging on, and no matter how confused or frustrated he was, Jensen couldn’t just stand by and pretend he hadn’t heard it.

He stepped inside the bathroom, his footsteps soft but deliberate. His gaze landed on you, hunched over the toilet, your body trembling with the effort of keeping yourself upright. The sight of you, so vulnerable and clearly miserable, made his chest tighten with something that cut through the anger: concern.

“You sound like death warmed over”, he muttered, his voice gruff but not unkind as he crouched down beside you.

You didn’t have the strength to respond, your head resting against your forearm as you gasped for breath. The room spun slightly, and you felt the coolness of his presence next to you, his hand hovering like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you.

“Did you even eat anything today?”, he asked after a moment, his voice quieter now, less sharp.

You shook your head weakly, not trusting your voice to answer. The nausea was relentless, and even water had betrayed you earlier.

Jensen sighed heavily, his frustration clear, but it wasn’t directed at you this time. “You’re going to end up in the hospital if this keeps up”, he said, his voice rough. “You can’t just—”. He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair before letting out another sigh. “Stay here”.

You heard him stand and leave the room briefly, the sound of his footsteps retreating down the hall. When he returned, he had a glass of water and a damp washcloth in his hands. He knelt back down beside you, holding the glass out.

“Small sips”, he instructed, his tone firm but not harsh. “Don’t try to chug it. Just… ease into it”.

You took the glass with trembling hands, managing a small sip before your stomach threatened to rebel again. He watched you carefully, his expression still strained, but his presence was steadying.

“I don’t know what the hell is going on with us”, Jensen admitted quietly, his green eyes fixed on yours. “But I can’t just sit in the other room and listen to you like this”.

Your voice was barely audible as you whispered, “I’m so sorry, Jensen”. The words were weak, trembling, and filled with the kind of heartbreak that only came from the depths of your soul. Tears slipped down your cheeks, unstoppable as the sobs bubbled up from inside you, leaving you a breathless, shaking mess.

“I didn’t lie to you”, you managed between shaky breaths, your words broken and desperate. “I would never hurt you, Jensen. I swear, you’ll see tomorrow. You’ll see…”.

Jensen’s heart clenched painfully as he watched you fall apart in front of him. You were a wreck—tears streaming, sobs making it nearly impossible for you to breathe properly, your body trembling from the sheer exhaustion of days without keeping food down. His anger, his frustration, all of it took a backseat as the reality of your physical state hit him like a freight train.

Before he could respond, your body lurched again, and you turned back toward the toilet, retching violently. Your stomach was empty, but it didn’t seem to matter. The dry heaves wracked your frame, leaving you gasping for air and clinging to the toilet for support. Jensen didn’t hesitate this time. He was beside you in an instant, one hand holding back your hair while the other rested on your back, steady and reassuring.

“This isn’t healthy”, he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with worry. “This isn’t okay—not for you, and not if…” His voice faltered, but his hand remained firm against your back. “Not if you’re really pregnant”.

You sobbed harder, your body shaking with the effort of holding yourself up. “I know”, you choked out, your voice barely audible. “I know it’s not. But I can’t—”. Another retch interrupted you, leaving you gasping and trembling. “I don’t know what to do”.

He swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he felt the weight of your words. You were falling apart, and for all his anger and confusion, he couldn’t stand to see you like this. “We’ll figure it out”, he said softly, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “We’ll figure it out, okay? But you can’t keep going like this. You’re going to make yourself sick. Really sick”.

He shifted, grabbing the damp washcloth again and pressing it gently against your forehead once you leaned back from the toilet. His green eyes softened as he looked at you, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. “I’m not going anywhere tonight”, he said quietly, his tone firm. “And tomorrow, we’ll deal with everything. But right now, we need to get you through the night”.

You nodded weakly, your body too spent to argue, too exhausted to feel anything but the faint flicker of relief that he was still there.

Eventually, without even realizing it, you drifted into a fitful sleep against Jensen’s side. Your body, utterly spent from the exhaustion and the endless spiral of emotions, gave in to the warmth and steadiness of his presence. Jensen sat there, his jaw clenched tightly as he stared at the wall, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions.

He was caught in an unbearable tug-of-war. On one side, there was the love he felt for you—the fierce, all-consuming kind that made him want to protect you no matter what. On the other, there was the gnawing ache of betrayal he couldn’t quite shake, the possibility that everything you’d built together could be unraveling with lies.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as he battled himself. His gaze dropped to your sleeping face, tear-streaked and pale. The vulnerability etched into your features made something deep in his chest twist painfully. You were hurting, and even in his anger, he couldn’t turn away from that.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jensen let out a slow, shaky breath. He couldn’t leave you like this—not tonight. His protective instincts overrode the storm of doubts in his mind as he carefully scooped you up, cradling you against his chest. You stirred slightly but didn’t wake, your head resting against his shoulder as he carried you to the bedroom.

He laid you gently on the bed, tucking the blankets around you with a tenderness that belied the war raging inside him. As he moved to lay down beside you, your eyes fluttered open briefly, glassy with exhaustion but still aware enough to speak.

“I’m not her, Jensen”, you whispered, your voice fragile but steady, carrying a quiet plea for him to believe you.

Jensen’s chest tightened, and his breath caught in his throat. But before he could respond, you were already drifting back into sleep, your breathing evening out as the weight of the night finally pulled you under.

He lay beside you, staring at the ceiling, the echo of your words looping in his mind. “I’m not her”. They were simple, yet they carried the weight of everything unsaid between you.

Jensen didn’t sleep that night. His mind churned with memories, fears, and hopes, all tangled together in an exhausting loop. But as he listened to the sound of your soft, even breaths beside him, his hand instinctively reached for yours under the blanket. He held it tightly, as though it was the only anchor keeping him grounded.

The next morning, Jensen stood in the kitchen, leaning heavily against the counter with his third cup of coffee in hand. He’d showered and dressed early, but the exhaustion etched into his face hadn’t washed away. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than ever, and his expression was a mix of weariness and tension.

The house was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the refrigerator and the soft clink of his coffee mug against the counter. He glanced at the clock for the third time in ten minutes, the looming doctor’s appointment weighing on his mind. He hadn’t slept at all, his thoughts looping endlessly between doubt, anger, and the faint, stubborn hope that maybe—just maybe—he’d been wrong to jump to conclusions.

When he heard soft footsteps padding down the hall, his posture stiffened. He looked up to see you standing in the doorway, still pale and tired but with a tentative resolve in your eyes. The sight of you made his chest tighten.

“Morning”, you said softly, your voice hoarse from the night before.

Jensen nodded, his grip tightening on his coffee mug. “Morning”, he replied, his tone flat but not unkind. He watched as you hesitated, your eyes flickering toward him and then away, as though unsure of how to approach him after everything.

You stepped into the kitchen, leaning slightly against the counter opposite him. “You’re up early”, you said, trying to fill the heavy silence.

“Couldn’t sleep”, he admitted, his voice quieter now. He took a sip of his coffee, the bitterness doing little to ease the tightness in his throat. “Doctor’s appointment in a couple hours”.

Your eyes dropped to your hands, fidgeting nervously with the edge of the blanket. “Jensen…”, you started, but your voice faltered, and you didn’t know what else to say.

He sighed, setting his mug down and crossing his arms over his chest. “We’ll figure this out”, he said, his voice carrying an edge of determination despite the fatigue. “One way or another, we’ll get the answers”.

The tension between you was palpable, but there was also an unspoken understanding that today was a turning point. Everything hinged on what the doctor would say, on whether the impossible had truly happened or if the cracks between you would grow even wider.

“Do you want me to come with you?”, you asked hesitantly, your voice trembling slightly.

Jensen stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, he nodded. “Yeah”, he said softly.

The words hung between you, a fragile truce as you both prepared for what the day would bring.

Jensen’s green eyes met yours, but there was a flicker of hesitation in them as he spoke. “Do you… do you want me to come with you? To your appointment?”, he asked, his voice quiet and cautious. The tension in his posture was palpable, and you could see it wasn’t an offer made with ease.

You looked at him, your heart aching. You wanted him there so desperately—to hold your hand, to be a united front in this storm, to share the weight of whatever was to come. But the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers flexed slightly as if bracing himself, told you the truth he wouldn’t say: he didn’t want to go. The thought of facing that moment together terrified him in ways he couldn’t fully express.

For a moment, the words stuck in your throat. You wanted to tell him it would mean everything for him to be there, but you also didn’t want to push him further than he could bear. You took a deep breath, your voice trembling as you spoke.

“I want you there, Jensen”, you admitted softly, your eyes searching his. “But… I can see you don’t want to be”.

His gaze dropped, his hand tightening around the mug he was still holding. He looked as though he wanted to say something, to protest, but no words came. Instead, he let out a long sigh, setting the mug down with a faint clink before rubbing a hand over his face.

Jensen hesitated, his lips parting as though to argue, to explain. “It’s not that I—”, he started, his voice strained and unsure, but you shook your head gently, cutting him off before he could finish.

“It’s alright”, you said softly, forcing a small, sad smile as you looked at him. “I can handle this”.

The words felt heavier than you intended, and for a moment, Jensen’s expression twisted with something like guilt. He looked as though he wanted to protest, but the weight of everything left him silent, standing frozen as you turned and walked toward the stairs.

Your footsteps felt louder than usual, the quiet tension in the house amplifying every small sound. As you climbed the stairs, you couldn’t stop the wave of emotion rising in your chest. You wanted him there so badly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to force him into something he wasn’t ready for. You told yourself it was better this way—simpler, less painful. But it didn’t stop the ache that settled deep in your heart.

Once in the bedroom, you closed the door softly behind you and leaned against it for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You couldn’t afford to fall apart now. There would be time for that later—after you knew for certain, after you had answers. For now, you needed to get through the day.

You crossed the room and began to get ready, your movements slow and deliberate. As you pulled on your clothes and brushed your hair, you tried to focus on the task at hand rather than the whirlwind of doubt, fear, and sadness threatening to consume you.

Downstairs, Jensen stood by the kitchen counter, staring blankly at his coffee mug. His hands flexed at his sides, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he replayed your words in his mind. “I can handle this”.

The phrase gnawed at him, stirring a sense of failure he couldn’t shake. He knew you needed him—he could see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice. But the weight of his own doubts and fears felt insurmountable, leaving him paralyzed.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the counter. He hated himself for hesitating, for letting his own turmoil keep him from being there for you. But he didn’t know how to face this—not when the foundations of everything he thought he knew were already crumbling beneath him.

The sound of footsteps upstairs pulled him from his thoughts, and he glanced toward the stairs, his heart heavy.

The air between you felt thick as you descended the stairs, bag slung over your shoulder and keys in hand. Jensen hadn’t moved from his spot by the counter, still gripping the edge as though it was the only thing keeping him upright. His green eyes flicked to yours as you approached, filled with a storm of emotions he couldn’t seem to voice.

You stopped a few feet away, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “I’ll pick you up after”, you whispered, your voice soft but steady, though the crack of vulnerability in it betrayed you. You didn’t want to make this harder than it already was—for either of you.

Jensen’s lips parted slightly, like he was going to say something, but the words didn’t come. His gaze searched yours, and for a brief moment, his hand twitched as though he might reach out to you. Instead, he stayed rooted to the spot, silent and still, his jaw tightening as his eyes glistened with something he wouldn’t let fall.

You forced a faint, shaky smile, clutching your keys tighter as you turned toward the door. The sound of your footsteps echoed faintly, and when you reached the doorknob, you paused, looking back over your shoulder. Jensen hadn’t moved an inch, his gaze fixed on the floor now, the lines of his face etched with pain and conflict.

“I’ll text you when I’m done”, you added, your voice barely audible before you stepped out into the cool morning air and closed the door softly behind you.

As you walked to your car, the weight of everything pressed down on you, heavier with every step. You slipped into the driver’s seat, resting your hands on the steering wheel for a moment as you exhaled shakily. The thought of going to the appointment alone was daunting, but you pushed the fear aside, focusing on the road ahead.

Inside the house, Jensen finally moved, letting out a sharp breath as he rubbed his hands over his face. He felt hollow, torn between chasing after you and staying rooted in his uncertainty. The sound of the door closing had been too final, and the silence that followed was deafening.

He leaned heavily against the counter, his head hanging as he muttered to himself, “What the hell is wrong with me?”. But even he didn’t have an answer.

As you parked in front of the doctor’s office, your hands gripping the steering wheel tightly while you stared at the building. Your nerves felt like they were on fire, twisting and tightening in your stomach. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, but it did little to ease the racing thoughts in your mind.

What if I am pregnant? What if I’m not? What happens either way?

The questions circled endlessly, each one feeding the other until it felt like your chest was caving in. You had hoped, desperately, that the home tests were wrong. That the exhaustion, nausea, and missed periods were just the result of stress, not something more life-changing. But five positive tests weren’t easy to dismiss, no matter how much you wanted to.

You sighed deeply, resting your forehead against the steering wheel for a moment before forcing yourself to move. Your hands shook slightly as you opened the car door and stepped out into the crisp air, your breath fogging in front of you as you made your way toward the entrance.

The waiting room was quiet, almost eerily so, with just a soft hum of conversation from the receptionist desk and the faint sound of pages turning from someone flipping through a magazine. You checked in, your voice shaky as you gave your name, and then you sat down, your leg bouncing nervously as you waited.

Every second felt like an eternity, the sterile walls closing in around you as your thoughts ran wild.

Finally, your name was called, and you stood on shaky legs, making your way toward the doctor’s office. The nurse led you to the examination room, and you barely noticed the sound of your shoes squeaking on the tile floor. Your mind was a blur, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you sat down, waiting for the doctor to come in.

When he entered, he was holding a folder, a kind smile on his face as he closed the door behind him. He settled into his chair, flipping through the papers in his hands before looking up at you.

“Well”, he began, his tone cheerful but professional, “it’s not stress, and you’re not sick”. He paused, letting the words hang in the air for just a moment before continuing. “You’re pregnant. Congratulations”.

Your breath caught in your throat, the words hitting you like a freight train. You stared at him, frozen in place, as if your brain was refusing to process what he’d just said.

He smiled again, unaware of the storm raging inside you, and slid a piece of paper across the desk. “Here’s a list of gynecologists in the area”, he said. “You’ll want to set up your first prenatal appointment soon. They’ll be able to walk you through everything you need to know moving forward”.

You didn’t move. You didn’t even reach for the paper. The room felt like it was spinning, your breath coming in shallow bursts as the weight of his words settled over you. Pregnant. He’d said it so casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, but to you, it felt anything but.

“Are… are you sure?”, you finally managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

He nodded, his expression softening as he met your eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. The tests don’t lie. You’re pregnant”.

You blinked, tears welling in your eyes as you looked down at your hands, your mind racing. Everything felt surreal, like you were watching someone else’s life unfold instead of your own.

The doctor seemed to sense your overwhelm, his voice gentle as he added, “Take your time. It’s a lot to take in. If you have any questions or concerns, I’m here to help”.

You nodded weakly, still unable to speak. Slowly, you reached out and took the list of gynecologists, clutching it in your trembling hands.

“Congratulations again”, the doctor said warmly before standing and leaving the room, giving you a moment to collect yourself.

You sat there for what felt like an eternity, staring at the list in your hands. Pregnant. The word echoed in your mind, over and over, as the enormity of the situation began to sink in.

You didn’t know how long you sat in the doctor’s office, frozen in place with the list of gynecologists clutched in your hands. Time seemed irrelevant as your mind replayed the doctor’s words over and over. Pregnant. The weight of it pressed down on you like a boulder, suffocating and impossible to ignore.

Eventually, you forced yourself to stand. Your legs felt shaky as you made your way back to your car, sliding into the driver’s seat and gripping the steering wheel tightly. The drive home was a blur, the world outside the window passing in muted tones as your thoughts churned relentlessly. Pregnant. Jensen. His appointment.

You pulled into the driveway, the house looming in front of you like a question you didn’t have an answer for. Home. A place that had felt safe and warm just weeks ago now felt like a battleground, filled with tension and doubt.

As you sat in the car, staring blankly at the dashboard, you realized you hadn’t texted Jensen after leaving the doctor’s office. Your fingers trembled as you typed out a quick message:

"I'm here. Ready whenever you are".

You barely hit send before the screen blurred with your unshed tears. Setting your phone down, you leaned back into the seat, staring out of the window as the weight of everything pressed down on you once again. Minutes felt like hours, the silence in the car echoing loudly in your head.

To your surprise, Jensen was at the passenger side door within minutes, sliding in without a word. He closed the door softly, but the air between you felt thick with tension. You didn’t look at him, keeping your eyes on the world outside, watching as the trees swayed gently in the wind. Your hands rested loosely on the steering wheel, your fingers tapping lightly—a nervous habit you couldn’t seem to stop.

Jensen shifted in his seat, his gaze on you as if he were trying to decipher your thoughts. His jaw was tight, and his green eyes looked more tired than ever. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but hesitated, his hands clenching into fists in his lap before he finally found the courage.

“Are you…”, he started, his voice low and hesitant. “Are you pregnant?”.

You didn’t answer right away, your heart hammering in your chest. The word sat heavy on your tongue, but saying it out loud felt like breaking something fragile. You finally nodded, still not looking at him. “Yeah”, you whispered, the single word carrying more weight than you thought possible.

Jensen inhaled sharply, leaning back in his seat. He rubbed a hand over his face, his expression unreadable as he stared straight ahead. “Okay”, he said after a long moment, his voice almost too calm. “Let’s… let’s go”.

You nodded silently, starting the car and pulling out of the driveway. The ride to his doctor’s office was quiet, both of you drowning in your own thoughts.

Jensen didn’t press for details, but you could feel his gaze flicking toward you every so often, like he was still trying to convince himself of what you’d just confirmed. He wanted to know the truth more than anything—but at the same time, the fear of what that truth might mean seemed to paralyze him.

The sterile atmosphere of the waiting room only added to the tension clawing at your chest. You sat alone, your hands tightly clasped together in your lap as you tried to steady your breathing. The faint hum of fluorescent lights and the distant murmur of voices from down the hall barely registered as you fought against the nausea that still hadn’t let up. Every few seconds, your stomach twisted painfully, and you had to focus on slow, deliberate breaths to keep from rushing to the bathroom.

Jensen had been gone for what felt like an eternity, and the time stretched endlessly as your mind raced. You knew he wasn’t himself right now. The weight of everything—the doubts, the accusations, the impossibility of the situation—was visibly pressing down on him. The thought of Jensen in that sterile little room, trying to gather a sample while drowning in the same swirling emotions, made your chest ache.

If things had been different—if everything hadn’t been so fractured—you might have been by his side, offering a playful smile, teasing him, or even helping him in a much more… physical way. But now, the gap between you felt wider than ever. Instead of playful banter, there was silence. Instead of closeness, there was an invisible wall you weren’t sure how to break down.

You leaned your head back against the wall, closing your eyes briefly as you tried to push away the overwhelming emotions and the persistent nausea. But it was impossible not to think about what Jensen might be feeling in that moment. He was a man who thrived on control and certainty, and this situation was the opposite of everything he relied on.

Finally, the door to the hallway opened, and Jensen emerged. His shoulders were tense, his jaw set, and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. He didn’t meet your eyes right away as he crossed the waiting room, his steps purposeful but heavy.

“It’s done”, he said shortly, his voice clipped as he stopped in front of you. He still didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “They’ll have the results in a few hours”.

You nodded, standing up slowly, your knees wobbling slightly from the effort. Jensen finally glanced at you, and for a brief moment, his expression softened, worry flickering in his green eyes. But just as quickly, he looked away again, the tension in his body radiating outward like an unspoken barrier.

“Let’s go”, he said quietly, heading for the door. You followed silently, unsure of what to say or how to bridge the widening gap between you.

As you approached the car, Jensen glanced at you, noticing the slight wobble in your step and the way your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the car door.

“I’ll drive”, he said curtly, stepping around to the driver’s side and gesturing for you to get in on the passenger side.

You didn’t argue. You were too exhausted, too emotionally drained to put up a fight. Sliding into the seat, you closed your eyes briefly, leaning your head against the cool window as Jensen started the car. The ride was quiet, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on.

A few minutes later, the car slowed, and you opened your eyes to see he’d pulled into the parking lot of a small Thai restaurant. Still, he didn’t speak, just got out of the car and walked inside without so much as a glance back at you.

You stared out the window, your thoughts racing as you tried to make sense of his actions.

Ten minutes later, Jensen emerged, a small plastic bag in his hand. He walked back to the car with a purposeful stride, opened the driver’s door, and slid in without a word. Reaching into the bag, he pulled out a plain bowl of steamed rice and a bottle of water, handing them to you.

“Here”, he said simply, his voice quiet but devoid of the usual warmth you were used to.

You took the food hesitantly, murmuring a soft, “Thank you”, as your fingers brushed against his. He didn’t acknowledge the gratitude, his eyes fixed on the steering wheel as he started the car again.

The silence between you was deafening, and you could feel the unspoken tension pressing down on both of you. Jensen’s jaw was clenched tight, and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the wheel. He seemed lost in his thoughts, his expression unreadable.

You picked at the rice, the plainness of it easier on your churning stomach. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.

As the car turned back onto the main road, you glanced at Jensen, his profile illuminated by the glow of passing streetlights. He looked exhausted, his face drawn and his eyes clouded. It was clear he was carrying just as much as you were, and it weighed on him in ways you hadn’t fully understood until now.

Jensen’s hand tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as his voice broke through the silence, low and tight. “I don’t know what to say to you anymore”, he admitted, his words carrying a weight that made your chest tighten.

The tears filled your eyes almost instantly, the familiar sting making you curse yourself internally. You’d cried so much over the past days, you should have been empty by now. But here you were again, breaking under the pressure of his words, the tension, the doubt that had consumed both of you.

You blinked rapidly, trying to will the tears away, but it was useless. They slid down your cheeks silently as you stared out of the window, your fingers tightening around the bottle of water he’d handed you earlier. You felt small, fragile, and more alone than ever, despite Jensen sitting just inches away.

“I don’t know what to say either”, you whispered finally, your voice trembling as you kept your gaze fixed on the food. “Every time I try, it feels like it’s not enough. Like I can’t make you believe me”.

Jensen let out a shaky breath, his grip on the wheel loosening slightly as he glanced at you briefly before turning his attention back to the road. “I want to believe you”, he said, his voice softer but no less strained. “I really do. But… I’m scared, alright? I’m fucking terrified”.

His admission caught you off guard, and you turned to look at him, your tear-streaked face lit by the dim glow of the dashboard. “Scared of what?”, you asked, your voice breaking.

He hesitated, his jaw clenching as he searched for the right words. “Of losing you”, he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Of finding out that everything I thought we had was just… not real. I don’t think I could survive that”.

Your heart twisted at his confession, the vulnerability in his tone cutting through the haze of your own pain.

"You’ll have your answers in a few hours, Jensen”, you said quietly, your voice wavering as you stared at the road ahead. “While I’m…”. You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. You didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to twist the knife any deeper, but the weight of everything inside you pushed it out. “I’m left with believing that this picture was just staged. For me, there isn’t some test results showing you didn’t lie”.

The silence that followed was deafening. You could feel the tension rolling off Jensen in waves, his knuckles tightening again on the steering wheel. His jaw clenched, and his chest rose and fell heavily as though he was struggling to contain his emotions.

“That’s not fair”, he said finally, his voice low but filled with restrained pain. “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t feel like I’m walking a tightrope too? I’m putting everything on the line for you, and you’re telling me you’re stuck ‘believing’?”.

You turned to face him, the tears streaming down your cheeks making it hard to see. “Because that’s all I have, Jensen!”, you snapped, the frustration and heartbreak spilling over. “I don’t have proof. I don’t have a test result to tell me you didn’t kiss her, or let her get that close, or—”. You stopped, biting down on your trembling lip as your voice broke.

Jensen exhaled sharply, his hand slamming against the steering wheel in frustration. “I’ve told you the truth, dammit! I’ve told you over and over that I didn’t want any of that, that I didn’t let it happen. But yeah, sure, you’re right—there’s no test for that. All I have is my word, and apparently, that’s not enough”.

The car slowed as he pulled over to the side of the road, his hands gripping the wheel tightly. He turned to look at you, his green eyes blazing with a mix of hurt and anger.

“I love you, okay?”, he said, his voice cracking. “More than I’ve loved anyone. But if you can’t believe me—if you can’t trust me even after I’ve laid everything bare—then what’s the point?”.

"You don’t trust me either!”, you fired back, your voice shaking but firm as you glared at Jensen. “You made that appointment to check your fucking sperm instead of believing me! None of us is better than the fucking other right now!”.

Jensen’s face twisted with frustration, his hand gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “Don’t you dare turn this on me!”, he shouted, his voice rising in anger. “I made that appointment because the fucking math doesn’t add up! Because I needed to know if there was even a chance—any chance—that what you’re saying is real!”.

“And I’m supposed to just sit here and be okay with that?”, you snapped, your voice trembling as you stared him down. “You think it doesn’t hurt that you doubted me enough to even need those results? You think it doesn’t tear me apart that you couldn’t just believe me?”.

“I couldn’t!”, Jensen shouted, his voice breaking as he slammed his hand against the wheel again. “Not because I don’t want to, but because I’ve been lied to before! Manipulated before! I can’t—I can’t go through that again. Not with you”.

His voice cracked on the last words, and for a moment, the tension in the car shifted, his anger giving way to something rawer, more vulnerable. His shoulders sagged as he leaned back in his seat, running a hand down his face as if trying to pull himself together.

The words caught in your throat, tangled and heavy as you tried to process what he’d just said. You weren’t any better, and you knew it. You hadn’t trusted him either, even when he’d told you the picture was staged. You wanted to defend yourself, to explain how the doubt crept in, but the truth was, you couldn’t. You didn’t have an excuse.

Jensen let out a hollow, bitter laugh, shaking his head as his hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Welcome to the world of Danneel”, he muttered, his voice dripping with anger and exhaustion. He slammed his palm against the wheel again, harder this time, the sound echoing through the car. “That’s exactly what she fucking wanted. And we’re just giving it to her, aren’t we?”.

You flinched slightly at the force of his anger, your stomach churning not just from the tension but from the nausea that still lingered. “Jensen…”, you began softly, unsure of what to say, unsure if anything you said would even matter.

He turned his head slightly, his gaze fixed out of the window as his chest heaved with uneven breaths. “She wanted this”, he said again, his voice quieter now but no less sharp. “She wanted to plant doubt, to mess with my fucking head, with your head. And it worked. Because now, here we are, tearing each other apart, just like she fucking planned”.

You looked down at your hands in your lap, your fingers trembling as his words sank in. “I didn’t mean to doubt you”, you whispered, your voice breaking. “I didn’t want to. But it just… it hurt so much, seeing that picture, reading that message…”.

Jensen’s head snapped back toward you, his eyes blazing. “And you think it didn’t hurt to have you shut me out for days? To be accused of cheating when I’ve done everything—everything—to prove to you that I want this life with you?”.

The tears you’d been trying to hold back spilled over, slipping silently down your cheeks.

Jensen closed his eyes tightly, his hands gripping the wheel again before he finally let out a deep, shuddering breath. “I would never cheat on you, (Y/N)!”, he said firmly, his voice trembling slightly but filled with conviction. “Never. Do you hear me? I love you way too much for that”.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he didn’t let you, shaking his head as his voice grew louder, more desperate. “What do you want me to do? You want me to fucking propose to you to finally make you believe me? Alright, fine. I’ll fucking propose”.

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, the weight of them stunned you both. His chest heaved as he stared at you, his eyes glistening, his jaw tight. It wasn’t just anger—it was fear, heartbreak, and a desperate attempt to keep you from slipping away.

“Jensen…”, you whispered, your voice barely audible as you reached out to him, your trembling hand resting on his arm. “That’s not what this is about”.

“Then what is it about?”, he snapped, though his voice cracked under the strain. “Because I don’t know how else to prove to you that I’m all in. That I love you. That I would never, never hurt you like that”.

Tears welled up in your eyes again, your chest aching as his words pierced through the fog of doubt and fear that had been clouding your heart. You could see it in his face, hear it in his voice—he wasn’t just angry; he was breaking. And the realization broke something in you too.

“You would really marry me just to make me believe you?”, you whispered through your sobs, tears streaming down your cheeks. Your voice was shaky, almost disbelieving, as you stared at Jensen. You knew how much he hated the thought of marriage—how his past with Danneel had made the idea feel like a trap rather than a promise. The fact that he would even suggest it now hit you harder than anything else.

Jensen’s green eyes softened slightly, his grip on the wheel loosening as his shoulders sagged. “Yes”, he said quietly, his voice rough but steady. “If that’s what it takes. If that’s what I have to do to make you see that I’m not going anywhere… then yeah. I’d marry you”.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with emotion. His jaw tightened as he looked at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “But it’s not just to prove something, (Y/N)”, he continued, his voice lowering. “I’d marry you because I want to. Because you’re it for me. You’re my future. I don’t care about the past anymore—I just want you”.

Your breath hitched, your heart twisting as his words broke through the layers of fear and doubt that had been building for days. “Jensen…”, you started, but your voice cracked, and you couldn’t get the words out.

He turned to face you fully, his hands reaching for yours. His grip was warm and firm, grounding you in the moment. “I know I’ve been a mess”, he said softly. “I know I’ve hurt you, and I know it’s hard to trust me right now. But I’m telling you, (Y/N), I will do whatever it takes to fix this. To fix us”.

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you looked at him, the sincerity in his eyes stealing the breath from your lungs. “I don’t need you to marry me”, you whispered, your voice trembling. “I just… I need to know we’re okay. That we can get through this”.

Jensen exhaled deeply, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand as he nodded. “We will,” he promised, his voice strong and certain. “We’ll get through this. Together”.

For the first time in days, a small flicker of hope sparked in your chest. You didn’t know what the future held, but in that moment, with Jensen’s hands holding yours and his eyes locked on yours, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you could face it together.

Jensen hesitated, his hands still holding yours tightly, his green eyes searching your face as though he could find the truth hidden in your expression. His jaw clenched, and he took a shaky breath, his voice quieter this time but no less urgent.

“Can you promise me?”, he asked, his tone laced with raw vulnerability. “Can you promise me, right here, right now, that you didn’t cheat on me?”.

Your heart ached at the question, at the pain it revealed. He was laying everything bare, risking so much just to find some semblance of clarity in the storm that had overtaken your lives. Tears welled in your eyes again as you nodded, your voice trembling but firm.

“I promise”, you said, looking him directly in the eyes. “Jensen, I promise I didn’t cheat on you. I’ve never even thought about it. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t”.

Jensen closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, his chest rising and falling heavily as he processed your words. When he finally opened his eyes again, they were softer, the sharp edge of anger replaced with something more vulnerable. “Then… I believe you”, he whispered, his voice low and hesitant, as though saying it out loud made him feel exposed.

He pulled away slightly, his hands leaving yours as he leaned back into his seat, his posture stiff and tense. The silence that followed was thick, heavy with the weight of everything that had been said and unsaid between you. Neither of you seemed to know how to fill the space, the quiet stretching out like a chasm.

Eventually, Jensen broke it, his voice quiet but firm as he nodded toward the container of food he’d brought for you earlier. “You need to eat something”, he mumbled, not looking directly at you but still glancing toward the untouched bowl of rice.

Your stomach churned at the thought of eating, but the concern in his voice made you hesitate. You glanced at the food and then back at him, noticing the lines of exhaustion etched into his face, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced now than they’d been even hours ago.

“I don’t know if I can keep it down”, you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jensen sighed, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You have to try”, he said, his tone more gentle this time. “Even if it’s just a little. You haven’t eaten properly in days, and… you’re pregnant… you need to take care of yourself”.

The mention of the pregnancy made your chest tighten, but you nodded, reaching for the container with trembling hands. Jensen watched you for a moment, his gaze steady but filled with worry, before he leaned back again, running a hand through his hair as though trying to pull himself together.

You took a small bite of the rice, forcing it down despite the way your stomach protested. The quiet between you lingered, but there was a faint shift, a fragile truce beginning to take shape. For now, it was enough.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Taglist: @cheynovak @chriszgirl92 @jenniferr0323 @angelbabyyy99 @cevansbaby-dove @muhahaha303 @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @n-o-p-e-never @mayafatimakhan @ladysparkles78 @viviandarkbloom06 @jassackles @evasmlp @acklesaddict67 @mostlymarvelgirl @emma1998sblog @mishaesque @headinthemoon87 @hobby27 @winchesterwild78 @impala67rollingthroughtown @manicjk @kr804573 @zaratahir @djs8891 @winchesterwild78 @jamerlynn @whimsyfinny @libby99hb @deansimpalababy @deans-queen @kawaii-arfid-memes @faephoria @stoneyggirl2 @fitxgrld @luvr4miya @yikeschoices @lyssalvus @soab1967 @luvr4miya @didi0666 @impala67rollingthroughtown @cheekygirl2309 @kamisobsessed @deansimpalababy @magnificientgirl @ @dulcescorderitas

[seitmai]

Ahh so many thoughts

“I’m not going back on what I said, Steve. If you ask me, I’m ready.” Steve couldn’t believe his luck. “How much is that promise worth to you, Peach? Because when I make a promise, I keep it.”

“Well, I need you to trust me. And I need to ask you a question." “Understood.” Steve kneeled at the side of the bed, those eyes focused on you. He looked like a little boy. And then he asked you a very grown up question.

Ahhh I love the comparison of him looking like a little boy asking a grown up question 😍

“This place is… it’s amazing, Steve. I can’t believe we just did that.” “More amazing now that you’re here. And you better believe it.”

🥰🥰🥰

“I have something for you…a wedding gift”

Wedding gift? Have I missed something lmao?

“That’s what we are. It’s what you do for me. Make me want to be a better man.” You exhaled, your lips parting slightly as you turned around in his arms. “Steve. You are a good man. You’re just doing things in a slightly unconventional way. You’re talking to the queen of unconventional. Remember where we met?”

Haha fair

“You’ve been hanging around Bucky too long.” Steve chuckled, tilting your chin up with a knuckle. He was happy. “You’re right. But anyway, the necklace is for tomorrow, I mean the Gala tonight. Something to remind you that no matter who else is in the room... you’re my wife."

Ahhh i can't with them

"You have a dance studio?" "You have a dance studio," he corrected.  "I arranged for it to be started while we were in Hilton Head and it was just finished yesterday. I wanted you to have a place to move. To feel free while you’re in Brooklyn."

He knew right away what he wants and went the extra mile before being sure it would work

You went to the pole and grabbed it and leaned out, checking it. It was sturdy and conditioned. You twirled a little and came to rest, the pole between the ass cheeks of your leggings. Steve’s look became hungry, and his cock jumped in his sweats. If he was thinking of sleep earlier, he was wide awake now.  And some parts of him were more awake than others. 

🤭🤭🤭

“So… you had a dance studio built, for me, while we were in Hilton Head? Me, a woman who was threatening your life?”

Iconic behavior of both of them hahah

“No touching unless I give permission. That’s the rule in Peach’s Parlor.” Steve cocked his head, grinning now. “Peach’s Parlor? So you like it? You taking ownership of the place?”

Duhh she's taking ownership

He was putting the cart before the horse, but he wanted to be your baby daddy so bad. He head was in the clouds as you hooked one leg around the pole, arching your back as you slid downward in a controlled descent, your body moving with the music, sensual and confident. 

This is literally not putting the cart before the horse for those two 😅 after this wedding that apparently happened, her already being pregnant would not be out of the ordinary, like true to them they should already have a three year old or something, talking about unconventional 😂

Steve almost got lost there, but when you whispered, “Good boy,” he forgot how to breathe. He didn't know he liked that. but the fact that you'd guessed it made you even more perfect for him. 

🤭🤭🤭

“Fuck, Peach… You trying to kill me?” Steve murmured, his voice low and rough. “We just got married.” “How is it you married me, and I hadn’t even sucked your cock yet?” Steve chuckled and then got serious. “Must be true love.”

Must be 🤷🏻‍♀️🤭

When he saw that you were going to kneel, he quickly moved a pillow from the chaise for you to settle in front of him. He then lifted his hips from the couch and pulled down his sweats and boxers in one move.

Thoughtful and ready to go at once

Inspired, you took him as far as you could, until your lips were stretched to the limit and tears coursed down your face. You inhaled the musky scent of him in the hair at the base of his cock and looked back up to watch his contracting abs and heaving chest, his open mouth and those mesmerizing eyes. This was a fucking beautiful man.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

“You’re a fucking goddess. Wanna cum down your throat, Peach, but don’t swallow our kids. Need ‘em inside you.”

Someone is really eager to be a dad👀

“Can’t waste a drop.” “You are filthy slut, Mr. Rogers.” He laughed. “Only for you, Mrs. Rogers.”

They are a perfect match 🤭 

"This isn’t a race. I’m never gonna be jealous of you, girl.” You grinned back. “I’m pissed that I wasn’t able to be there, though.” You sighed. Your one regret.

Valid

“Because when I’m with him, it makes sense. The way he looks at me, the way he is with me—it doesn’t feel rushed. It just feels… right.”

🥹🥹🥹

“I know you think that I feel some kind of way, but I know you girl. I was shocked, but not surprised..” She laughed and you shook your head. “Running off and getting married is so you. It’s so Steve too when you think about it.”

She's like: bitch, I saw this one coming 😂

“You’re right,” she replied. I’m secure. It will happen. And just at the right time for us. And no matter what, Peach. You are never gonna lose me as your biggest fan, no matter what.”

I'm sure the wait won't be long 🤭

You hugged each other so hard, the stylists had to touch you back up.

I'm sure it was a great, much needed hug 🫶🏻

“No comment?” Steve exhaled, stepping closer, his voice rough around the edges. “You already know, Mrs. Rogers.”

👀👀👀

“You know if you keep giving me gifts like this, you’re going to spoil me.” His eyes darkened, and his hand came to rest on your hip, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress. “That’s the plan,” he murmured, voice low, “Mrs. Rogers.”

He is ready to spoil her rotten

"You're going to get enough of watching us like a drama." "Never. You two are my favorite romcom."

Fair haha

Sharon was clearly not happy, but fuck that bitch.

Period!

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.” Steve tactfully removed his arm from her grasp while the fingers on his other hand reached for you and rested low on your back, his thumb stroking a slow, deliberate circle against the sequined fabric of your gown. “It’s been two days, Sharon,” he replied, his tone clipped. And annoyed.

I can feel Steve rolling his eyes haha

Your cousin and Bucky moved closer, probably because she clocked what was going on.

They are ready for the drama 😂🤭

“You know what’s really refreshing, Sharon? Watching a woman who wants to fuck around with me and my family and find out.”

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

Bucky stepped forward as Sharon’s jaw twitched into a twisted smile. Bucky whispered in your cousin's ear. She glared at him and started taking off her jewelry, handing her earrings to him. Bucky shook his head and pulled her to the side while she gave him the business.

Hahaha was she getting ready to throw some punches??

Steve pulled you into his arms and kissed your forehead, not bothering to lower his voice when he said, “I’ll remind you how much I love that later.” Your cousin groaned dramatically. “You two are disgustingly perfect for each other.”

“Do you think calling me a stripper is an insult?” Your voice was strong and steady. “I own what I do. I’m damn good at what I do. And you?”  You looked her up and down, eyebrow deadly. “You’re standing here, burning because even with your family ties, and your desperate little designer dress, the only woman Steve wants is me. He married me.” You leaned in even closer. “The difference between us? I don’t have to chase him. I just have to walk into a room.” You smiled at her sweetly. “And he follows.”

The way I screamed reading this 👏🏻

🤭🤭🤭

Peach VII

Peach VI | Peach VIII

Summary: Steven Grant Rogers is a mob boss trying to get clean. It’s definitely because he’s in love. With you. He's got you on his turf in NYC. Do you leave there single or a married woman?

Pairing: Art Dealer/Artist/Philanthopist (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Reader (Peach)

A/N: I have all of the words and none of the confidence. Oh I hope you like it. It may not be everyone's cup of tea. This is part one of the Valentine's weekend bundle. I hope you like it. Let me know my LOVEs! ❤️

This fic is connected to the Bucky Barnes Knock You Down AU, and DIRECTLY AFTER the events in Peach VI. Your interaction keeps me writing, so let me know if you like it by commenting and reblogging.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Steve Rogers is rich, bitches!, the big one bling, the event! stripping, pole dancing, lap dancing, sloppy blow job, is this Subby!Steve? woman on top, nipple play (m receiving), size kink, definite breeding kink, raw p in v, a lil bit of cum play. Family feeeelings, Bucky being Bucky, Steve being a simp, jealous bitches, almost catching a case at a gala.

Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

--------

“If you ask me, I’m ready…”

“Is that what you want?” Steve said as his hands gripped your waist.

You couldn't look away from his eyes which were deeply searching yours.

When you moved your hand to his chest, his heart thudded through the muscle and the bone to your fingertips.

You nodded and marveled at how far you both had come in such a short amount of time.

You were sure.

“I’m not going back on what I said, Steve. If you ask me, I’m ready.”

Steve couldn’t believe his luck.

“How much is that promise worth to you, Peach? Because when I make a promise, I keep it.”

His beautiful deep velvet voice had you swooning in his arms. 

“Everything. It’s worth everything, Steve.”

It was unthinkable what you were feeling. But it was oh so right.

Steve’s look was so serious for a moment and then he kissed you again. He flipped you over, torso pinning yours down, abs between your legs. You whined with need as he kissed you, tenderly, his fingers tracing your face.

Then he pulled away.

“Get dressed, Peach.”

“What?

“Get dressed. Pack up. You’re checking out of the hotel.'

You looked at him and cocked your eyebrow.

“Oh. Am I?”

Steve chuckled at your sass. It was so cute. Then he pulled you close and whispered in your ear.

“Yes. You are. Remember I said that I was going to give you what you need, when you need it?”

You shivered at the way Steve handled you.

“Yes, Mr. Rogers.”

“Well, I need you to trust me. And I need to ask you a question."

“Understood.”

Steve kneeled at the side of the bed, those eyes focused on you. He looked like a little boy.

And then he asked you a very grown up question.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal the corridor to Steve’s penthouse at the top of the Rebirth building. There were two doors on the entire hallway, both mirroring each other. 

Steve walked beside you to one of the entrances, his hand resting lightly at the small of your back, a touch both casual and possessive. 

Your mouth dropped open when the door opened on floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Manhattan skyline. 

The view went on forever.

"Jesus, Steve. This is… Beautiful!"

Your eyes shone as you turned in a circle to take in the room.

"Wait until you see the rest."

You were wandering now, your fingertips trailing over the sleek countertops, the rich leather of his couch, and the curated artwork lining the walls. Everything about the space was sophisticated, masculine, Steve.

You wondered how you could lend your touch.

Steve had gone into another room, his bedroom, you imagined, to put your things down. He came up behind you as you stared out of the window, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He kissed your neck as you leaned your head back on his chest.

“This place is… it’s amazing, Steve. I can’t believe we just did that.”

“More amazing now that you’re here. And you better believe it.”

“I have something for you…a wedding gift”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, bringing it in front of you. 

The diamonds on your hand glittered and caught your eye as you reached to touch what was inside. It was a necklace with double diamond solitaires, one cushion cut and one pear shaped, nestled side by side on a thin, gleaming chain.

A moi et toi design.

To match your ring.

You blinked up at him, craning your neck to look him in the eye. He pecked you on the lips.

“Steve…”

He reached out, and plucked the necklace from the box. His fingers brushed the nape of your neck as he draped it around you.

“Moi et toi,” he murmured near your ear. “Me and you.”

You swallowed, your fingers rising to touch the stones on your skin as you gazed out on the city. 

“It’s beautiful.”

“Two stones side by side; one strengthens the other.” 

His thumb brushed over your collarbone, tracing the edge of the necklace. 

“That’s what we are. It’s what you do for me. Make me want to be a better man.”

You exhaled, your lips parting slightly as you turned around in his arms.

“Steve. You are a good man. You’re just doing things in a slightly unconventional way. You’re talking to the queen of unconventional. Remember where we met?”

There you were, being adorable again. The way you’d fought him up until this week made Steve stand in disbelief at how accepting you were of him. And how easily you’d run off with him to Connecticut tonight to become his wife. 

It was crazy, but it was so right.

“I do. I seem to recall meeting you in heaven, because all I remember thinking is ‘who is this angel.’”  

You rolled your eyes and laughed.

“You’ve been hanging around Bucky too long.”

Steve chuckled, tilting your chin up with a knuckle. He was happy.

“You’re right. But anyway, the necklace is for tomorrow, I mean the Gala tonight. Something to remind you that no matter who else is in the room... you’re my wife."

You swallowed at the octave drop in Steve’s voice and he traced your throat with his thumb as you did it. Steve gathered you to him, pressing his lips to your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered into your ear.

“Come with me, there’s something else I want to show you. " 

He grabbed your hand and led you down a hallway. 

You followed until he stopped and turned to you with a mischievous grin. Then, he opened the door behind his back and backed in so he could watch your face. Curious, you followed him inside. 

Then you froze. 

It was a good sized space. Mirrors lined one entire wall, reflecting the soft glow of LED track lighting. You stepped out on the wood floor and realized that it was made from premium materials.

But what really caught your attention was the sleek, stainless-steel pole standing tall in the center of the room. You turned slowly, meeting Steve's expectant gaze. 

"You have a dance studio?" 

"You have a dance studio," he corrected. 

"I arranged for it to be started while we were in Hilton Head and it was just finished yesterday. I wanted you to have a place to move. To feel free while you’re in Brooklyn."

You went to the pole and grabbed it and leaned out, checking it. It was sturdy and conditioned. You twirled a little and came to rest, the pole between the ass cheeks of your leggings. 

Steve’s look became hungry, and his cock jumped in his sweats. If he was thinking of sleep earlier, he was wide awake now. 

And some parts of him were more awake than others. 

“So… you had a dance studio built, for me, while we were in Hilton Head? Me, a woman who was threatening your life?”

The way you smiled at him made Steve’s heart flutter. He nodded and came close and tried to kiss you, but you twirled away from him to the other side of the pole. He flashed you a smile and your butterflies started up again.

“It was right after you threatened to shoot my balls off. I knew you had it bad.”

Steve sighed as if he was nostalgic for your death threats. You laughed as Steve grabbed for you again.

You scooted away from him.

“Don’t touch, Mr. Rogers,” you admonished as your finger wagged in front of those lips. 

Then you pointed, and Steve followed your hand as if mesmerized. He was the one who had it bad.

“Why don’t you sit down so I can test this thing out? Haven’t had a proper dance workout all week.”

Steve nodded and went to sit down on the chaise lounge in the corner of the room.

You stepped forward, and your pulse quickened as you held Steve’s gaze. He leaned back against the back of the chaise, arms crossed over his broad chest, and his t-shirt straining across his shoulders, biceps, and chest.

His blue eyes were focused with an intensity that sent a shiver through your body.

"Music?" you prompted. 

Steve smirked and tapped his phone. A pulsating beat filled the room, the bass vibrating beneath your feet, and causing your hips to sway. You didn’t have your heels and you were in loungewear, but one of those things was to your advantage.

You grabbed the hem of your sweatshirt, teasing a glimpse of your skin as you swayed to the music.

Steve’s eyes darkened and his breath visibly slowed.

You took your time, dragging the cotton up your body as you shimmied, baring the skin of your stomach, then your bra, then your collarbones as your head was hidden for half a second.

You winked when you emerged and you moved closer as you leaned over him and placed your garment on the lounge next to him.

Steve didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But his jaw clenched, and you didn’t miss the way his fingers flexed at his sides.

Then, you turned around, hooking your thumbs in the waistband of your leggings and looked over your shoulder to find him staring at your ass and licking his lips. Steve looked up at you, his blue eyes burning now as you smirked at him and peeled the black material down to reveal your flesh, in black lace, bent fully at the waist. 

Steve’s hands twitched for want of reaching out. He exhaled sharply, restraint hanging by a thread.

You straightened up slowly, twerking and slapping your own ass, holding a cheek so that he could see the lace-clothed split of you. You shot him a saucy wink as you stepped out of your clothing, pushing it aside with the tip of your toe before slowly running your hands down your body. 

You brought your hands up to your face, sliding them down your neck to your chest, then your sides, letting your fingers skim over your ribs, down your stomach, then back up, skirting along your bra and pulling your nipples through the fabric. 

Steve made a low sound in his throat, his control cracking.

It was just as he decided to reach out to touch you that you walked toward the pole on tip toes, the only way you knew how to do it. 

“No touching unless I give permission. That’s the rule in Peach’s Parlor.”

Steve cocked his head, grinning now.

“Peach’s Parlor? So you like it? You taking ownership of the place?”

He was proud that you seemed pleased. You smiled back at him in response, exhaling and letting the rhythm take you.

You started with a slow walk around the pole, each step deliberate, your hips swaying just enough to raise the temperature of his blood degree by degree. 

His smile dropped and his jaw tightened, but he didn’t move, his restraint evident in every rigid line of his body as his eyes followed your every move

You reached up, gripping the pole above your head, then lifted yourself effortlessly, letting momentum carry you into a slow spin. The world blurred for a moment, the mirrors reflecting your every movement as you let your legs extend, toes pointed, body fluid. 

The way you moved was unhurried, deliberate, and so alluring. Steve sighed and bent his head to the side, taking you in. Then he bit his lip, remembering how you felt around him earlier. You felt so fucking good, your sweet, hot pussy pulsing around him.

He was putting the cart before the horse, but he wanted to be your baby daddy so bad. He head was in the clouds as you hooked one leg around the pole, arching your back as you slid downward in a controlled descent, your body moving with the music, sensual and confident. 

The way your muscles flexed and relaxed, the roll of your hips was mesmerizingly beautiful. You were performing your art for Steve, moving for his pleasure. 

But you were in control. 

And it made Steve remember that this is what it was that made him fall for you in the first place. Damn, he wanted you, and even though you were only steps away, it was driving him crazy. 

When you reached the floor, you dropped to your knees, your thighs spread, fingers skimming down your skin as you stared at him.

Steve rubbed his hands on his pants to ease the itch of his fingers wanting to grasp you.

You stood and grabbed the pole once more, swinging around in another smooth, effortless climb. You wrapped your legs around the metal, suspended for a moment, before twisting into an elegant descent, your body brushing against the pole in a way that made Steve’s balls ache.

When you landed, you moved toward him on tiptoe again, all legs and glistening body, hips swaying, eyes locked onto his.

Steve only moved to put his hands on the back of the lounge, but other than that he was still.

In a graceful move, you straddled him carefully, knees on either side of his slim hips. You were close enough for him to feel your warmth, but were barely touching him. The heat coming from your core made him feral and his eyes were drawn downward to the source.

You felt a tremendous power, so you reached for his chin and tilted it up so he could look into your eyes. 

Steve almost got lost there, but when you whispered, “Good boy,” he forgot how to breathe. He didn't know he liked that. but the fact that you'd guessed it made you even more perfect for him. 

He covered a whimper by clearing his throat. A secret smile was on your lips as you slowly rolled your hips and arched your back, your nipples barely grazing his chest. 

Steve's eyes were everywhere, watching everything, especially your tits, which were so hard and beautiful through the lace.

He felt like if he could just to suck them for a minute, everything in the world would be alright.

A minute each. 

Maybe an hour.

Steve's breath was hot against your skin, but he still hadn’t touched you. His grip on the chaise tightened, his control hanging by a thread.

You ran your fingers down your body before leaning backward and grazing his thighs and it was just enough to plan out the pattern of his skeet along your skin. He was sure, with practice, he could spell out his name.

In one fluid movement, you turned around, pressing your back to his chest, and, lightly, so lightly, too lightly, ground against his rigid cock with slow, deliberate precision.

Steve felt delirious and close to expiring.

“Fuck, Peach… You trying to kill me?” Steve murmured, his voice low and rough. “We just got married.”

Married!

You looked over your shoulder at him and moved your lips close to his, smiling as you saw the muscles in his corded neck tense.  You leaned in, your lips hovering near his ear.

“You're so good for me Stevie… Such a good... big... boy.”

You twerked the last three words in his lap, causing him to exhale sharply and his hands to twitch. You arched, rolling your body against his again. 

And then.

Finally, finally, you let yourself sink into his lap, pressing fully against his cock. He could feel your moist pussy lips through layers of fabric.

And that’s when Steve’s restraint snapped.

His hands shot to your waist, gripping hard, his fingers digging into your skin. You leaned back and his lips found your shoulder, his breath uneven.

You smirked and turned around, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, feeling his heartbeat hammer beneath your touch.

Steve crashed his mouth to yours, swallowing your laughter in a kiss that was deep and desperate. His hands roamed your body, tracing lace, his need evident in every touch.

“My sweet Peach. Mrs. Rogers,” he growled against your skin, voice thick with hunger.

You reached up to run your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make his head tilt back.

“Yesss. Say Heyyyy, Mrs. Rogers…,” you teased.

One hand clasped his throat, squeezing his Adam's apple lightly as his blue eyes shone from his slitted lids. Steve's cock pulsed in his pants, then he took a ragged breath before he spoke.

“Heyyyyyy. Mrs. Rogers...”

You rolled your hips against his impressive bulge as Steve’s baritone rumbled in your ear. As you reached for the hem of his shirt, he kissed you, grabbing the collar to take it off.

You looked at Steve appreciatively as you bent and licked one erect nipple, then wrapped your lips around the tiny button, pulling it into your mouth and eliciting a small groan from him. You took your time, enjoying his sounds which got louder and louder.

"Such a good boy making those pretty sounds for me, Stevie."

You licked, sucked and savored him as you alternated from one pec to the other.

“Wanna always be good for you, Peach...” 

Steve gritted it out as you grabbed him by the hair, pulling him into a filthy, long, deep kiss. He grabbed for you and held on as your mouth plundered his.

Then you pulled away.

“I have a question, Mr. Rogers,” you unclasped your bra, then leaned forward and stuffed your nipple into his mouth, moaning as he looked up at you with those clear blue eyes and sucked enthusiastically.

“How is it you married me, and I hadn’t even sucked your cock yet?”

Steve chuckled and then got serious.

“Must be true love.”

You felt his cock pound between your legs and knew what had to happen. His fingernails scratched your thighs trying to hold on to you as you moved back to stand.

When he saw that you were going to kneel, he quickly moved a pillow from the chaise for you to settle in front of him. He then lifted his hips from the couch and pulled down his sweats and boxers in one move.

His erection sprung out and you licked your lips, ready to finally feel the smooth skin in your mouth.

"Touch yourself for me, Stevie."

Steve took himself in hand and started stroking from base to head, thumb swiping the drops of precum in passing. His burning gaze was on you but your eyes were glued to what was in his fist. 

“Fuck that’s hot… Wan’ taste you,” you were whining now, feeling deprived. 

“..Whatever you want.” Steve whispered in a strained voice after looking into those big, beautiful eyes.  

You ran your fingers over his thick dick all the way down to the heavy, tight balls. 

“So pretty…” 

You kept eye contact as you leaned in and gave him a long, wet lick from balls to head. Your tongue rolled over the soft skin of the large mushroom cap, taking in the dewey drops leaking from it.

You licked down the hard shaft, until you reached the base and ran your tongue over his large sac.

You began sucking on his tip, tonguing underneath, and humming around his head, causing Steve to murmur, “Fffeels so fucking good, Peach.”

He was carding his fingers through your hair as he said it.

Inspired, you took him as far as you could, until your lips were stretched to the limit and tears coursed down your face. You inhaled the musky scent of him in the hair at the base of his cock and looked back up to watch his contracting abs and heaving chest, his open mouth and those mesmerizing eyes. 

This was a fucking beautiful man.

Steve’s big hands gathered your hair and held it, just tight enough to send a zing to your clit. 

“Peachhhhh, that mouth is good.”

Steve was in love with how you sucked him off. He rolled his hips and found out just how snug your throat really was. When you pulled off, tears were rolling down your face.

He wiped your tears away with his thumb. 

"Y' look so fucking pretty like this, Peach.”

The way you took him all when you deep throated him again sent the cum crawling up his balls. 

“Fuckfuckfuck. Shit.”

You pulled off and released him with a filthy plop, watching as he desperately squeezed his cock at the base, trying to stop the impending explosion.

He reached out for you with his other hand and you climbed up onto his lap as he marveled at your messy hair, your bouncing tits, and fucked out expression.

“You’re a fucking goddess. Wanna cum down your throat, Peach, but don’t swallow our kids. Need ‘em inside you.”

The tip of his cock nudged your entrance, and you reached down and grabbed it, perfecting its position as you sank down on it.

You both watched in fascination as your pussy engulfed him preceded by the juices from your wet pussy. Steve’s hands grabbed onto your hips, and you wanted him to bruise you, to have a mark on you from this for days. 

Your head lolled back on your shoulders as you glided down on your Steve's, thick cock. He lifted you by your waist and alternated fucking you up and down his dick and thrusting into you, hitting angles he hadn't before.

His grunts and your moans were beautiful music.

“Please look at me, Peach.”

His tone was reverent and you couldn't help but obey. The sounds you two were making sent you right to the edge of a precipice.

“Oh… right…there… right fucking there!”

You keened as you scratched the skin on his shoulders and biceps. 

“Fucking me so good, Stevie…So righttt. N-need you to keep hitting it like that…give it to me just like that. All your cum. Inside me.”

He was hitting those bundles of nerves just right.

“You need it like that hunh? I'll give it to you until it drips out of you... Need it dripping down my gotdamn balls....”

And he proceeded to fuck up into you perfectly. Your hands moved from his shoulders to his hair and you leaned in for a filthy kiss. He gripped your throat and carefully squeezed to control your airflow. Your eyes began to roll and your cunt clenched down on him. Hard.

"Ffuckk, " He had to grit his teeth to keep from cumming. "Need you to fucking cum, Peach....."

“I- I’m close Stevieeee. Ahhh. Give it. Gonna have all your babies….”

Your pussy started clenching around him.

“Holy FUCK!”

Steve picked you up and placed you on the chaise, pulling your legs over his shoulders as he drilled into you. He slid a hand between you and rubbed your clit in soul-destroying circles.

“Drain these fucking balls...shhhhhitttttt!"

You clutched him close as you felt his cock start and continue to spurt hot cum inside you. As he softened, he sat back on his heels and spread your legs to watch his cum drip out of you. He trailed two fingertips down your sensitive slit and pushed it back inside you, all the while a sly grin on his face.

He caught your eye. 

“Can’t waste a drop.”

“You are filthy slut, Mr. Rogers.”

He laughed. 

“Only for you, Mrs. Rogers.” 

Steve grabbed his t-shirt to clean you both up a bit. Next thing you knew, you were being carried out of the studio and through to his master bedroom 

It was daylight when you were lightly snoring in his arms and Steve was grinning wide, his wife in his arms.

—

The next afternoon, you sat in front of the vanity in Bucky’s penthouse as the hired glam team worked around you and your cousin. The stylist meticulously worked with your hair while the makeup artist added the final sweep of highlighter across her cheekbones.

The two of you had been getting ready together for years, first as teenagers sneaking into her mother’s closet, and now as women preparing for an extravagant event in a high-rise overlooking Manhattan. But this afternoon was different.

Her eyes met yours in the mirror. You had just her the rundown of the day before, complete with the news that you and Steve were married. She’d been quiet for a while, but now it seemed she was ready to talk again.

“You’re really happy, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice soft but certain.

You blinked, then exhaled.

“Yes I am.”

“You and Steve are perfect for each other. "

She leaned over and grabbed your hand, grinning at you.

"This isn’t a race. I’m never gonna be jealous of you, girl.”

You grinned back.

“I’m pissed that I wasn’t able to be there, though.”

You sighed. Your one regret.

“I know. But it was perfect. Just the two of us. We’ll have a party later on, though. And tonight, we’ll celebrate.”

You turned thoughtful.

“The way Steve loves me should terrify me. But it doesn’t.”

She studied you for a moment. 

“Because?”

“Because when I’m with him, it makes sense. The way he looks at me, the way he is with me—it doesn’t feel rushed. It just feels… right.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

Your cousin smiled, tilting her head as the hairstylist and makeup artist switched and her hair was being fussed over. 

“I know you think that I feel some kind of way, but I know you girl. I was shocked, but not surprised..”

She laughed and you shook your head.

“Running off and getting married is so you. It’s so Steve too when you think about it.”

You took a sip of the mimosa that Bucky had brought in earlier. You thought what was about to happen for your cousin.

“Real talk. Bucky adores you, Cousin. And I know you. And I’m getting to know Bucky. This engagement and wedding are going to be events. Events, I say. You wouldn’t have it any other way. .You’re about to get some bling to match that jewelry you got on tonight in Vermont next week.” 

You two laughed together, the mood lighter now. 

“You’re right,” she replied. I’m secure. It will happen. And just at the right time for us. And no matter what, Peach. You are never gonna lose me as your biggest fan, no matter what.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, cousin.”

You hugged each other so hard, the stylists had to touch you back up.

As you finished up, the sound of deep voices and approaching footsteps echoed from the hallway. The door opened, and Bucky stepped in first, his navy tuxedo perfectly tailored, his gaze immediately softening when he saw your cousin. 

“Damn Frumoasă,” he murmured, taking her in with slow appreciation. 

“You’re making it real hard for me to let you out of this apartment tonight.”

She shot him a look.

“Smooth, Barnes,” she smirked at him. “Nice suit.”

“What? This old thing?”

Bucky smirked back as he took her hand and led her out of the room.

You rolled your eyes at them because you had the feeling they were being freaky, you just couldn’t prove it.

Steve walked in, ensconced in an impressively tailored dark tux, his presence commanding as always, but the moment his eyes landed on you, something in him shifted. 

You were wearing a short gold sequined gown that showcased your legs, and you felt like a princess. 

Like a wife.

His usual air of control wavered for a fraction of a second, his gaze dragging over you like he was memorizing every inch.

You arched that adorable brow at him, tilting your head. 

“No comment?”

Steve exhaled, stepping closer, his voice rough around the edges. 

“You already know, Mrs. Rogers.”

Bucky chuckled, clapping Steve on the shoulder. 

“Think you broke him, Peach. Congratulations, Mrs. Rogers.”

You grinned, gave Bucky a hug and reached for your clutch. 

Steve reached out, his fingers grazing your wrist as he murmured, “Hold on.”

You frowned slightly, watching as Bucky guided your cousin toward the door, leaving just the two of you in the room. Steve reached into his pocket, pulling out another small black velvet box.

Your breath caught, your heart skipping for just a second.

He popped the top, revealing a pair of dazzling double diamond drop earrings, the perfect complement to the moi et toi necklace resting against your collarbone and the ring on your finger. All you could do was look at them and then blink up at him.

“Steve…”

He smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction. 

“Thought you should match.”

You shook your head and laughed.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Steve lifted an earring, stepping close to help fasten it in place and his touch lingered.

“You say that now,” he murmured and then moved to the other side, his lips just a breath away from your skin.

“But you love it.”

You turned into his arms and looked into his eyes.

“You know if you keep giving me gifts like this, you’re going to spoil me.”

His eyes darkened, and his hand came to rest on your hip, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress. 

“That’s the plan,” he murmured, voice low, “Mrs. Rogers.”

Bucky cleared his throat from the doorway, breaking the moment. He was leaning against the frame, smirking. 

“Hate to interrupt, but Nico’s waiting. Unless you two want to skip the gala entirely.”

You rolled your eyes at the dark headed man and flipped him off.

"You're going to get enough of watching us like a drama."

"Never. You two are my favorite romcom."

Steve exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he kissed your neck, producing a shiver. Then, lacing his fingers with yours, he led you toward the door.

—

The way the night was going seemed like a dream, arriving on Steve’s arm and watching the reactions. Some were surprised, but most just commented that you were such a handsome couple and gave congratulations.

Sharon was clearly not happy, but fuck that bitch.

Steve hadn’t given her, or anyone else that matter, a second glance.

When the music started, Steve danced with you to all the tempos, even the Salsa when that genre was played. You had a time, and then you two went to the bar to get refreshments.

Sharon chose that moment to show her ass. You barely had a sip of your amaretto sour before she started on her bullshit.

“Steve,” she purred, looking up at him under her lashes and placing her hand on his forearm. 

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Steve tactfully removed his arm from her grasp while the fingers on his other hand reached for you and rested low on your back, his thumb stroking a slow, deliberate circle against the sequined fabric of your gown.

“It’s been two days, Sharon,” he replied, his tone clipped. And annoyed.

Your cousin and Bucky moved closer, probably because she clocked what was going on.

Sharon ignored Steve’s tone and turned to you. 

“And you must be the entertainment. Nice dress. Is it easy to take off?”

The words sounded sweet as honey, but you heard the venom underneath. 

“I guess congratulations are in order? I hear you two ran off and got married. I guess that's a choice. It’s probably refreshing, going from someone like Peggy to someone like…Peaches..”

“It’s Peach,” you replied. 

The bitch was silent.

Sharon’s gaze flicked to your ring, then your jewelry, then down the length of your gown. 

“Although you do wear luxury well. Tell me, how does it feel knowing it’s all borrowed? That he’s probably going to dump you tomorrow. Get an annulment and leave your ass in the gutter strip club where he found you.”

You could feel the heat of Steve’s fury at your side, his body tensing like he was about to snap.

Your mouth opened to reply, but your cousin stepped up, anger rolling off of her body.

“You know what’s really refreshing, Sharon? Watching a woman who wants to fuck around with me and my family and find out.”

She lowered her voice.

“And like a cable, we jump hoes.”

The air around you shifted, and a few party-goers slowed their conversations to listen.

Bucky stepped forward as Sharon’s jaw twitched into a twisted smile. Bucky whispered in your cousin's ear. She glared at him and started taking off her jewelry, handing her earrings to him. Bucky shook his head and pulled her to the side while she gave him the business.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that in a negative way.” Sharon simpered. “It’s just the truth.”

Sharon looked between you and Steve.

“You are nothing but negative. You don’t have to worry about my marriage. Or your endowment anymore, Sharon.”

Steve spoke to her, his eyes blazing blue.

You smiled at your man, then took a slow step forward, closing the space between you, lowering your voice just enough that only Sharon, and Steve, could hear.

“Do you think calling me a stripper is an insult?” 

Your voice was strong and steady.

“I own what I do. I’m damn good at what I do. And you?” 

You looked her up and down, eyebrow deadly.

“You’re standing here, burning because even with your family ties, and your desperate little designer dress, the only woman Steve wants is me. He married me.”

You leaned in even closer.

“The difference between us? I don’t have to chase him. I just have to walk into a room.” 

You smiled at her sweetly.

“And he follows.”

The moment the words left your lips, Steve did exactly that. 

As he left her in her feelings,  Steve tossed a comment over his shoulder.

“You just got your ass handed to you in front of half the room,” he mused. 

“I’d cut my losses and walk away.”

One of the staffers turned up at that moment. 

“This way, Ms. Carter. I’ll be escorting you out.”

The four of you watched as she turned red and huffed and puffed on her way out of the door. After everyone around you went back to minding their own business, your cousin hugged you hard.

“I love you. That was perfection.”

You hugged her back. 

“Thank you, Boo.”

You released her as Bucky handed her earrings back and Steve looked at you with admiration in his eyes. 

“You handled that well.”

You smirked. “I know.”

Steve pulled you into his arms and kissed your forehead, not bothering to lower his voice when he said, “I’ll remind you how much I love that later.”

Your cousin groaned dramatically.

 “You two are disgustingly perfect for each other.”

Bucky grabbed a bottle of Moet from the table display.

“A toast. To Mr. and Mrs. Steve Rogers!”

Your husband looked at you with a smile. You don’t know what was coming your way as Steve's wife, but you knew it wouldn’t be boring.

[lordystrange]

I think it’s okay to ship Finn and Noah.

Please give me the benefit of the doubt. This is gonna be a long post.

I don’t think real-person-shippers are bad people, like some of you often insinuate (or blatantly state). Here’s how I view this:

We often tend to daydream about our crushes, right? Picture ourselves in situations with them, plan our lives and even analyze our dynamic and compatibility as a potential couple. We wonder if they like us back and/or how we could make them like us back. That even includes questioning the sexuality of the crush.

That’s shipping ourselves with this person.

We also do it with our friends. ”Ohh I wonder if this person likes you back… you two would be so cute together!”

So we also ship our friends with their crushes. (unless our friends have horrible taste)

Reading the possible/potential signs of mutual attraction is not only okay but necessary in the dating scheme.

Imagining you and your crush as a couple is also necessary, because that’s how you can learn if you’d even like the relationship and what exactly would it need for you to like it.

Why do we ship fictional characters? Byler for example. There are many answers, but let’s summarise it in ”We like their dynamic.” Just like we’d like the dynamic of ourselves with someone or our friend with someone.

Not all people are ”dynamics-enjoyers.” Not all people are shippers. But if you are, you can’t really help it. Certain dynamics are just so appealing to you. I’d say it’s natural.

We can’t control our thoughts but we can control what we say. I know there are a lot of Byler shippers who also ship Foah but don’t admit it out loud. Some of them are ashamed for it, some are just hiding from the bullies.

There is nothing wrong in finding Finn and Noah’s dynamic cute. There is nothing wrong in wondering if they’re together. There’s nothing wrong in wondering if it’s possible for them to be together some day. There’s nothing wrong in wondering if Finn is queer. (<- Before you wanna argue about that, check the disclaimers.)

Because there’s a difference between shipping and harassing. We can enjoy the dynamic and talk about it without it crossing the line.

What is the line, then? I’d say the line is when the people in question can’t ignore it. Here’s some examples:

A tiktok edit of cute Foah moments?

Ignorable.

A tumblr post analyzing Finn and Noah’s behavior around one another?

Ignorable.

A reddit comment saying ”Foah is so cute together 💕” ?

Very ignorable (it’d get downvoted so fast that they likely won’t ever see it)

But

Harassing their real life partners (if they got those) for ”forcing them into a relationship with them against their will?”

Can’t ignore.

Pestering them with questions about them everywhere they go together, making it uncomfortable for them to be seen together?

Can’t ignore.

Spreading your own interpretation of them like a proven fact, refusing to admit that you don’t actually know?

Can’t ignore. (there’s always people who won’t fact check and will just help spreading it)

Forcing them to come out?

Can’t ignore.

Commenting 25 GIFs of their characters kissing under every single instagram post they make? (iykyk 🙃)

Possibly can be ignored but I’d still find it disturbing.

One might argue that it’s easier to just draw the line in no real-people-ships at all, than trying to draw the line based on semantics and posting platforms.

But one might also argue that it’s easier to just not ship fictional characters either to avoid all complications it may cause.

I’m not one. I ship Byler and I ship Foah too. The extent of my shipping is different between those ships, since Byler is permanently renting room in my brain and Foah is something that comes and goes, but I find enjoyment in both dynamics. I know that my interpretations of the dynamics are just mine and I don’t expect others to see what I see, Noah and Finn themselves included, but if someone does see what I see, I’m happy to appreciate the ships together.

In conclusion: Shippers’ poor behaviour is not shipping. It’s just poor behaviour. Shipping is shipping and as such it’s okay.

Disclaimers you need to read before commenting:

I’m not saying that everybody should ship Foah/real-people-ships. I’m just saying that the ones who do so are not necessarily hurting anybody and therefore shouldn’t be shamed for it.

I’m also not saying that shipping real people is the good/right thing to do. I’m just pointing out that it’s not that different than any other ”form” of shipping.

I understand that there are a lot of different situations to which what I said can’t be directly applied to. We can discuss those, but there’s no need to intentionally come up with the most complex cases possible just to challenge me or ”prove me wrong.”

I know that me saying this might make people uncomfortable for various different reasons. Take your time!

This doesn’t excuse anyone who has been shamed by real-person-ship -antis to shame them back.

If someone manages to point out something I haven’t thought about and it ends up changing my mind, then I do.

I won’t lose my marbles if Foah never really happens.

Thank you for reading! Have a nice day! 💚

[outofrealms]

Isekai’d as the Demon King’s Therapist

Synopsis: I accidentally became the Demon King’s therapist, and now I’m stuck in his castle, coaching a fire-breathing tyrant on emotional regulation. His go-to coping method is vaporizing things, but I’m trying to sell him on deep breathing instead.

Chapter 2: “Explain This… Therapy of Yours Before I Smite You.”

Sitting across from the Demon King on his ridiculously large obsidian couch which was about as comfortable as sitting on a slab of polished rock. I plastered on my best smile. Not a genuine one. More like the “please-don’t-kill-me-I’m-just-trying-my-best” kind of smile.

Zarvath leaned forward, his fiery crown flickering ominously, eyes glowing with mild suspicion. “Before we begin, mortal… I must know. What exactly is this… therapy?”

He said the word “therapy” like it was something foul he’d found floating in his soup.

“Oh! Therapy is simple!” I said with a little too much forced enthusiasm. “It’s a conversation where you talk about your feelings, and I help you manage stress and improve your well-being!”

He stared at me like I’d just suggested we dance naked under a blood moon.

“Feelings,” he repeated, his voice flat.

“Yes! Feelings. Emotions. You know… happiness, sadness, anger—”

“Anger I understand,” he interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. “But happiness and sadness are for the weak.”

Oh boy. This was going to be harder than I thought. “Well, emotions aren’t exactly about weakness or strength. They’re just part of being… alive?” I offered weakly.

Zarvath raised an eyebrow. “Why would a king such as I waste time discussing trivialities like ‘feelings’?”

I took a deep breath, trying to channel every ounce of patience I had left. If I messed this up, I’d probably end up as a tiny pile of ashes on this very couch. “Because when you bottled up emotions like anger, it can lead to impulsive decisions you might regret later. Like, say… burning down a village just because someone insulted your crown.”

His eyes narrowed. “It was a very serious insult. He called my crown ‘gaudy.’”

I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from laughing. “Okay, sure, but wouldn’t it be better to calmly address the situation instead of… levelling an entire town?”

“Calmly?” Zarvath repeated, as if the word was a personal offense. He made air quotes with his claws, which was way more unsettling than it had any right to be. “You expect me to ‘calmly’ deal with such disrespect? What nonsense is this?”

I swallowed hard. Stay cool, stay cool. “Not nonsense! Emotional regulation is a real thing. It helps prevent those, uh… heat-of-the-moment choices.”

“Heat-of-the-moment?” His lips curled into a dangerous smile. “A fitting phrase, given the context.”

Okay, bad word choice. Moving on. “Right! What I mean is, imagine how powerful you’d be if you mastered your emotions. Nobody could manipulate or control you because you’d always be one step ahead.”

For a moment, Zarvath paused. His eyes gleamed with sudden interest. “So, you’re saying this… therapy… could make me even more powerful?”

I nodded quickly. “Exactly! Therapy is like… strength training for your mind. Emotional weightlifting.”

He tapped his chin thoughtfully, his claws glinting in the dim light. “Hmm. Strength training for the mind. Fascinating.”

Then he pointed at me, his claw uncomfortably close to my face. “Continue. But be warned if this turns out to be a trick, I shall feed you to the lava serpents.”

“Got it,” I said, giving him a thumbs-up while trying not to visibly sweat. “Let’s start with something simple. How has your week been? Any recent… stressors?”

Zarvath leaned back, his massive shoulders tensing slightly. “Yesterday, my court sorcerer accidentally summoned a flaming chicken demon. It set fire to my drapes and screamed insults at me in Infernal for six hours.”

I blinked. “… Right. That sounds… challenging.” I made a note in the notebook I’d conjured out of pure panic. “And how did you respond?”

“I vaporized it,” Zarvath said, looking very pleased with himself.

I froze for a second. “Okaaaay. Um, next time, maybe we can explore a… less destructive solution?”

His eyes glowed brighter. “Less destructive? You would have me negotiate with a flaming chicken?”

“Not exactly,” I said, holding up my hands. “More like… deep breathing exercises to manage your frustration. Then you can decide the best way to handle it without instantly vaporizing things.”

“Deep… breathing?” Zarvath repeated suspiciously.

I nodded. “It’s a technique to calm your mind. Watch: inhale for four counts… hold… and exhale for four counts. Like this!” I demonstrated, breathing deeply.

Zarvath watched, unimpressed at first. Then, very reluctantly, he took a breath. The room instantly smelled like brimstone and burning wood.

He exhaled slowly. “Hmm. That wasn’t… terrible.”

I grinned. “See? Do that next time you’re about to vaporize something, and you’ll make more rational decisions.”

He nodded, clearly deep in thought. “Very well. But if deep breathing fails me, I shall return to vaporizing.”

“Deal,” I said, wiping my forehead. “Baby steps.”

As the session wrapped up, Zarvath leaned back on his throne, looking surprisingly relaxed. He still radiated doom and destruction, but it felt more like calm menace instead of raging inferno.

“You have given me much to consider,” Zarvath mused. “I feel… slightly less inclined to vaporize my enemies. Slightly.”

“That’s progress!” I said, forcing a smile. “Same time next week?”

I was halfway to the door, ready to bolt for my safety, when Zarvath raised a clawed hand. “Wait.”

I froze. “… Yes?”

His eyes narrowed. “I’ve decided you shall remain here. Permanently.”

“… Permanently?”

“Yes. You are now my official Mind Healer. You will reside within my castle and ensure that I do not succumb to reckless rage. If you succeed, you will be treated as a guest. Fail, and… well, let’s just say the lava serpents haven’t had a decent meal in weeks.”

I swallowed hard. “Ah. Good to know. Love a job with clear expectations.”

The demons escorted me to my “room” after my session with Zarvath. I use the term room loosely because it looked more like a medieval dungeon redesigned by someone who listened to too much death metal. The walls were made of black stone, the bed was an ominous slab that could double as a sacrificial altar, and the only source of light came from a chandelier made of… bones. Actual bones.

“Enjoy your stay!” the demon guard said with a toothy grin before slamming the door shut behind me.

I stood there for a solid minute, staring at my new accommodations, my brain short-circuiting like a Wi-Fi router trying to reconnect. Then, it hit me all at once:

I AM A HUMAN. IN A DEMON REALM.

How am I supposed to survive here?! What do demons even eat? What if they eat me?! How do I pay for stuff? Do they have a demon Venmo? I’m just a therapist, not Frodo Baggins—no one trained me for this!

I started pacing. “Okay, think. You’re resourceful. You’ve binged three apocalypse survival shows. You’ve talked at least four people out of having public breakdowns at Trader Joe’s. You can do this.”

Then I noticed the giant spider on the ceiling, watching me like it was considering charging rent. I sprinted to the farthest corner of the room, hyperventilating.

“This is fine. Everything’s fine,” I whispered, trying to convince myself. But my brain was having none of it. Instead, it spiralled into worst-case scenarios:

I starve because there’s no DoorDash in the underworld.

I accidentally offend the Demon King and get sacrificed.

I survive but end up in some demonic multi-level marketing scheme.

Finally, I remembered something important: I have a degree in psychology. If I could help a client work through their fear of pigeons, I could talk myself through this. I dropped onto the suspiciously hard bed-slab and started using every coping mechanism I could think of.

Step One: Grounding Technique.

“Five things I can see,” I muttered, scanning the room. “Bones, skulls, creepy spider, weird glowing rune… and oh my god, is that a cursed doll?! Okay. Let’s skip that one.”

Step Two: Breathing Exercises.

“Inhale for four… hold for four… exhale for four,” I whispered, trying to ignore the fact that the glowing rune seemed to pulse in time with my breath. Is it breathing with me?! Weird but comforting.

Step Three: Positive Self-Talk.

“You’ve got this. You are smart, capable, and only slightly emotionally unstable. Demons respect confidence. Fake it till you make it.”

A knock on the door made me jump. A small, scaly demon poked his head in. “Your dinner, human,” he said, sliding a tray toward me. It contained a bowl of something that looked suspiciously like purple mashed potatoes and a side of… glowing green mystery meat.

“Thanks!” I said, my voice cracking slightly. After he left, I stared at the food. “Okay, new goal: survive, find coffee, and absolutely do not die.”

I took a deep breath and picked up a fork.

“This is fine,” I said again. “Totally fine.”

And for the first time all day, I almost believed it.

[sorenphelps]

🦕 emergency🦖

a comic with very sloppy colouring which happens right after this ficlet, and right before this one, both written by @goldenlionprince for The Bodyguard AU. I originally wanted to add a second page, but it's mostly dialogue, so I attempted to write it instead. It's about 500 words, and should be read after the above comic page. Thanks for the beta @neverenoughmarauders. Also tagging @lovelymasks & @diamondmeadow.

“It is real and I just can't keep it under control anymore, okay? Yesterday he kissed me and I let him! I should be focused on his safety, but I... If he hadn't stopped I don't think I would have... I mean, I slept with my gun out of reach, damnit! What if someone attacked us?! And it's not just that I'm overworked and underfucked, it’s more like I actually... I want a relationship?... But I can't... You know me, I'm just not cut out for this, I shouldn’t...” Sirius says desperately without taking a single breath.  Remus is still a little angry at him for making him so worried and rush to the museum, but his friend asks for his help so he will try his best. Sirius looks quite concerned after all. “Okay, take a breath and calm down. You know that having emotions is normal human behaviour, right? And contrary to popular belief, you are also just a mere human.” “Oh yeah, thank you for reminding me that he’s way out of my league!” Sirius snaps at him. “Oh, come on, we all know that’s not true!” Remus snaps back. “If you are so worried about your feelings, maybe you should just find yourself a hobby instead? Ever thought about doing pottery?”  Remus knows he’s acting like a little shit, but you can’t deny a man his pleasures. Plus it is sure to anger Sirius. Ironically, anger can clear his mind better than logical reasoning in stressful situations. “That is precisely all I am doing! Come on, Remus, haven’t you paid any attention to what I’ve been saying?!”  Sirius runs his fingers through his hair nervously, notices the familiarity of the movement, and again, starts thinking about James. He really is a goner. He lets out a frustrated grunt. “Look, I’m sorry for using the dino code, but I really need your help.” “All right. How can I help you though? If you want an emotional support plushie, I’m afraid you have to buy that yourself, but I promise I won’t tell the cashier that it is not actually a gift for your imaginary 5-years-old nephew. I can’t really make you fall out of love, but I can make you another emergency package with some books about love and a few packs of condoms. I can also talk you through it, or just silently let you figure it out yourself, while we look at some fossils. Or you can come home with me and help me finish folding the laundry.” “That's what you had to abandon? Wow, Lupin, I almost felt bad for a moment for interrupting your schedule of very important tasks with my problem.”  He looks a little less stressed, but it only lasts until they cover the possibility of a relationship again. “I really want this, Remus, but… How do I not fuck this up so badly that he ends up running away to marry my cousin?!..” “Don’t be dramatic, you already ran out of available cousins to marry.” “Marry my brother then…” “Don’t be ridiculous, they haven't even spoken a word to each other, besides the only thing they have in common is you… Calm down, and use that big brain of yours to figure out what you really want. Then we can think about how to make that happen, okay?”

[lulublack90]

Prompt 13 - Deep

Wolfstar, February 13, word count 905

Previous part First part

He stared at him for a while until their eyes locked. The lanky, sandy-haired man froze to the spot. It had been a while since Sirius had had that effect on anyone, and he hadn’t even been trying. Could this actually be any more perfect? He checked on what his parents were doing, and when he saw they were listening to an old bore that had cornered Sirius earlier, he took his chance to break out of the perfect heir mould he’d been forced into all evening. 

He smiled the smile he used to use on all the young, pretty boys he used to take back to his bed. He’d been told it was dazzling. But he had no idea if it was true or not. He sauntered over to him, hoping for some sort of reaction. This was exhilarating. He’d known he was lonely, but he hadn’t realised it was so bad that he was prepared to risk everything to flirt with this mysterious server. But apparently, he had zero control over himself. 

He got to the man, and he wasn’t entirely certain if he was breathing; he was standing so still. He took one of the glasses of champagne off the man's tray, being careful not to topple it, and tipped the sweet, crisp, bubbly liquid down his throat in one go. It hit him like a freight train. One drink too many. He felt all his inhibitions leave him even as he screamed after them. Shit. 

“Thanks, I needed that,” He purred in the man's ear as he put the glass back on the tray, slightly harder than he’d intended, but the man was a pro and kept the tray level even if his brain seemed to be working about as quickly as Sirius’s suddenly was. 

The man didn’t react to Sirius being in his personal space at all. Sirius looked at the short curls on his head and longed to brush his fingers through them, letting the little coils stretch before pinging back into place. He shook his head. He needed to get away from this quiet man before he did something stupid. He smiled again and walked around him. But he was closer than he’d thought he was, and his hand brushed against the man's backside. The man shuddered under his touch. Oops. 

He pretended like he hadn’t done anything and continued walking, putting some space between them. Sirius kept an eye on him for the rest of the evening. He was unable to stop himself from doing it. He was sadly disrupted from his eye stalking by a put-on posh voice. 

“Mr Black, I’m so sorry to disturb you,” Sirius looked up at the intruder. It was the manager, Clark, Colin, Clifford or something like that. 

“What can I help you with?” He tried to sound pleasant, but there was a definite tone to his words. At least he wasn’t slurring.  

“I just wanted to apologise for my employee, and I hope he didn’t do anything to offend you. I can send him home if he’s caused a problem.” Sirius went cold. Shit how much had this guy seen? The server hadn’t done anything; he hadn’t even spoken to him, so why was this one making a point to come over to Sirius? He needed to tread carefully.  

“Er…”

“Karl, sir,”

“Sorry, Karl. Are you talking about the man with the champagne?” He had to be sure it was him they were talking about. 

“Yes, Remus,” Remus. Sirius tested it out in his head. He liked it. It was also vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t remember where from. 

“He was nothing but professional,” Sirius said before walking off. He didn’t want to let anything else slip. Not at the level of intoxication he was at. 

He slipped through the server's door and out into the alley behind the hotel. This was another of his parent's hotels, and he was well acquainted with the layout. He walked so he was almost at the entrance, and after fixing a cigarette between his lips and lighting it, he looked up. 

Above him, barely twinkling in the light pollution from the city, was Regulus. “Hi,” He croaked at the star above him. “I miss you so much.” A lump formed in his throat, and he had to swallow it before he could continue. “I need you Reggie, I’m so fucking lonely. You should have seen me in there, I was such a twat. I need you to tell me off, Reggie. Maybe I’ll get Barty to do it. He’s coming home tomorrow. Are you watching over him? He’ll need you tonight. I love you.” Tears started to flow from his eyes. The cool night air was helping to sober him up a bit. He tore his eyes away from his brother's star and finished his cigarette. He stubbed it out on the wall and dropped it to the dirty ground. He wiped the tears from his face and started trying to build up the energy to move out of the alleyway. 

A door halfway down the alley banged open, and Remus walked out. He was clearly elsewhere, probably thinking about getting home. Sirius almost let him go, almost. But the deep need for connection overruled every ounce of sense he had. “Hey,” He called out, just before Remus stepped out of the gloomy alley.  

“Oh, sorry, Mr Black, I didn’t see you there.”

[stilljuststardust]

Hey! I’ve been a follower of your blog for a long time! I have to confess something - many times when I see something in the 3D I continue to bring up the old story sometimes. I’m currently manifesting my list. It got so bad - I had an anxiety attack on the bus I was taking.

I’m doing better now but I still struggle sometimes. Like if I see something not related to my desires - I remind myself I my list. When I have to do something I do not like that is when the problems happen - seeing something I do not like I keep bringing it up. Do you have any advice on how I can stop mentally reacting to the situation/s I see?

Also a few days ago I had a bad day - so bad I was getting thoughts of self harm and it was awful. I’m trying my best. I’ve manifested age change - healing my cat - staying home from going to a place I did not want to go and more. But when manifesting any list/s I have never done so because I always fucked something up along the way - AKA - Reacting mentally to the situation/s in my life.

Hello love

I have a tendency to ruminate when I'm anxious. I did some self reflection and I realized that the reason I'd get stuck on something was because I in some way felt that if I stopped thinking about it something bad would happen. Whether that be being unprepared, or not "finding" a solution, or just a general fear that if I took my attention off of it I would lose control of it.

So now when I spiral I take a deep breath and I tell myself "it is safe to think of something else". Yes, your brain will try to drag you back a couple of times the important thing is to keep doing it. It's safe to think about something else and stressing yourself out isn't helping you so it's ok to move on to something else.

Take the time to self regulate and process your emotions but don't ruminate on them or feed into negative thought patterns.

When something comes up do what you have to do in the moment but stick to your affirmations mentally. Yes, it feels weird to force yourself out of it and just stick to the new story, but it's weird because you're more used to the old assumption than the new one.

Manifestation is not fighting the 3D and winning manifestation is creating the 3D with your thoughts and assumptions.

It could also help to revise it and be like "I didn't react at all" "wow it just manifested" or "it is working already"

Everything can change in an instant so instead of focusing on how you slipped up assume differently now. Some things are going to get to you emotionally but your emotions don't manifest.

[waningscorpio]

pretending like I don’t care about the Airport 1975 theory so it’s true.

(but i’m also thinking about the bts where Buck was running opposite of the rest of the 118 like he heard news personal to him that split him from the others)

[alaskan-wallflower]

lowkey glad i got my wisdom teeth out now because im getting used to barely eating and i know once school starts im gonna have to start getting back in the rhythm of one meal a day because i don’t do lunch (vent in the tags mb)

[wormsdyke]

whenever my epilepsy flares up i fully understand why people used to treat it like demonic possession because fucking feels like it. the genuine most realistic description i can give of my symptoms right now is there is an evil girl inside of my body made of salt and she is forcing herself out through the space between my eyelids and my eyes

[vstheworld]

cleaned all the stickers and dust and roach leavings and rat piss off my mirror.

no longer a dirty kid in a dirty mirror. this feels like character growth.

[icelogged]

*2015 voice* i wish i had the chillness instead i got the mental illness

[liesandbrokenhearts]

Does anyone else get scared of their minds sometimes because lately I’ve been scared of how little I care about myself and what happens to me because I feel so hideous and unimportant and broken and just ugly and I know that’s not good and I don’t know how not to feel it right now. It’s scaring me how deep I am in this pit of self hatred and sorrow. Like my own mind is scaring the hell out of me

[cetoddle-archive]

appointment went well 👍🏻 i guess

[milo-is-rambling]

Guy who’s nightmares come true (non consensual tumblr tag scrolling)