#as long as you have fun doing something that's all what matters right?

[bunnys-kisses]

⋆⋅☆max v. with a trans masc partner☆⋅⋆

max verstappen knew what he liked. while he usually put the front as a heterosexual man, he had always been a little more fluid about his sexuality outside of the limelight. he had kissed many men in his life as with women, even those who were neither men nor women. kissing was fun, sex was fun. and he wasn't going to limit himself to one set of tools to get the job down. a cock down the throat could be as delightful as sinking into a sweet pussy.

so it was more of a surprise for you to receive max's advances than it was for him to give them.

you remembered when you grandmother told you that she was concerned about you transitioning because you may "never find love" and you told her that it didn't matter. cars were your love, you didn't need a person to fill that gap. so when you met the three time world champion as the new mechanic for the 2024 season, you honestly didn't think too much about wooing him romantically.

but, max was wooed by you. especially when he saw that your lockscreen of your phone was a picture of your two cats, and when he brought up his cats, you just lit up. max liked that you treated him like he was a person. and you simply said, "mate, i'm pretty certain they don't let robots drive these cars." then slapped him on the back, "but i will make you bleed red if you total my car." then flashed him a smile.

you remembered the first time max kissed you. the dutch grand prix had been a total success and within the quietness of the garage post-race with the trophy max had won near by. he took you by the waist and kissed you. he'd later admit that he wanted to do it right on the track.

"do you kiss all your mechanics like that, verstappen?"

"no, only the ones who allow me to win." you two had spent almost the entire season bitching about red bull. max wondered if or when he eventually jumped teams, if he could take you with him. as he held you in his arms. chest to chest.

you admitted close to his ear, a little insecure, "i hope you know. i've built myself... i was born a girl, but became something more. different." then tried to pull back, fearful of his response. you weren't trying to trick him, you'd rather have it on the table.

but he pulled you back in, his blue eyes on you, "you act like i don't know what transgender people are, mechanic." he said as he leaned you back a little, to get a fuller look at you, "you act like i've never been to bed with one."

"i don't want to be a one night stand." you said, your hands on the front of his polo shirt. his hat long hit the floor in the heat of the kiss. you swallowed, "i won't be a toy, verstappen. i have too much respect for myself."

he chuckled, "that's what i like to hear." he held you around the waist and you kissed once more. he could feel the rise in his blood pressure. while you could've easily done it in the garage, max gave you the address of where he was staying and the lie to tell security.

the mechanics team were in another hotel, but if you wore your red bull branded uniform and had your mechanic's pass then you'd get in easily. they'd never suspect that you'd be intimate with the star of the team. and you did just that. even flashing a smile at security before you headed up to the elevator. they didn't even ask questions, which made your life easier.

you found max's room and he happily brought you in. but once the door was closed behind you. his strong arms were around you. he smiled at you, happy to see you. you carefully touched his face, part of you believed this was a strange dream after too many rum and cokes. but as you felt his facial hair under your hand, this was all painfully real.

"do you want this?" he asked.

you nodded and responded with a question of your own, "do you?"

his smile grew a little more, he leaned in closer to you. you only now realized how blue his eyes were, "since the moment i saw you come to the garage. you were more impressed with the car than with me... i found it endearing." he chuckled.

you held his face with both hands and gazed at him, "yeah, because it's a piece of shit car for a champion. it's like giving the king aluminum instead of gold."

he laughed before he leaned in for a kiss. you held his face close to yourself and you felt something bloom in your gut. eventually you got your worn sneakers kicked off and the jacket of your uniform off. it left you in a white t-shirt and max started to strip as well. you eyed his form and he eyed yours.

you felt his heated gaze linger on your chest for a moment and without thinking you crossed your arms across where your top surgery scars were. it was habit at that point.

max was in just his jeans and socks. he reached for your arms. feeling your warm under his palm as he carefully moved your arms away. he wanted to admire you, all of you.

"must've felt very different after the surgery." he said as he held your wrists, his eyes gazed on the fading scars. he was in no way to judge about scarring. at least yours were for something worthwhile, to change yourself in such a fundamental way, "was it scary?"

you shook your head, "no... i wanted to do everything afterwards. my doctor basically put me on bed rest because i was trying to push myself too hard. what was a four week recovery turned in seven."

he placed his hands on your flat chest and could feel the slight raise of the scars under his palms, "you push yourself too hard."

you swallowed, feeling the heat in your cheeks, "if you want to be the best. you have to do more than your best." your gaze met his. it felt so painfully intimate. this wasn't just sex in a hotel room, this was intimacy. max wanted more than your body, he wanted to know all the nooks of your soul and what inhabited them.

he leaned in once more, "we have that in common." before he kissed you once more. his kiss was sweeter, an assurance that you and your body were nothing to be ashamed of. if anything he admired it, even though he couldn't relate to the feelings you carried. he could at least understand the guts it took to go through it.

to become more than you what was given to you. it endeared you to him as you broke the kiss and continued to get undressed. the more of your bodies exposed to one another, the hotter the room got. even with the air conditioning rattling in the room. you could feel the heat between you two.

max sighed, "i don't have condoms... i can pull out or we can do something else." he explained as he got into the bed with you. both naked. his broad hand grazed across your body.

you responded and placed his hand on your lower abdomen, right before your pussy, "hysterectomy. six months before i started. are you clean though?"

he replied, "yes. been a long time since i've been with someone anyway." he was telling the truth. since you started at the season, everything had become a blur with you and the championship being a central focus.

his pointer finger trailed across the scar for a moment before he took your face in his hands and kissed you once more. you could go on about the shape of your face, but in his hands it felt very small. you hadn't realized that max verstappen had paws instead of hands. the thought made you giggle a little into the kiss.

he pulled away and looked at you before he laid you out on your back. he asked with a small smile, "what are you laughing about?"

you looked up at him and said, "didn't realized that formula one drivers had such big hands. every seen them up close like this before." then yelped a little when max grabbed you by the hips and pushed himself up against you.

he curved his back over you and maintained eye contact, those blue eyes were swimming with lust, "well. it's good you haven't seen others this close up. i might get a little jealous."

you looked away for a moment with a stupid grin on your face, "okay, flirt. why don't we get to it before i melt into this bed." then a soft moan left your lips as he rubbed his cock up against your wet cunt.

he admired you for a moment, hoping the image of your naked body stayed with him for weeks to come. you looked masculine. he wasn't going to say "technically" it's not having sex with a man. you were a man just as much as he was if not more. you had to create your manhood and you made it to perfection.

"i want you." you said softly.

he leaned forward and kissed you gently on the lips before he eased his cock into you. he replied with an equal softness, "i want you too, mechanic." the nickname made your ears hot as he moved against you. he thrusts were gently but gained a steady momentum.

you held onto the covers under your back and let him move against you. once you got a hold of his rhythm, you were able to meet his movements as well. the kisses you two shared grew hot as max planted both hands on either side of you and moved.

you two were moving against one another, locked in a heated kiss. the bed shifted slightly under your movements. max was thankful that were was not a bed on the opposite side of the wall. and that this place had enough insulation to keep your noises muffled.

the last thing he wanted was your integrity to come into question. that you only got to where you were because of your seductive ways. the noises between you two were soft. there was no need to rush, the race was over and tomorrow you'd be on the flight to the next one.

he took your hands and held them by your head, which kept you two close but also allowed him to keep you pinned under him. when you broke the kiss, you rested your forehead against his. the noises were harder to keep under wraps the more you moved. the pleasure felt like fireworks in your brain.

you moaned a little bit before you said, "i was thinking something stupid."

max chuckled his sweaty forehead against yours, "tell me."

"i realized what your eyes remind me of." you admitted softly, "i couldn't quite pin it after we met." you were breathing heavily as you locked your fingers further with his.

"and what do they remind of you?" he asked, curiously. he had heard people refer to them like the ocean, the sky after a store, the definition of blue.

you replied, "home. the lake near where i lived. not scary like the ocean. familiar like the lakes i grew up near."

max had no words, he simply laid another kiss on you. his hands grasped your tightly as you two moved together more. the pace quickened and max knew that he wanted to be in your life for a long period of time. he wanted you to be his home.

you moaned against the kiss, feeling the heat leap in your belly as you felt closer to orgasm. you came first with your lips against his. your back arched but your hands were pinned to the bed. it felt good as pleasure rushed to your brain.

max broke the kiss and continued to move against you. he let go of your hands in favour of your hips where he bounced your further against his cock. it made crackles of pleasure appear in your brain. and he was no better, his heavy breathing and occasional moan fueled his need to finish. and when he did, he did so inside of you. max never thought too much about the surgery you had, but he was thankful for it tonight.

he stayed inside of you for a moment as he cooled down before he left a kiss on the corner of your mouth. full of such tenderness as he pulled out of you and ran his fingers through his short hair.

you laid out next to him and heavily panting, feeling so vulnerable. he stayed closer to you, eventually pulling you to him and resting his chin on top of your head. you got comfortable against him.

"if you have any questions, i can answer them... about the whole trans thing." you swallowed, even now you felt embarrassed bringing it up. you felt it was a mood killer.

he took you by the chin and made you face him. he smiled down at you. he asked one question, "are you happy? did you get the life you wanted?"

you nodded in response, "everything and more." and that was enough for max. anything else you felt the need to tell him would be told with time, after all, max expected to be in your life for many years to come. both as his mechanic and lover.

-

max would only come clean about the relationship two years later. the end of his contract with red bull and a final championship was enough for the driver to retire peacefully. and when he retired, you retired and you made a home in monaco.

the coming out post set the internet ablaze. especially given how long you two had been together. wasn't anything too special, just a small collection of photos that he had taken over your time together. like the time you wore his helmet in 2025 with a big thumbs up. and that time you thoroughly messed up a birthday cake for him, and with the camera in your face, he rubbed the icing off your cheek. the one that really captured eyes was the one that a friend took of you at a house party when max came to visit your home country, with his legs over your strong lap and his lips against your face. you were smiling like the sun. being the center of a media storm was only braved with max by your side. at one point turning your phone off and throwing it onto the couch. his kisses were still loving as always, his words soft, and his affirmations of your gender were often so sweet that you'd cover your face in embarrassment.

you were always comfortable with the idea of not meeting your 'other half', you had been given a second chance at life once you came out. and if no one could accept you then so be it. but as you laid out on the couch laid out against your boyfriend with sassy at your side and your cat between the crook of your knee, you felt loved. <3

a/n: i do write for masc readers as well, both cis and beyond. just not as often because many request femme readers. but if an idea is cooking in your head. hit me with it!

[chukys-mouthguard]

bed chem

how you talk so sweet when you’re doing bad things

1.4K words

featuring -> matt rempe x female reader

genre -> fluff, smut; 18+ minors DNI - mature themes

-> short n’ sweet masterlist

Watching from across the room, you couldn’t help but keep your eyes locked on Matt. Sure, part of that was because he was hard to miss. His giant frame caught everyone’s eye. But it was mostly because you couldn’t shake the thoughts you’d had about him all week long leading up to this night.

The two of you had briefly met a few weeks back, not having much time to talk but exchanging numbers anyways as you had hit it off well. Those text messages went from friendly to flirty, and next thing you knew you were getting shirtless snapchats from Matt that had your mind racing with thoughts that were anything but innocent.

And sure, you’d partaken in sending back some snaps of your own. Just enough to get his mind racing, make him want more. And that he did, both of you did.

Sipping from your solo cup you watched as Matt crossed his arms as he spoke to a group of friends. The way his biceps flexed at the motion, his shirt tightening them as he threw his head back laughing. His smile could make any girl melt, as his thick Canadian accent could be heard above the crowd and the music.

He’d shook his head at something one of the guys said before his eyes finally landed on you. His smirk changed to one that was a bit cocky, as he slightly bit his lip, eyeing you. Excusing himself from the group, Matt slowly made his way through the crowd before he found himself practically chest to chest with you as there wasn’t much room in the kitchen to have a decent conversation.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Biting your lip you pulled your cup back to your mouth as you took a sip, eyeing him from behind the plastic rim as he was practically undressing you right there with his eyes.

“Having fun?”

“Watching you all night? Absolutely.”

Both of you chuckled as you checked your cup, slightly frowning as you noticed you were all out. Matt took your cup from you, picking up on the situation as he set it down on the counter before taking your hand in his.

“Umm where are we going?”

You questioned but continued on with him, following as he pulled you down the hallway then upstairs.

“You looked thirsty, so I’m gonna help you out.”

Matt winked at you as he led you to an extra bathroom tucked away at the back of the house. Looking over your shoulder you checked to be sure no one saw the two of you, though you were sure this bathroom was not a first or even second choice for partygoers.

“Oh yeah? How you gonna do that Rempe?”

His cocky grin reappeared on his lips as he shut the door behind you, earning a gasp from you as he quickly lifted you up to sit you on the counter.

“Gonna give you what you’ve been thinking about all night.”

His words were firm but his voice was the opposite, the way he could still sound so sweet and innocent while his hands were making their way underneath your shirt. Goosebumps covering your skin as his touch was cold against you, a smirk on his lips as he felt you shiver beneath him.

“No need to be nervous, I don’t bite. Unless you’re into that kind of thing.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his comment, no matter the moment Matt would find a way to crack a joke. Always.

“Matthew, can you ever be serious?”

“Of course…I’m serious when I say I wanna bend you over this counter.”

A cocky smirk made its way across his lips before he grabbed your face, pulling your lips to meet his in a sloppy kiss. Something that the two of you had easily been thinking about all night. The way your tongues clashed as you fought for dominance, your hands tangled in his hair while Matt’s fell to your waist. Quickly pulling your shirt from your frame as he eyed the blue lace bra you’d opted for. Hoping it would get seen by anyone other than yourself, but only wanting Matt to be that “anyone else”.

“You were hoping for this weren’t you? Choosing that bra?”

Matt chuckled as lips found your again, a hand dropping to cup your breast as he could finally take advantage of not being stuck staring at them from his phone screen. The color bra being the one he made known was his favorite from the occasional risqué photos you’d send his way. Obviously making it the only choice to wear for tonight.

“I think you might’ve mentioned liking it..”

Your voice trailed off breathless as Matt’s attention moved to your neck, leaving a trail of soft bites followed by kisses and licks to soothe the skin.

“Like it? I fucking love it.”

His words were laced with his thick Canadian accent, something you’d noticed came out the more excited he’d become. Arching your back into his touch you subconsciously found his crotch pressing against you, his jeans now tighter than before as he had clearly been enjoying the moment.

“Did you put on the matching thong for me too baby girl?”

Your arms wrapped around his neck as he lifted you from the counter, pulling down your jeans in one quick motion to reveal that you did in fact match your panties to the bra. Matt’s eyes filled with desire as he looked down at you, his hand tracing your curves and playing with the lace of the thong as it sat high on your hip.

“So fucking beautiful.”

He pulled you in for one last kiss before turning you around to face the mirror, a cocky grin on his face as he caught you staring while he discarded his jeans, then tossed his tshirt to the side. Your eyes trailing every muscle of his as you watched him, his fingers gripping your ass before pulling the string of your thong to the side. Teasing you ever so slightly as they slid up your slit to feel how wet you’d gotten for him.

“Mmm, glad to see you’re enjoying this.”

Part of you wanted to tell to cut the shit and fuck you already, but you had to admit you liked the way he admired your body. The way he was still sweet and charming while having you bent over the bathroom counter at a party.

He soon replaced his fingers with his cock, sliding it up and down your folds as the two of you moaned in unison. Each taking a deep breath as he slowly thrust himself inside you, his grip firm on your hips as he cursed at how tight you were.

“Holy shit.”

“I could say the same for you.”

You shot him a wink in the mirror as you held the counter, catching your breath as you adjusted to his size before urging him to continue.

His thrusts had picked up their pace with your go ahead, the sounds of sex filling the bathroom as you tried to contain your moans. The two you almost in perfect rhythm as you did your best to meet his thrusts as you pushed back against him, only causing a slew of expletives to pour from Matt.

“Fuck you feel so good baby. Come ride me.”

Matt pulled himself from you, immediately grabbed your chin to pull you in for a kiss, the two of you chuckling at the other as you fought for dominance.

Matt scanned the bathroom, realizing it wasn’t the ideal place for the position he was trying for. Settling for sitting on the edge of the bathtub in hopes that you two could make it work.

“You’re kidding?”

“Come on, I’ll help you out, don't worry.”

His voice was slightly whiny as he reached for your hand and pulled into him, a hand smacking your ass before helping to guide your thigh over his lap. Then following suit with the other.

“Matt, this is gonna hurt, my knees on a fucking bathtub?”

He threw his head back in defeat as he sighed, realizing you were right.

“Fuck…you’re right. Did you drive here?”

He looked up at you with a devilish grin as you nodded, slightly confused at the question.

“Yes, but I’ve been drinking. We both have, neither one of us can drive.”

Matt quickly gathered up his clothes, helping you to find yours as he shook his head.

“Who said anything about driving? Would the front seat or the back seat be more comfortable for you baby?”

[goldfades]

https://www.tumblr.com/goldfades/768009162138517504/title-luke-hughes

What about luke’s reaction? coming into the room after the boys told him he was wrong at practice or something, maybe he saw the comments?

it’s a little past eight when you hear the front door slam. you’re curled up on the couch, scrolling through your phone with a smug grin on your face. the video you posted earlier is still blowing up, comment after comment pouring in. your favorite so far might be the one that reads “he’s so confident it’s actually heartbreaking”—but there’s stiff competition.

the sound of heavy footsteps stomping down the hallway makes your ears perk up, and you sit up straighter just in time for luke to appear in the doorway. he’s still in his practice gear, hair damp with sweat and his cheeks flushed pink, but his expression is what gets you: somewhere between confusion, betrayal, and... is that a pout?

“you,” he says, pointing at you with the kind of dramatic flair usually reserved for soap operas. “you set me up.”

you blink innocently, setting your phone down. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

luke steps further into the room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “don’t play dumb. the guys wouldn’t shut up about your video during practice. jack kept reading the comments out loud! ‘cuticle pusher means nail thingies? HAHAHA.’ do you know how humiliating that is?”

you’re already biting your lip to keep from laughing, but when he mimics jack’s voice, the dam breaks. you burst into giggles, doubling over as luke groans loudly.

“it’s not funny!” he protests, though the way his ears turn pink suggests he’s more embarrassed than actually mad. “i was so proud of myself, and you—you let me think i was getting them all right!”

wiping a tear from your eye, you manage to catch your breath long enough to speak. “okay, okay, listen. it wasn’t my fault you were so confident! i mean, ‘tight lines’? really?”

he groans again, flopping onto the couch next to you with a dramatic sigh. “i knew something was off when you said i got ‘halo eye’ right. but you were so convincing!” he shoots you a look, half accusing, half amused. “you’re evil. actually evil.”

you snicker, nudging his shoulder. “oh, come on. you were having fun.”

“yeah, until i realized you were setting me up for the internet to roast me,” he mutters, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “look at this—this one says i belong in a museum for confidence alone.”

you glance at his screen and can’t help but laugh again. “they’re not wrong.”

he groans, tossing his phone onto the coffee table and sinking lower into the couch. “i’ll never live this down.”

“oh, stop being dramatic,” you tease, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you made people laugh, and isn’t that what really matters?”

he’s quiet for a moment, then tilts his head toward you, lips twitching like he’s fighting a smile. “did i at least look good in the video?”

you grin, reaching up to ruffle his curly hair. “you always look good, lukey. even when you’re confidently getting everything wrong.”

his laugh rumbles under your ear as he finally relaxes, letting himself sink into the moment. “you better watch your back, though. payback is coming.”

“oh, i’m shaking,” you say with a smirk, already planning the next video in your head.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[weepingchronicles]

I saw that you are indeed taking requests at the moment and was wondering if you would pretty please with cherry on top write about Yan! Jinx with a darling on hunger strike(bacically darling has gotten abducted by Jinx and so refuses to eat unless freed....is that even a word?)

Tsm 4 reading my request and have a wonderfull day!

ahh, well since you asked so nicely! thank you for requesting! this was fun to write hehe.

content warnings: vomit mention, yandere behavior, forced feeding, unsafe eating habits, kidnapping mention, forced touching.

❝yandere jinx with reader❞

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Jinx had thought you were fooling around, she can usually tell someone's bluff and she knows what it is like to be so hungry that you'll do anything for crumb. You wouldn't last a day.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 The day passes, she keeps silent. . smug to herself that you'll be begging her for some food by the night time.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 But then a day passes and still nothing.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 "Not hungry?" she muses to you almost mockingly as she eats a big ol' sandwich right in front of you. Loudly chewing just to rub it in.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Still nothing. You just pout your lip in defiance and avert your gaze. Interesting.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 A few days pass and it almost becomes a game for Jinx, let's see how she can make you finally break. Her pranks and mocking are turned up a couple notches. She loves games and all kinds of bets so for her that is what it exactly is. There is no way she is going to free you AND admit being wrong. No way.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She isn't the best cook but she makes a stack of syrupy pancakes topped with chocolate chips in a droopy smile– waving it infront of your face just to annoy you.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Almost a week passes and she has started to get a bit worried. The game isn't fun anymore when you lose all energy to move, napping most of the day, not even struggling or trying to escape when she wants to play with you.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She finally snaps when she sees you faint as you try to stand. That's it, the game is over. You are not going to win.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 When you finally come to, Jinx pours a bucket of cold water to really wake you up. You're tied tightly to a chair, similarly to when you were first abducted by the loose cannon of a girl.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 "I'm going to make this easy, firework. Eat or I make you."

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Depending on your choice, she either feeds you nicely or she will force your mouth open while plugging your nostrils so you have no choice but to breathe through your mouth. Holding a fingertip to your lips until you swallow all of it. She'll coo and pat your back as you cough, applauding you for finally doing the right thing.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 As long as you get something in your stomach she is good for now, she will just keep on forcing you no matter your struggle until you eventually stop your silly hunger strike. She doesn't want to force you so much that your body vomits it up so she keeps it simple until you are in better health.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 After that she'll be gentle, almost mockingly so. Cooing to you and forcing cuddles in your lap as if she is some clingy monkey.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She probably would not admit it but she was deeply concerned and scared when you fainted. She promises to herself she won't let a thing like this happen again or get to the point that it did.

a/n: thank you for requesting!

[sturnina]

Rule number one

Dealer!Chris x Fem!reader

— tags;; drug use, a lot of curse words, no use of y/n, arguments, angst

— wc;; 1.7k

— author‘s note;; my take on dealer!chris since I find it concerning that people think it‘s a good idea for him to be a druggie, hope you enjoy <3

Rule number one is clear. You are aware of it, Chris is aware of it, everyone knows. The dealer does not take their own stuff. Because what happens then? It goes down way too fast. It is too dangerous.

Everyone knows. With an almost infinite supply of more, always more, it is a risk you cannot take.

And yet, you’re here. Standing in front of Chris, with a deep and dark pit in your stomach. Fuck. His eyes are clearly dilated, and his heart is racing—you can feel it through his shirt when you press your hand against his chest. He mutters something incoherent, a smile dripping from his lips.

“What was it?” you mumble, more to yourself. At least you’re alone with him, away from his brothers or customers. “What did you take?” you ask again, louder this time while gripping his chin and forcing him to look at you.

No. Wrong approach. Violence doesn’t help. But fuck, you need to know what it was.

“Was it K? Ketamine? Chris, did you take Ketamine?” you ask, slowly rubbing his shoulders. Oh, please let it be Ketamine.

He laughs and launches forward, embracing you tightly. “Shush Ma, you’re making me all worried,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your head. “It’s alright. It will be alright, trust me.”

The pit in your stomach deepens while the machinery in your mind runs at full speed. Racing heartbeat. Emotional closeness. Dizziness maybe? From the way he is swaying, you can tell he is more than a little lightheaded. **

“What do you feel?” you ask him, pulling away a little to look at him. “How are you feeling? Are you disoriented? Drowsy?”

Chris shakes his head, sighing deeply. “Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, his voice getting a slight slurred edge.

“Do you have a headache? Or an increased appetite?”

“No?” His voice is disinterested—he clearly could not care less. Unfortunately, this is all you care about at the moment. Increased body temperature, sweating, slurred speech…

“Chris, did you take MDMA?”

“Mmh…” he says, pulling you close again and peppering kisses to your head. “No, it was a longer name…”

“Ecstasy, Chris.” A slight undertone of desperation lies in your voice. How does he not remember the simplest things? “MDMA is Ecstasy. Did you take it or not?”

“Why does it matter?” he asks, pulling away to look at you. His movements are unpredictable and confused—clearly, he does not see the way you do right now. Even if just through his energy. “Come on, let’s go back inside and have fun. Dance with me, pretty girl, yeah?”

He grabs your hands, but you refuse. “You can’t go back in there,” you say sternly.

“But the party isn’t over,” he complains. “I still gotta dance… and deal.”

“You can’t. Deal, I mean.” A lump forms in your throat at the confused look he shoots at you through half-lidded eyes.

“What? Sure I can! Look, I still have-” The second he pulls out a small bottle of pills, you snatch it out of his hand. And you were right—it’s X, MDMA, clarity, whatever you want to call it.

“Chris you have to stop dealing.”

“I know you’re always worried about me, Ma,” he says with a sloppy grin. “But you know I have everything under control. No one’s going to get too dangerous.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” you sigh, stepping closer. “Chris, you have to stop dealing. You broke rule number one. You have a practically infinite supply of drugs, and you just started taking them. What do you think is happening now?”

He frowns, clearly having difficulties concentrating. Fuck, how long does Ecstasy last? You go through your memory, trying to find anything about it. From one up to… was it five? Six hours? Fuck.

“We’re going,” you say, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the room you searched for shelter from the party.

The second you step outside, into the main area, the music clogs up your ears. Smoke burns in your lungs, mixed with the smells of alcohol and sweat. You’ve never been a fan of parties like this, but you came with Chris more and more often, wanting to look out for him—even though you wouldn’t be able to do anything in an extreme case.

But today, you’re infinitely grateful for having come with him. Who else would force him to go home and not take another pill? His brothers don’t even know what’s going on behind the scenes, he’s taken care of that.

Back at your car, you force him into the passenger seat. Now looking at him, restlessly playing with the decoration on your glovebox, you’re almost relieved he did it. Just because it means he has to stop dealing. As soon as he’s sober, he’ll realise that too.

After getting into the driver’s seat, you lock the doors and reach out a hand. “Give me your phone.”

“Huh?” he asks, pulling out his iPhone.

“Not that one. The burner one.”

Frowning deeply, he crosses his arms. “No.”

“Yes. Chris, do it.”

“No way. That’s the only contact I have with customers and the supplier,” he protests.

“Exactly. Hand it over, I’m not asking you again.” Your fingers move twice in your direction, a sign everyone knows. Come on, you think, don’t make this more complicated.

“A’ight,” he mutters, pulling it out of his back pocket and going back to fiddling with something he found in your car. You couldn’t care less what it is.

“Good,” you mutter, quickly chucking the phone into the backseat from where you’ll pick it up later. For now, you need to get Chris home.

The drive back is silent, except for when he occasionally starts humming a melody and then abruptly stops, grinding his teeth.

“Don’t do that,” you mutter, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

“Stop telling me what to do,” he replies, staring ahead like a pouty kid. “I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly,” you scoff, a wave of anger bubbling up in your chest.

How could he be so careless? How could he possibly have thought that taking drugs as a goddamn drug dealer is okay? That it works? He knows the dangers of every drug. He’s seen people get completely wasted, slowly destroying their lives and the ones of the people around them.

Why would he do this to you? To his brothers? His friends and family?

Tears are burning in your eyes and you blink rapidly to focus your gaze on the street.

“Ma? ‘re you crying?” Chris asks. His voice is softer but clearly slurred now. The drug seems to be kicking in.

You open your mouth to say something, but not a single sound escapes your lips.

“Why are you crying, love?” he whispers.

“Why would you do that?” you finally ask. “You know drugs. You know what they do. You know they destroy lives. Fuck, Chris, what’s going on? Why did you take it?”

The car is silent, and nervosity settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Chris…?” you ask again. “Why did you take it?”

“I js wanted to try,” he mumbles. It’s clearly not the only answer, but now is not the time to figure out what exactly led him to be so stupid.

After stopping the car in front of your house—you won’t let Nick and Matt see him in this state—, you force Chris outside, into the cool air. He doesn’t react, even as you start shivering. You quickly fetch the burner phone from the backseat and lead Chris inside, pushing him through the front door and to the couch. He seems restless and refuses to sit down, so you let him wander around.

While he’s still in his drug-induced haze, you sit down at the kitchen island and open the flip phone. The first number is his suppliers’, you know that, saved simply as G. It rings only once before he picks it up.

“You run out this quickly?” he asks. No greeting, no nothing.

“No,” you reply. The tension is palpable, even through the phone.

“Who are you?” G asks cautiously.

“You will not supply C anymore,” you say, careful not to use Chris’s name. “Do you understand me?”

“Tell me who you are and I’ll consider,” he repeats.

“That’s none of your business. If you sell to Chris-” Fuck, fuck fuck. “If you sell to him again, I will find out and send the police after you.”

The guy chuckles. “Easy. I’m sure we can talk about this. You his girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, running a hand over your face.

“You worried about him or something?”

“Obviously,” you scoff. “I don’t want him to become an addict. That’s normal, I fear.”

“He wouldn’t. I’ve been supplying to him for a while, he does it for the money, not the drugs,” G says, apparently unimpressed. “Just stay out of his business, yeah? This is no place for little girls.”

“You listen to me, you little fuck,” you hiss, jumping up from the chair. “I know who you are and from where you supply. I know the faces of all the little dealers around here, and they’re all connected to you. I know what parties you go to, and what people you know. I’ve seen you. And I will get you if you deal with my boyfriend again. He took Ecstasy today. And trust me, I know what happens next. I’ve seen it happen. So if one of us ever hears from you again, you will be caught, I promise.”

A stunned silence fills the phone. The only sounds you hear is the clock on the kitchen wall ticking… and heavy breathing behind you.

You whip your head around. Chris stares at you with confused eyes. He reaches out for the phone, but his movements are too uncoordinated, and you dodge his hand.

“Is that G?” he asks, slurring his words more than before. “Why would you- what are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t go down that path,” you say sternly.

Since you have no more to say to G, and you don’t care to hear his answer, you hang up the phone and guide Chris upstairs, leaving the burner phone on the kitchen counter.

“Come on, let’s go to bed.”

“But ‘m not tired,” he protests, still energised from the Ecstasy.

This is going to be a long night.

masterlist

[childrenofcain-if]

How would W react to an MC who is obsessed with them? Like they need help with a small thing? MC drop everything and run to the rescue. W doesn’t take care of themselves? Why bother when MC takes care of them.

W’s presence wasn’t always loud, but it was startling, an emotional thunderhead that you could feel rumbling in your ribs before it even fully cracked.

when the call came, their voice tried to sound casual but failed miserably. “i, uh, could use a hand with something.”

it didn’t matter what it was—something about a deadline they’d forgotten or a lamp they’d broken while pacing in frustration. you didn’t even ask. you dropped your coffee cup on the kitchenette counter, grabbed your jacket, and bolted out the door without thinking twice.

the quick walk to their suite was a blur and when you arrived, W was sitting cross-legged on the couch, their thin frame curled in on itself. they were wearing a mismatched pair of socks, one of them being yours—the blue one with the tiny stars that you’d lost weeks ago—and it was enough to make your heart ache.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, dropping your jacket at the door and crossing the room in three long strides.

W didn’t answer right away. their fingers were busy tracing invisible patterns on the edge of their sweater, which was so oversized it might as well have been a blanket. their silence stretched like a taut wire, and then, finally, they said, “i forgot to eat again.”

your chest tightened. not with anger, not even with frustration, but with the unbearable weight of love for someone who couldn’t always love themself. you didn’t say anything. you just walked into their kitchenette and started rummaging through cabinets and the refridgerator.

there wasn’t much to work with—a box of crackers, a bruised apple, a carton of almond milk. it didn’t matter. you threw together something small and easy and brought it back to W, sitting beside them on the couch.

they looked at the plate like it was a challenge, their fingers twitching toward it but never quite making contact.

“i’m sorry,” they murmured, their voice barely above a whisper.

“don’t,” you said, shaking your head. “you don’t have to apologize.”

“i do,” they insisted, their voice cracking. “you shouldn’t have to—”

“W,” you interrupted, your tone firmer than before. “i’m here because i want to be. because i love you. that’s it. that’s all there is to it.”

they looked at you then, their sapphire blue eyes watery and wide, and for a moment, you thought they might cry. instead, they reached for the plate and took a small bite of the apple. it wasn’t much, but it was definitely a start.

that night, after they’d eaten what they could and you’d cleaned up the remnants, you found yourself sitting together on the couch. W was curled against your side, their head resting on your shoulder, their fingers absently tracing shapes on your arm.

“you’re warm,” they murmured, their voice soft and sleepy. “and you smell nice. like fresh laundry.”

you smiled, pressing a kiss to their temple. “and you’re wearing my missing sock.”

“it’s a good sock,” they said with a tired chuckle, tugging at the hem of it. “better than the pairs i own.”

“you could’ve just asked for it,” you said.

they tilted their head to look up at you, their expression caught somewhere between a smirk and a fond smile. “and where’s the fun in that?”

***

later, as the night deepened, W began to fidget. their fingers, which had been drawing lazy circles on your arm, began to scratch at their own thigh, leaving faint red marks in their wake.

“stop,” you said gently, catching their hand in yours.

they flinched but didn’t pull away. “sorry.”

“don’t apologize,” you said, your voice kind. “just… tell me what’s wrong.”

they hesitated, their gaze fixed on the floor.

“i don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” they admitted. “like i’m… too much. or not enough. or both at the same time.”

your heart broke for the hundredth time that day. you pulled them closer, wrapping your arms around them like you could shield them from the weight of their own thoughts.

“you’re not too much,” you said. “and you’re not not enough. you’re exactly who you’re supposed to be.”

they didn’t respond, but their body relaxed slightly against yours. after a moment, they said, “i love you so much, i can’t bear the pain.”

the words were so quiet you almost missed them, but when they sank in, they hit you like a freight train. you tightened your hold on them, pressing a kiss to the crown of their head.

“i love you so much, i’ll bear it for you,” you whispered.

W looked up at you then, their eyes soft and full of something you couldn’t quite name.

“you mean that?” they asked tentatively.

“every word,” you replied, leaving no room for doubt. W said nothing but their smile was brighter than the lights in the room.

after a while, W whispered in latin, “te amabo aeternum.”

you recognized the words instantly, even though W’s accent was softer, less confident. i will love you forever.

“amabo te in aeternum,” you corrected gently, your voice warm and teasing. the structure mattered less than the sentiment, but you couldn’t help it. W’s latin was too endearing to leave unpolished.

“of course you’d fix that,” they muttered with a faint smile, their tone holding no actual irritation. “you always seem to know everything, don’t you?”

“not everything,” you said, smiling softly as you ran your thumb along the back of their hand. “just the important parts. like how much you mean to me.”

W looked up at you then, their blue eyes catching the light and you leaned in closer, your nose brushing against theirs.

“et ego te amo.” and i love you, you said, soft but firm, as if the words themselves could shield them from everything clawing at their mind.

they sighed, a sound that carried equal parts relief and exhaustion, and melted against you. “thank you for everything, mein stern.”

***

as the night wore on, W continued murmuring fragments of latin into the quiet—“es somnium meum,” they said at one point, and it took you a moment to piece it together. you are my dream.

you tightened your hold on them. “tibi in somniis et re in aeternum pertinebo,” you whispered back. i will belong to you in your dreams and reality forever.

that earned a smile from W, small but real, and when they finally closed their eyes, you stayed awake, holding them close. you whispered one final phrase into the night, one you weren’t even sure they’d catch:

“in saecula saeculorum.” forever and ever.

they didn’t respond, but their breathing slowed, steady and even, their body curled against yours with all the trust and affection that they could ever afford to give back.

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

Second Chance - Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve tried to get you back, but it's not always easy to gain back the trust one loses.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Warning: Angsts, like kind of a lot of it, injured character, but nobody dies. A bit of fluff with a happy ending.

Words: 9 224

AN: So, sweet anon asked about part two of Enough is Enough, and well, why the hell no :) I feel like shit (being sick isn't fun), so apologies x4 for any mistakes. My brain isn't braining...

Steve didn’t give up.

Steve’s first apology came in the form of flowers.

They arrived at the coffee shop just as you were opening. A delivery driver handed you the bouquet—a lush arrangement of white roses and baby’s breath, wrapped in soft tissue paper. For a moment, you just stared at them, the scent of fresh blossoms mingling with the familiar aroma of coffee beans. The card nestled within the bouquet bore only three words: I’m so sorry.

Your chest tightened. You didn’t have to wonder who sent them.

“Who’s the secret admirer?” your coworker teased, grinning as she wiped down the counter.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you set the bouquet aside, trying to push down the lump rising in your throat. It was a beautiful gesture—one you might have cherished once—but now it felt hollow.

The flowers kept coming. Every morning, a new arrangement would appear. Daisies, tulips, sunflowers. Each accompanied by a note in Steve’s handwriting: I miss you. I love you. Let me fix this.

You didn’t know how to feel. Part of you wanted to believe him, to give him the chance to make things right. But another part of you—the part still raw and aching—refused.

Then he started showing up.

The first time, you nearly dropped the coffee pot in your hand. He stood outside the shop, leaning against the lamppost with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. He looked different—tired, almost haunted, as though the weight of your absence was something physical he carried with him.

You ignored him, focusing on your customers, but you could feel his presence like a shadow just beyond the glass. When you finally closed the shop, he was still there.

He said your name softly as you stepped outside, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t stop walking.

“Please,” he called after you, his tone desperate. “Just give me a chance to talk.”

You turned back, your jaw clenched. “Why now, Steve? Why couldn’t you talk to me when it mattered?”

His face crumpled, and for a brief moment, you felt a pang of guilt. But you shook it off and kept walking.

It didn’t deter him. Steve came back the next day, and the day after that, always waiting silently as you worked. It wasn’t until a week later that you finally confronted him.

“What do you want from me, Steve?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended.

His blue eyes searched yours, filled with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen in months. “I want to make this right,” he said, his voice breaking. “I love you. I never stopped. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening with conflicting emotions. He looked so sincere, so heartbroken, that for a moment, you almost believed him. Almost.

“It’s too late,” you said finally, your voice barely audible. “You can’t fix this. I don’t trust you anymore.”

The pain in his eyes was like a physical blow, but you didn’t let it show. You turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, defeated.

But the truth was, you weren’t as strong as you seemed. Every step away from him felt like ripping a piece of yourself apart. By the time you got home, you were shaking, tears streaming down your face as you collapsed onto the couch.

You loved him. God, you still loved him. But love wasn’t enough anymore.

***

The days blurred together after that.

You went through the motions of your life—opening the coffee shop each morning, smiling at customers, making small talk with your coworkers—but it all felt mechanical, like a script you had memorized long ago. The warmth and joy that once fueled you were gone, replaced by an empty numbness you couldn’t seem to shake.

Nights were the worst.

Sleep eluded you, no matter how many hours you spent staring at the ceiling or tossing and turning under your blankets. The bed felt too big, too cold without him there. You hated yourself for missing him, for craving the comfort of his arms even after everything he’d done. But the longing wasn’t something you could control.

It wasn’t just the nights, though. Little things kept sneaking up on you, tearing at the fragile stitches holding you together.

The sight of his favorite mug on your kitchen counter. The book he’d borrowed but never finished, still sitting on your nightstand. The faint scent of his cologne that lingered on your favorite sweater, no matter how many times you washed it.

You tried to distract yourself, but nothing worked. Books, once your solace, couldn’t hold your attention. The words blurred together, and you’d find yourself reading the same sentence over and over without absorbing a single word.

Your friends noticed.

“You need to eat more,” one of them said during a group dinner you’d been forced to attend. She pushed a plate of pasta toward you, her brow furrowed with concern. “You look like you’ve lost weight.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, picking at the food with a fork.

Kat wasn’t buying it. She leaned across the table, her sharp blue eyes cutting through your defenses. “You’re not fine. And we’re not going to pretend otherwise.”

Her words hit harder than you expected, and you had to blink back the sting of tears.

Steve’s friends noticed too. Sam popped into the coffee shop one morning, leaning casually against the counter as you took his order.

“You’re not sleeping,” he said matter-of-factly, his tone laced with concern.

You forced a smile, trying to keep your voice light. “Busy days, you know how it is.”

He didn’t press you further, but the look he gave you lingered long after he left.

***

The worst was when Steve came back.

It was late in the evening, just before closing, when he walked into the shop. You froze behind the counter, your heart leaping into your throat at the sight of him.

He looked just as broken as you felt. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was mussed like he’d been running his hands through it in frustration. He lingered near the entrance, as if unsure whether he was welcome.

“Hi,” he said softly, his voice hesitant.

You gripped the edge of the counter, steadying yourself. “We’re about to close.”

“I know,” he said, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides. “I just… I wanted to see you.”

You turned away, pretending to busy yourself with cleaning up. “You shouldn’t be here, Steve.”

“Please,” he said, stepping closer. “Just give me five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You shook your head, your chest tightening painfully. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you,” he said, his voice breaking. “And because I can’t stand knowing I hurt you like this.”

His words cracked something inside you, but you couldn’t let him see it. “You need to leave,” you said firmly, refusing to meet his eyes.

For a moment, he hesitated, as if hoping you might change your mind. But when you didn’t, he nodded, his shoulders sagging with defeat.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible. “I’m sorry.”

You watched him go, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the empty shop. And then you broke.

You sank to the floor, tears streaming down your face as the weight of your grief crushed you.

You loved him. God, you still loved him.

But you didn’t know how to let yourself forgive him.

***

You didn’t expect to find Bucky Barnes on your doorstep.

It was a gray Saturday morning, and the porch floor creaked under your weight as you aimlessly swept away fallen leaves. When you opened the door and saw him standing there, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets and his blue-gray eyes watching you carefully, you froze.

“Bucky?”

“Hey,” he said, his tone casual, though his expression betrayed a flicker of hesitation. “Mind if I come in?”

You hesitated. This was Steve’s best friend. Seeing him felt like reopening wounds that you’d been trying desperately to let heal. But there was no judgment in his gaze, no pressure—just concern. So, with a heavy sigh, you stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.

He stepped into the living room, glancing around like he was cataloging the space. You folded your arms, standing stiffly near the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, doll,” he teased, his lips quirking into a faint smirk.

“Bucky,” you said, your voice sharper now. “Why are you here?”

He sighed, the smirk fading. “I wanted to check on you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you said quickly. “I’m not with Steve anymore. There’s no obligation.”

He raised an eyebrow, his head tilting slightly as he leaned against the back of your couch. “Obligation? That’s not why I’m here, sweetheart. You’re my friend too. And whether or not you’re with Steve doesn’t change that.”

The softness in his tone made something crack inside you. You wanted to argue, to brush him off, but instead, you felt your defenses falter.

“Besides,” he continued with a wry grin, “someone’s gotta make sure you know not all men are idiots. Steve might be an amazing guy, but even amazing guys screw up sometimes.”

That last sentence hit you like a slap. You felt the tears coming before you could stop them, your vision blurring as all the emotions you’d been bottling up threatened to spill over. You turned away, trying to pull yourself together, but Bucky wasn’t having it.

“Hey,” he said gently, stepping closer. “Talk to me.”

That was all it took for the dam to break.

“I don’t know how to stop loving him,” you blurted, your voice trembling as the words spilled out in a rush.

Bucky froze, his expression softening as he watched the tears stream down your face. You sank onto the couch, your shoulders shaking, and he followed, sitting beside you without a word.

“I hate him for what he did,” you continued, your voice cracking. “I hate that he made me feel like I didn’t matter, like I was just… there. And now? Now he’s trying to fix it, like I’m supposed to just forget everything and let him back in.”

Bucky listened silently, his hands clasped together as you poured your heart out.

“It feels like a slap in the face,” you said, your chest heaving with each breath. “Like he thinks flowers and apologies will erase months of feeling invisible. I hate him for that. But more than anything, I hate that I still love him.”

You buried your face in your hands, your voice muffled as you added, “I don’t want to love him anymore. I want it to stop, Bucky. I want it all to stop.”

The room was quiet for a long moment. Then, Bucky sighed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

“Doll,” he said softly, “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but loving him isn’t something to hate yourself for. Steve… he’s a complicated guy. He doesn’t always get things right, but I promise you, he loves you. More than you know.”

You shook your head, your voice shaking. “If he loved me so much, why did he treat me like that? Why did he make me feel like I didn’t matter?”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening. “You’re right. He screwed up. Big time. But… he’s been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for years. It doesn’t excuse how he hurt you, but I’ve seen him lately, and he’s a wreck without you.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, your tears blurring the intensity in his gaze.

“He’s not good at showing it,” Bucky continued, “but he’s an amazing guy. I’ve known him my whole life, and I’ve seen him at his best and his worst. And I know he’ll never stop trying to make this right. The question is… would you ever let him? What would it take for you to let him back in?”

The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and unrelenting. You didn’t answer right away, your fingers gripping the hem of your shirt as you stared down at the floor.

“I don’t know,” you whispered finally. “I don’t know if I can. It’s like… every time I see him, I remember how much it hurt. And even if I wanted to try again, I don’t know if I’d ever trust him not to hurt me like that again.”

Bucky reached out, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he said gently. “But whatever you choose, just know this: you deserve to be happy, sweetheart. Whether that’s with Steve or without him.”

You looked at him, searching his face for any trace of pity or judgment, but there was none. Just quiet understanding and unwavering support.

When he finally stood to leave, he gave you a small smile. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said, his voice steady. “And no matter what happens, I’m here. Steve or no Steve.”

You watched him go, his words echoing in your mind long after the door closed.

And for the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to wonder if maybe—just maybe—you could find a way forward.

***

The compound gym was almost empty, save for the quiet hum of machinery and the dull thud of fists meeting a punching bag. Steve Rogers stood at the far end of the room, his knuckles raw and his breathing ragged. He’d been at it for hours, his frustration and grief pouring into every swing, every strike. The bag swayed violently under the force of his hits, the chain creaking with each impact.

“You keep that up, and you’ll be patching the damn thing again,” Bucky’s voice rang out, casual and dry as ever, though the concern in it was unmistakable.

Steve paused mid-swing, the tension in his shoulders easing only slightly as he turned to see his best friend leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. Bucky’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes betrayed a softness Steve wasn’t sure he deserved.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked, his voice hoarse from hours of exertion.

“Figured I’d find you here,” Bucky replied, stepping into the gym. “Thought maybe you’d stop using that bag like it owes you money and actually talk to me.”

Steve sighed, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Not in the mood, Buck.”

“Well, tough,” Bucky shot back, grabbing a folding chair and dragging it noisily across the floor. He plopped it down unceremoniously a few feet away from Steve, crossing one ankle over his knee. “Because I just came from seeing her.”

The color drained from Steve’s face. He froze, his fists still clenched at his sides. “You… you saw her?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said evenly, watching his friend’s reaction carefully. “She didn’t slam the door in my face, so I’d say I’m doing better than you.”

Steve flinched, the weight of Bucky’s words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He turned away, his hands gripping the edges of the punching bag as he tried to steady himself. “How… how is she?”

Bucky hesitated. He’d seen the raw pain in your eyes, the tears you tried to hide, and he knew Steve wasn’t ready for the truth. But lying wouldn’t help either.

“She’s a mess, Steve,” Bucky said softly. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Steve let out a shaky breath, his head hanging low. “I did this to her,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I pushed her away, made her feel like she wasn’t enough. And now… now I don’t know how to fix it.”

Bucky stood, closing the distance between them. “Steve, look at me.”

Reluctantly, Steve turned, his eyes red and tired.

“She still loves you,” Bucky said firmly, his voice steady. “But she’s hurt, and she’s angry. And you can’t expect her to just forget all that because you’re showing up with flowers and apologies.”

“I know that,” Steve snapped, his voice breaking. “God, Buck, I know. But what else can I do? Every time I see her, it’s like she’s slipping further away, and I don’t know how to reach her anymore.”

Bucky’s gaze softened, and he placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You start by understanding that this isn’t about fixing things overnight. It’s about showing her that you’re willing to put in the work, no matter how long it takes. That you’re not just sorry—you’re ready to be better.”

Steve nodded, though the despair in his eyes didn’t fade. “She said she doesn’t trust me anymore.”

“Then earn it back,” Bucky said simply. “Show her that you’re not the same guy who hurt her. And for God’s sake, stop treating this like a battle you can win with brute force. You’re not fighting Hydra here, Steve. You’re fighting for her.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged, his head dropping into his hands. “I don’t even know if she wants me to try.”

Bucky crouched slightly, meeting Steve’s gaze head-on. “I asked her,” he said quietly.

Steve’s head shot up, his blue eyes wide. “What? What did she say?”

“She doesn’t know,” Bucky admitted. “She’s scared, Steve. Scared that if she lets you back in, you’ll hurt her again. And honestly? I don’t blame her.”

The words hit Steve like a blow, but he didn’t argue. He knew Bucky was right.

“She told me something else too,” Bucky continued, his voice softer now. “She said she doesn’t know how to stop loving you. And it’s killing her.”

Steve’s breath caught, his chest tightening painfully. “She… she said that?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. She loves you, Steve. But love isn’t enough—not after what you put her through. You have to show her that you’re not just saying the right things. You have to be the right man for her. The man she fell in love with.”

Steve closed his eyes, his mind racing with memories of you—the way you used to laugh, the way you’d look at him like he was your whole world. He’d taken that for granted, and now he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get it back.

“What if I can’t?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “What if I’ve already lost her?”

Bucky’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “You don’t get to give up, punk. Not on her, and not on yourself. You want her back? Then fight for her. And don’t stop until you’ve shown her that she’s worth everything.”

Steve swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. “How? How do I even start?”

Bucky gave him a small, knowing smile. “Start by listening. By showing up—not just for her, but for the life she wants. Show her that she’s not a convenience, Steve. She’s the center of it all.”

Steve nodded slowly, the weight of Bucky’s words sinking in. He didn’t know if it would be enough, but he knew one thing for certain: he couldn’t give up on you. Not now. Not ever.

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said quietly, his voice rough but sincere.

Bucky grinned, clapping him on the back. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got a hell of a road ahead of you.”

Steve nodded, determination flickering in his tired eyes. He didn’t know how long it would take or if he’d even succeed, but for you, he’d move mountains.

Because losing you wasn’t an option. And he’d spend the rest of his life proving it if that’s what it took.

***

Steve left the gym after his conversation with Bucky feeling drained but determined. His best friend’s words weighed on him, both a reminder of the man he wanted to be and the man he hadn’t been for you. He knew Bucky was right—this wasn’t a fight he could win with brute force or a quick apology. It would take time, patience, and a quiet kind of devotion that he’d never had to show before.

He didn’t expect you to forgive him overnight. He didn’t even expect you to notice what he was doing right away. But he had to start somewhere.

***

It was early morning when Steve pushed open the door to your coffee shop.

The familiar bell jingled above him, the sound stirring memories of quieter, happier times. You were behind the counter, moving with practiced ease as you worked the espresso machine. You didn’t see him at first, but when you turned, your eyes locked, and Steve felt the air shift.

“Morning,” he said, his voice soft, careful not to disrupt the fragile peace of the moment.

You blinked, your expression guarded. “Morning.”

“I’m here for coffee,” he said, stepping forward. “For the team.”

Your brow furrowed, skeptical. “The team sent you?”

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Not exactly. Thought I’d take my turn.”

You didn’t reply, but you turned back to the espresso machine, the hum of it filling the silence. Steve watched you work, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, and for a moment, he was struck by how natural this scene felt, even with the tension between you.

When you handed him the tray of drinks, your fingers brushed his briefly, and he saw the faintest flicker of something in your eyes—surprise, maybe, or something softer.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice warm but careful.

You didn’t answer, but you nodded, and he left without lingering, the bell jingling softly as the door swung shut behind him.

*

The next time he came, it was quieter. Midmorning, after the breakfast rush had died down, Steve appeared with a small brown paper bag in hand.

You were cleaning the counter, lost in thought, when his voice broke through the silence.

“You forget to eat when you’re busy,” he said simply, placing the bag on the counter.

You looked up, startled. “Steve…”

“It’s just breakfast,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall your protests. “Nothing more. Just thought you might need it.”

You hesitated, the words you wanted to say caught somewhere in your throat. Slowly, you opened the bag, the warm scent of eggs and bacon wafting up to meet you.

“From that diner you like,” he added, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Figured it was better than you skipping meals.”

You stared at the bag for a long moment before meeting his eyes. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know,” he said simply. “But I wanted to.”

He didn’t stay long, didn’t push for conversation. He just gave you a small nod and left, leaving you with breakfast and a strange, lingering warmth in your chest.

*

Natasha was relentless when it came to her movie nights, and somehow, you found yourself at the Tower despite your protests. The room was cozy, filled with the low murmur of conversation and the scent of popcorn. You settled into one corner of the couch, trying to ignore the way Steve’s presence tugged at the edges of your awareness.

When the opening credits began to roll, Steve appeared beside you, holding something in his hands.

“Here,” he said quietly, offering you a pair of thick woolen socks.

You frowned, confused. “What’s this?”

“Your feet get cold,” he said simply, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

You stared at him, your chest tightening, before reluctantly taking the socks. “Thanks,” you muttered, slipping them on.

He didn’t linger, didn’t push for more. But later, when the movie reached its tense climax, he handed you a steaming mug of hot chocolate—rich, creamy, with just the right amount of cinnamon.

“You don’t have to—” you started, but he cut you off with a small, knowing smile.

“You love hot chocolate after horror movies,” he said, his tone soft. “Figured you might want some.”

You took the mug, the warmth seeping into your hands, and for the first time that night, you let yourself relax.

*

The envelope was waiting for you in your mailbox, unassuming but carefully placed. Inside was a single ticket to the sold-out Broadway show you’d mentioned to Sam weeks ago.

The note tucked inside was brief, written in Steve’s familiar handwriting: Thought you’d like this. Hope it’s as good as you imagined.

You stared at the ticket for a long time, your heart aching with a mixture of gratitude and frustration. He remembered. Of course, he remembered.

You told yourself it didn’t matter, that it was just a kind gesture, but deep down, it chipped away at the walls you’d built around your heart.

*

The night your car broke down was cold and quiet, the kind of night that made the world feel vast and lonely. You sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the lifeless dashboard, your breath fogging up the glass as you fought the urge to cry.

You tried calling a few friends, but no one answered. Finally, with trembling fingers, you dialed the one number you swore you wouldn’t.

“Sweetheart?” Steve’s voice came through the line, steady and concerned.

“My car won’t start,” you said softly, ignoring the pet name, hating how small your voice sounded.

“Where are you?”

You told him, and he didn’t hesitate. “Stay there. I’m on my way.”

When his truck pulled up beside you, he climbed out without a word, his breath misting in the cold air as he checked under your hood. His movements were sure and efficient, his presence steadying.

“Alternator’s shot,” he said finally, closing the hood. “I’ll take you home.”

You hesitated, your pride warring with your gratitude, but the freezing air made the decision for you.

The drive was quiet, the heater humming softly as Steve navigated the empty streets. He didn’t pry, didn’t try to fill the silence with unnecessary words. He just… drove.

When you woke up the next morning, your car was back in its usual spot. The engine purred like new when you started it, and a small note was taped to the dashboard: Shouldn’t give you trouble anymore. Call me if it does.

*

Each gesture was small, unassuming. Steve never pushed, never demanded more than you were willing to give. He just… showed up, quietly and consistently, letting his actions speak louder than words ever could.

And slowly, despite yourself, you began to notice.

***

Three months had passed since the breakup.

You wouldn’t say things had gone back to normal—far from it—but something had undeniably shifted between you and Steve. His quiet persistence, the way he showed up without pushing or demanding anything from you, had started to chip away at the walls you’d built around your heart.

At first, your conversations were stiff and polite, nothing more than a few sentences exchanged when he stopped by the coffee shop or brought you breakfast. But as the weeks went by, those moments grew longer, softer. He’d ask about your day, about the books you were reading, or the things you enjoyed, and you found yourself answering more openly. It wasn’t quite like before, but it was closer to the first moments of your relationship, back when everything had been new and uncomplicated.

Still, there was a voice in the back of your mind that wouldn’t let you forget. A quiet, insistent whisper that reminded you of how he’d hurt you, how he’d pushed you aside and made you feel invisible.

That voice grew louder the day he asked you to talk.

***

It was late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun filtering through the windows of the coffee shop as you wiped down the counter. The shop was quiet, the usual morning and lunch rushes long gone, leaving you with only the hum of the espresso machine and the soft clatter of dishes.

The sound of the bell above the door caught your attention, and when you looked up, Steve was there.

He’d been coming in more often lately, not just to pick up coffee for the team but to see you, to talk to you. This time, though, something about the way he stood—his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched—told you this wasn’t just a casual visit.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice careful as he approached the counter.

“Hey,” you replied, setting the towel aside.

“Do you have a minute?” he asked, glancing around at the empty shop. “I mean… can we talk?”

You hesitated, your stomach twisting. The vulnerability in his expression was disarming, but that voice in the back of your mind warned you to tread carefully. Still, you nodded, gesturing toward one of the empty tables.

Steve followed you, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from you. For a moment, he said nothing, his hands clasped tightly on the table as he stared down at them. You waited, your heart thudding quietly in your chest as the silence stretched between you.

Finally, he took a deep breath and looked up, his blue eyes meeting yours.

“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” he began, his voice low but steady. “About what I should say. How I should say it. And the truth is… there’s no easy way to do this. So I’m just going to be honest.”

You nodded, your throat tightening as you braced yourself for whatever was coming.

“I screwed up,” he said, the words heavy with regret. “I let you down in a way I never should have. And I’ve been trying to figure out why—why I acted the way I did, why I pushed you away when you were the best thing in my life.”

His hands tightened into fists, his knuckles whitening as he struggled to find the right words. “I think… I think I was scared. Scared of not being enough for you, scared of dragging you into everything that comes with being me. The missions, the stress, the weight of it all—I didn’t want to burden you with that.”

Your brow furrowed, confusion and frustration bubbling to the surface. “So you decided to ignore me instead? To shut me out?”

“I know,” he said quickly, his voice breaking slightly. “I know it doesn’t make sense. It was selfish and stupid, and I wasn’t thinking about how it would make you feel. I just… I thought if I kept it to myself, if I didn’t tell you about everything that was going on, I could protect you from it. But all I did was hurt you.”

His eyes glistened, and he looked away, swallowing hard. “I’ll never forgive myself for that. For making you feel like you weren’t enough when you were everything to me.”

The raw emotion in his voice made your chest ache, but the wounds he’d left were still fresh, still tender.

“Steve…” you began, your voice trembling, “you hurt me more than anyone ever has. Do you know that?”

He flinched, his jaw tightening, but he nodded.

“I spent weeks wondering what I did wrong,” you continued, your words spilling out in a rush. “I kept asking myself why I wasn’t good enough for you, why I wasn’t worth your time or your attention. And then, when you finally started trying again, it felt like a slap in the face. Like you thought a few kind gestures could erase everything you put me through.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you fought to keep your voice steady. “I wanted so badly to be enough for you, Steve. That’s all I ever wanted. Just to be enough.”

“You were,” he said quickly, his voice cracking. “You are. God, you’re more than enough. I was the one who wasn’t. I didn’t know how to handle it—how to be the man you deserved—and I let that fear control me. But I swear to you, I see it now. I see what I lost because of it.”

He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “I know I don’t deserve another chance. I know I might have ruined the best thing that ever happened to me. But if there’s anything—anything—I can do to change your mind, tell me. I’ll do it. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that I can be better, that I can be the man you need me to be.”

His voice dropped, barely more than a whisper. “I just need to know if there’s any part of you that still believes in us.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding as the weight of his words settled over you. The pain, the anger, the love—all of it swirled together in a storm of emotion that left you speechless.

Finally, you let out a shaky breath, your voice trembling as you said, “I don’t know, Steve. I don’t know if I can trust you again. I don’t know if I can forget how much it hurt.”

His face crumpled, but he nodded, accepting your words without argument.

“But…” you continued, your voice softer now, “I can’t pretend I don’t still feel something for you. I can’t pretend I don’t still love you.”

His eyes widened, hope flickering in their depths.

“That doesn’t mean we can go back to how things were,” you said quickly, your tone firm. “If we’re going to try… if we’re going to even think about trying, it has to be different. You have to be honest with me, Steve. About everything.”

“I will,” he said immediately, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear, I will.”

You nodded, your throat tight with the weight of what you’d just said. It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet—but it was something. A small step toward rebuilding what had been broken.

And as Steve reached out, his hand brushing against yours, you let yourself hope—for the first time in months—that maybe, just maybe, it was a step worth taking.

***

It had been a week since the conversation with Steve, and your emotions were in turmoil. You felt caught between the raw pain of the past and the cautious hope of what could be. His words haunted you—his apologies, his promises, the way his voice had cracked when he told you how much he still cared.

You needed clarity, and there was only one person who could give you the no-nonsense advice you desperately needed: Natasha.

She arrived at your place that evening, a takeout bag in hand, and didn’t waste a second settling herself at your kitchen table. Her sharp green eyes studied you as you sat down across from her, picking at the noodles she’d brought for you.

“All right,” she said, breaking the silence. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Steve,” you admitted, your voice soft.

Natasha leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. “What about him?”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the table. “We talked. Really talked. He told me everything—why he shut me out, how he felt, all of it. He apologized for everything and… I believe him, Nat. I really do.”

“But?” she prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“But I don’t know if I can trust him again,” you confessed, your throat tightening. “I don’t know if I can let myself go through that again. He hurt me so much, Nat. How do I just move past that?”

Natasha studied you for a moment, her gaze piercing. “Let me ask you something,” she said finally. “If you didn’t still love him, if you didn’t still want something with him deep down, would we even be having this conversation right now?”

You frowned, her words hitting you hard. “What do you mean?”

“It’s been three months,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “If you were done with him, if you really didn’t care anymore, you’d have moved on by now. You wouldn’t still be here, agonizing over whether to give him another chance.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came. She wasn’t wrong, and deep down, you knew it.

“I’m not saying you have to forgive him tomorrow or even next week,” Natasha continued, leaning forward. “But if there’s still a part of you that wants to believe in him, don’t ignore that. You owe it to yourself to figure out what you really want. Not what you’re afraid of, not what you think you should do. What you want.”

Her words lingered long after she left, a quiet truth that refused to be ignored.

***

At the same time, Steve was grappling with his own uncertainty.

He sat in the Tower’s lounge, his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee as he stared out the window. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about your conversation, about the raw pain in your voice when you told him how much he’d hurt you.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice broke through his thoughts, and Steve turned to see both Sam and Bucky entering the room. They exchanged a look before sitting down on either side of him.

“You’ve been brooding,” Sam said bluntly. “What’s going on?”

Steve sighed, setting his mug down on the coffee table. “It’s her,” he admitted.

“Figured,” Bucky said, leaning back in his chair. “What happened?”

“I talked to her,” Steve said. “Told her everything—how I felt, why I shut her out. I apologized for all of it.”

“And?” Sam prompted.

“She said she doesn’t know if she can trust me again,” Steve said quietly, his voice heavy with regret. “But she also said she still loves me. I don’t know what to do with that, Sam. I don’t know how to make it right.”

Sam leaned forward, his expression serious. “Look, man, love isn’t always enough. Not when there’s hurt involved. If she doesn’t trust you right now, that’s on you to fix. You can’t just expect her to forgive and forget because you feel bad about it.”

“I know that,” Steve said quickly, his jaw tightening. “That’s why I’m here. I don’t want to mess this up again. I need to figure out how to show her that I’m serious without overwhelming her.”

Bucky gave him a long, measured look. “You’ve been trying,” he said finally. “We’ve all seen it—the little things you’ve been doing. But if you’re asking me, you’re not going to fix this by tiptoeing around her. You’ve got to be honest, Rogers. If you want her back, you need to let her see all of you. The good, the bad, and the stuff you think she won’t want to deal with.”

Steve frowned, his gaze dropping to the floor. “What if she doesn’t want to deal with it?”

“Then she doesn’t,” Bucky said simply. “But if you hold back, you’re not giving her the chance to decide for herself. And that’s not fair to either of you.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “You’ve got to let her see that you’re not just saying the right things, Steve. You’ve got to show her. But don’t make it about fixing things fast. Healing takes time, for both of you.”

Steve exhaled slowly, the weight of their words settling over him. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank us yet,” Sam said with a grin. “You’ve got a long road ahead of you, Cap.”

***

Steve spent the next few days thinking about their advice. He’d been so focused on not pushing you, on giving you space, that he hadn’t realized he might be holding back too much.

When he saw you next, it was at the coffee shop, just as you were closing up for the day. He hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, his heart pounding.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice breaking the quiet.

You looked up, surprise flickering across your face. “Hey.”

“Do you have a minute?” he asked.

You nodded slowly, setting down the rag you’d been using to clean the counter. “Sure.”

He gestured toward one of the empty tables, and you followed him, sitting down across from him. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching between you like a fragile thread.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Steve began, his voice steady but low. “About how much I hurt you, how I made you feel like you weren’t enough. And you were right. I let you down in ways I’ll never forgive myself for.”

Your throat tightened, but you stayed silent, letting him continue.

“I’ve spent so much time trying to fix things in small ways, trying to show you that I’m serious,” he said. “But I don’t think I’ve been honest enough with you. I don’t think I’ve let you see how much this has been tearing me apart.”

His hands tightened into fists on the table, his knuckles white. “I don’t want to overwhelm you or push you, but I can’t hold this back anymore. I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I can be the man you deserve.”

His voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw tears in his eyes. “If there’s anything—anything—I can do to earn your trust again, tell me. Because losing you would be the biggest mistake of my life.”

Your own eyes burned with tears, the raw honesty in his words cutting through the walls you’d built around your heart. For the first time, you saw not just the man who’d hurt you but the man who was willing to fight for you, flaws and all.

You didn’t have an answer for him—not yet. But as you reached across the table and took his hand, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you were ready to start finding one.

***

You were closing up the coffee shop when your phone buzzed. The message was from Natasha. That alone was unusual—Nat rarely texted without reason. You pulled your phone out, unlocking it with a swipe of your thumb.

The words on the screen made your blood run cold: We’ve lost contact with Steve and Bucky.

Your breath caught, and the phone nearly slipped from your trembling hands. For a moment, everything around you blurred—the soft hum of the espresso machine, the faint chatter of pedestrians outside, the smell of coffee beans—all of it faded into the background.

You didn’t think, didn’t even register dropping the rag you’d been using to clean the counter. Your hands shook as you locked the doors, fumbling with the keys before rushing to your car.

The drive to the Tower was a haze, your chest tight with panic as Natasha’s words repeated in your mind. You knew Steve went on dangerous missions. It was part of who he was. But something about those words—lost contact—made this time feel different.

***

By the time you arrived at the Tower, your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might break through your ribcage. The elevator ride felt like an eternity, each floor passing with agonizing slowness. When the doors finally slid open, you practically ran into the common room, where Natasha and Sam were already waiting.

“What happened?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended.

Natasha turned toward you, her expression calm but her eyes betraying her concern. “They were on a mission. Everything was going according to plan, but then we lost contact about three hours ago. We’ve been trying to re-establish communication, but there’s been no response.”

Three hours. That might as well have been three days.

“What do you mean ‘lost contact’?” you pressed, your voice rising. “How does that even happen?”

“It could be anything,” Sam said, his tone soothing but cautious. “Jammed signals, a misstep in the mission. We don’t know yet.”

You stared at them, your breathing shallow, your mind racing with every worst-case scenario imaginable. “So they could be…”

“They’re not,” Natasha said firmly, cutting you off. Her voice was sharp, but there was a softness in her gaze. “Steve and Bucky have been in worse situations than this. They’ll find a way to get back to us.”

Sam nodded in agreement, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. “They’re two of the toughest guys I know,” he said. “If anyone can make it out of this, it’s them.”

You wanted to believe them, but the fear in your chest refused to let go. You sank into one of the chairs, your hands gripping the armrests so tightly that your knuckles turned white.

The minutes dragged by like hours, the silence in the room heavy and oppressive. Natasha and Sam tried to make conversation, to keep you distracted, but you barely registered their words. Your mind was too consumed by the thought of what could happen—of what might have already happened.

***

When Natasha’s phone finally buzzed, the sound cut through the quiet like a gunshot. She snatched it up, her sharp gaze scanning the screen. Relief flickered across her face as she read aloud:

“It’s from Steve. They’re on their way back, but a medic is necessary.”

Your heart seized, a mixture of relief and panic coursing through you. “Who’s hurt?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“He didn’t say,” Natasha replied, her lips pressing into a thin line.

You tried to steady your breathing, but the knot in your chest refused to loosen. You told yourself it didn’t matter who was hurt—they were alive, and they were coming back. But the not knowing gnawed at you, the fear for Steve settling deep in your bones.

No one told Steve you were here, and maybe that was for the best. But as you sat there, waiting for the jet to arrive, you realized just how fragile everything felt. The past few months flashed through your mind—all the moments of doubt, the anger, the hesitation—and for the first time, they seemed so small. In the grand scheme of things, you could have lost Steve today. That thought terrified you more than anything else.

***

The sound of the jet’s engines rumbling low overhead pulled you out of your thoughts. You stood with Natasha and Sam, your heart pounding as the aircraft touched down on the Tower’s private landing pad.

The ramp lowered slowly, and the first thing you saw was Steve, his arm slung around Bucky to help him walk. Bucky looked pale, his arm hanging limp at his side, his face tight with pain. Medics rushed forward to meet him, but your eyes were locked on Steve.

He didn’t look much better than Bucky. His shirt was torn, streaked with dirt and blood, and his face bore a fresh collection of cuts and bruises. His shoulders sagged under the weight of exhaustion, his steps slow and measured.

But when his eyes found yours, he smiled.

Even battered and bloodied, he’d never looked more handsome. His beard, grown in over the time he’d been away, gave him a rugged edge, and his blue eyes still held that quiet strength you’d always admired.

The moment your gaze met his, something in you broke. You ran to him, barely aware of your surroundings, and threw your arms around him.

“Steve,” you sobbed, burying your face in his chest. His shirt was rough against your skin, damp with sweat and blood, but you didn’t care. “I was so scared. I thought… I thought I might lose you.”

His arms wrapped around you tightly, his grip strong despite his obvious exhaustion. “I’m okay,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “I’m here.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, tears streaming down your face. “You have to be more careful,” you said, your voice trembling. “You can’t… you can’t do this to me, Steve.”

His expression softened, and he reached up to brush a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What happened?” you asked, your voice cracking. “What went wrong?”

To your surprise, Steve didn’t hesitate. He guided you to a quieter corner, his hand resting lightly on your back, and began to explain.

“The mission was supposed to be straightforward,” he said, his voice low but steady. “But things went sideways fast. There were more hostiles than we anticipated, and Bucky got hit—bad. I couldn’t leave him behind, so I…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

“You carried him out,” you finished, your throat tightening.

Steve nodded, his eyes meeting yours. “I wasn’t going to leave him, no matter what.”

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t just from fear. They were from the overwhelming realization of who Steve truly was—the man who would sacrifice everything for the people he cared about.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice softer now. “I won’t make that mistake again. And if you’re willing to listen, I’ll tell you everything—about the missions, about what’s going on with me. No more shutting you out.”

You stared at him, your chest tight with a mixture of love and fear and hope. Slowly, you nodded. “I’m listening,” you said.

And as he began to speak, you felt the cracks in your heart begin to mend, one word at a time.

***

Steve stayed with you after the medics whisked Bucky away to the infirmary. He’d insisted Bucky was in good hands, though you could see the guilt still lingering in his eyes. You sat together in one of the quieter rooms in the Tower, the tension from the mission still clinging to him like a second skin.

Despite his exhaustion, he refused to let go of your hand.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as you sat beside him. “I know it’s late.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

He gave you a small, tired smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re too good to me.”

You shook your head, squeezing his hand. “No, Steve. I’m just—” You paused, searching for the right words. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging as the adrenaline that had sustained him through the mission began to fade. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“For what?”

“For everything,” he replied, meeting your gaze with a vulnerability that left you breathless. “For scaring you, for shutting you out before… for making you feel like you weren’t enough. I know I’ve said it before, but I need you to know I mean it.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity. For a long moment, you didn’t respond, your chest tight as you tried to process the enormity of what he was saying.

“I was so scared today,” you admitted finally, your voice trembling. “When Nat texted me, when we didn’t know if you were okay… it was like the ground had been ripped out from under me.” You swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “I realized then how stupid these past few months have been. I was so caught up in my own hurt, my own doubts, that I didn’t see what we were losing.”

Steve’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, his blue eyes locked on yours. “You weren’t wrong to feel that way,” he said softly. “You had every right to be hurt, to doubt me. I earned that. But I don’t want to lose you, baby. Not now. Not ever.”

His words broke something inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his.

“Don’t you dare scare me like that again,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice steady and resolute.

***

The days following the mission passed in a haze of quiet moments and tentative steps forward. Steve stayed at the Tower to help Bucky recover, but he checked in with you constantly. Sometimes it was a quick text—How are you? Did you eat today?—and sometimes it was a phone call that lasted longer than either of you expected.

You visited the Tower often, bringing Bucky some of his favorite snacks and sitting with him while Steve caught up on reports. Bucky teased you relentlessly, of course, his dry humor cutting through the tension in ways only he could manage.

“So,” he said one afternoon, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “When are you two going to stop tiptoeing around and just admit you’re back together?”

You nearly choked on your coffee. “We’re not—”

“Sure,” Bucky interrupted, smirking. “And I’m the King of Wakanda.”

Steve, who had just entered the room, raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, glaring at Bucky.

“Just pointing out the obvious,” Bucky said with a shrug, earning himself an eye-roll from both you and Steve.

Despite his teasing, Bucky’s words stayed with you. He wasn’t entirely wrong. The way you and Steve interacted had changed since the mission. There was a closeness now, a sense of trust that hadn’t been there before.

***

One evening, Steve invited you to dinner at the Tower. He didn’t call it a date, and you didn’t press him on it, but there was something deliberate about the way he’d set the table, the candles he’d lit, the care he’d taken with every detail.

The two of you sat across from each other, the soft glow of the candles casting warm light over his face. For a while, you just talked—about work, about Bucky’s recovery, about the books you’d been reading. The conversation flowed easily, the tension that had once lingered between you finally gone.

At one point, Steve leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” he began, his voice steady but quiet. “About how scared you were. How I need to be more careful.”

You frowned slightly. “Steve, I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. I know your work is dangerous. I’ve always known that.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “But you were right. I can’t keep doing this—not without being honest with you about what’s going on. If I’m asking you to be part of my life, I need to make sure you feel like you’re part of it.”

His words sent a warmth through your chest, a feeling of being truly seen and valued. “I appreciate that,” you said softly.

Steve smiled, and for the first time in weeks, it felt like everything between you was falling into place.

***

As the night wore on, the conversation grew quieter, more intimate. Steve reached across the table, his hand brushing yours.

“I know we can’t go back to how things were before,” he said, his voice low but firm. “But I think we can build something better. Something stronger. If you’ll let me.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. There was no hesitation in his gaze, no doubt. Just quiet determination and a love that felt as steady and unshakable as the man himself.

“I want that too,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

His smile widened, and for the first time in months, you felt the weight in your chest begin to lift.

It wasn’t a perfect ending. There were still things to work through, still scars to heal. But as Steve reached for your hand, his grip warm and sure, you knew you were ready to take the next step—together.

[defectivehero]

Ur reading is always so much fun! I'm excited to see what you have for the bingo 👀

I have a request! Would you consider "They'll come for me" or "Dragging themselves along the ground" with a villain whumpee?

Good luck with the rest of ur writing!! I'm excited to read it all eheh

ahhh thank you so much! I'm excited to write it too, tbh! and yes yes yes! i can do that. mwahahhahaha Ψ(`_´ # )↝

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: They Will Come for Me

"They will come for me," the villain maintains. The truth of the matter settles unpleasantly at the pit of their stomach. They know damn well no one is going to rescue them. This isn't a fairy tale—there won't be a royal figure to dash in and save them. This is the bleakness of reality: cold iron bars, a gnawing hunger digging at their stomach, dried blood crusted along their skin. The villain pushes these sensations aside, attributing their spiraling thoughts to their increasingly unpleasant confinement.

"You don't even seem to believe that," the hero points out helpfully. There's something almost close to worry on her face and it makes the villain sick.

"They're coming back," the villain repeats themself.

"Do you want to know what I think?" The hero hums. It's a rhetorical question; the villain isn't safe enough to weaponize satire and find a witty way to snap back at their enemy. Instead, they just stare at her blearily. The hero paints a sympathetic smile over her lips, a hand rising to grip the bars between them as she crouches down to meet their eyes. "I think you're going to rot down here. Because they left you, and they're not coming back."

The villain remains silent. They convince themself they're trying to save their strength—their silence is not born out of resignation. They pull their knees closer to their chest and curl in on themself, still warily watching the hero as she paces outside their cell.

"I'll cut you a deal," the hero offers after a moment. She continues walking back and forth across the villain's vision.

"No." The villain interjects.

"You didn't let me finish." She says.

"I don't trust you to be truthful." The villain remarks.

"I am being truthful," the hero sighs. She stares at them for a moment, before evidently abandoning the notion of compromise. "But, fine." She shrugs. As she begins to depart, the villain realizes they've just thrown away what could've been their only way to escape. They hear the plea fall from their lips before they can stop it.

"Wait." They implore her.

The hero freezes in the doorway. The villain doesn't need to see her expression to know she's wearing a sharp-toothed smirk. Their enemy swivels back around; indeed, she's grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Damn it. They've played right into her hand.

"Yes?" She asks.

The hero's going to make them say it. The villain grits their teeth and promptly abandons any semblance of dignity and pride. "What's the deal?" They question.

The hero stares at them with a scrutinizing gaze. She seems to be puzzling out the details in her mind. After a moment, she breaks through the silence. "If your little friends come for you within... let's say... a week," the hero offers, "I'll let you go without a fight."

The villain stares at them in disbelief. That doesn't sound believable in the slightest. Surely there's something they're missing here. And while they don't want to think about their friends failing, they have to ask. "What happens if they don't come?" They ask uncertainly.

"If they don't rescue you, you'll remain here." The hero answers smoothly.

"...For how long?" The villain hears themself ask.

The hero studies them. "For as long as I deem it necessary." Forever, then, the villain thinks to themself darkly.

"What's the catch?" The villain demands, after few moments have passed and they've failed to find an immediate risk to this 'deal.'

"There's no catch," the hero says, contrary to their suspicions. "Trust in your allies, and everything will work out. Right?" She looks at them expectantly.

"Right." The villain responds, their mouth dry. It's such a simple thing, yet it feels like an impractical feat. All they need to do is wait for the others to rescue them. So... why do they feel so uneasy? They shake their head and withdraw into the caverns of their mind, suppressing any doubts or reasonable suspicions.

One day passes. Then two. Three, four, five. There is no sign of a savior for the villain to latch onto. The villain's hope begins to morph into despair; they start to dread the sound of the door swinging open at the hero's grip. At first, they had relentlessly monitored the rise and fall of the sun through the sunlight cast across the floor. But after the telltale mark of five days passes, they begin to abandon the notion. They know it's foolish to give up hope with two days remaining, but there's an inexplicable conviction brewing in their chest: one that renders any of their previous expectations to static.

The next time the hero enters the room, the villain doesn't bother with their typical fanfare. "How long has it been?" They cut right to the chase.

The flat line set across the hero's lips is all the villain needs to get their answer. Yet the words their enemy utters are even worse. "It's been a month."

"A month," the villain repeats hollowly. Their ears are ringing. How far will the hero go to ascertain her victory? Why would she choose such a blatant, easily disproven lie?

The hero pays them a sympathetic smile. "We had this same conversation yesterday." She admits. She's staring at them with concern, as if they're a fragile ornament just moments away from breaking.

The villain doesn't believe her. They say as much, in many rather unsavory words. The hero doesn't seem affected by their anger or irritation; rather, she is frustratingly calm. She leaves them silently moments later.

The villain waits until she's gone to take a slow rattling breath, before burying their head in their hands. Their heart is roaring in their ears. Surely the hero is lying. She's messing with their perception of time to instill fear in them. Surely the villain will be freed soon.

Their head is spinning. The blood on the floor is so dark it appears black. The truth of the situation is staring them in the face, but they can't accept it. They can't accept the scars set into their skin; the noticeably more brisk air surrounding the space; the length of their fingernails, which they always file extremely short.

"They're coming back for me." The villain whispers to themself. "They're coming back."

Maybe if they repeat it enough, they'll start to believe it.

©2024, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

Bad Things Happen Bingo Masterlist

I know this isn't necessarily the straightforward way to write this trope... but ah well. I just like the idea of "they will come back for me," being stated as a way for the villain to reassure themself, rather than a genuine threat or warning to the hero.

anyway, thanks for reading! <3

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[itsfrenchfornothankyou]

okay so you said genuine question and im not from around here but i do have an answer! so you've unlocked an unskippable cutscene!

this is a much bigger topic than it appears on the surface, and i might be able to answer your question succinctly and briefly, but it would miss out on a lot of the stuff happening behind the scenes which is actually very important!

since this is going to be quite long (I did a rough notes on my thoughts and what i might say and it was almost 1k. so.) i am going to put the rest under a readmore

but now that you've clicked the button and commited, let's break this into parts for both our sakes.

part 1: moral purity and the loss of 'squick'

so there's been a fun phenomenon happening lately online, and it's the idea that you can assign morals by the type of things that someone likes. that the act of enjoying something or disliking something is an inherently moral act.

this in itself has a lot of reasons behind it, and digging through that history would be an essay in its own right, so im going to glaze over it. but the current state of affairs is that your own personal taste, be it in media, in people, or yes, sexual thoughts (even ones without actions) are in themselves, moral.

no matter the cause of these feelings, the outcome is this: if you find yourself liking or disliking something, there must be some reason behind it. if you find yourself grossed out by something, there is a moral and justifyable reason behind it.

this is, to me, related to the loss of the idea of a 'squick'; something that just grossed you out. 'squicks' didnt have to be triggers, they didnt have to be evil or harming you, they were a preference about something you just personally did not like.

now however, along with other terms, we have lost the idea of a 'squick' and so if you don't like something there must be a reason this thing is evil.

so now you have people seeing things like animal packers, and they are for some reason uncomfortable with them. where we might have once said 'oh well, not for me', we must now have a reason for why we are uncomfortable with this idea.

1.5: the perpetrator and the victim

in any given situation, to prevent discourse from becoming muddied or hard to answer, there must always be a person who is definitively in the right, and a person who is in the wrong.

this is a really normal reaction, it's hard to accept something as not having a clear answer, and so it's easy to find ourselves doubling down on something so we dont have to confess to the worst thing of all 'i dont know'.

Coming from disability advocacy, it's important to recognise that there are going to be situations which are not clear cut, in which nobody has done anything wrong, but people have ended up hurt or upset. sometimes needs and people are simply incompatible, and there's nothing wrong or evil there.

but that is difficult and scary, so instead it's much easier to talk about the victim and the villain. if someone is being hurt (i am looking at something that grosses me out) then someone must be intentionally hurting them (evil gross kinksters)

In this understanding of things, the discomfort itself must be harm done, and if harm is being done, then someone must be at fault. it becomes a matter of who is the perpetrator and who is the victim. So in order for them to be uncomfortable and not be evil themselves, the thing that is making them uncomfortable must be evil itself.

now that we've established these things we can actually get around to answering the actual question you asked:

Part 2: why zoophillia?

if this person has deemed the act that these people have done to be evil or bad, why not just call the act itself (which i am given to understand is hyper-realistic animal packers?) evil?

well what you surely understand, and somehwere in the back of their brain they understand, is that that's incredibly fucking stupid.

if you walk up to the average person and say hey, this person is doing this evil thing, and explain that, theyre going to think you're insane. so how are they supposed to tell the average person that this person is evil? they escelate it to most awful acusation they can think of in the moment.

in most communities, the terrible thing that they will accuse someone of is pedophillia, but in the therian circles, they dont need to escelate it to that point, because there is already a hot button topic they can point to instead.

Zoophillia, as i am given to understand, is one of the most hot button topics in the therian community. it is the group which is regularly aligning themselves with therians, that many if not most therians want nothing to do with.

it's also a group that is often conflated with therians, meaning that many therians have an immediate 'no fuck off that's not us' reaction to it, as a form of self preservation. because as soon as people have made a claim that you may be a zoophile, and you fail to respond in the appropriate way, you will be cast out of your own therian in group.

so the use of using zoophillia as an acusation is two-fold. for one, it makes people take the accusation seriously, and for two, it prevents people from doing their own research and looking into it.

because if you are told this person is evil, and if you support them you are also evil, at that point any questioning on your part is seen as complicity in evil acts. as apologism. this person is evil and if you ask my why, you must also be evil.

so lets circle back a little bit here, earlier i mentioned that the typical claim is pedophillia, which everything i said previously about evil acts is still true of, but you might not fully believe me about people escelating to the nearest most terrible thing they can think of, but the thing is that i have seen this before.

Part 2.5: tired asexual

hello again, youve probably never heard of me before, so let me tell you that I'm Asexual. more importantly, I'm an asexual person who has been on tumblr for a solid decade.

if you werent around in the mid to late 10s, you might not know just how bod aphobia on tumblr got, but i was there for it. and you know what the most common accusation of why asexuals, and anyone trying to discuss asexuality were evil?

because discussing asexuality was pedophillia.

yeah, asexuals. the well known 'lack of sexual attraction' community.

Now I can go into the series of claims that led to this, hell I could probably go diving on my old blog and find screenshots of these actual accusations, but that’s kind of besides the point. The point here is that the actual reasons people give for it being ‘insert evil thing’ are unimportant.

yeah, when i say it to you, a person who i am assuming knows a little something about asexuality, that that was the claim, your first thought is that that's an insane thing to say.

but for a lot of people the first time they heard about asexuality was in this discourse. so their brain is now primed to make the connection of 'oh, okay, asexuality is evil.' and now, when they see people defending asexuality, they're already defensive. they assume youre trying to trick them, or make them complicit.

asexuality is not the only place this tactic has been used though, you see it all the time. it's at its most common in things like homophobic legestation, anti-trans bills, or drag bans.

These people cannot justify the initial action as evil, so they jump to something you are more likely to agree with, and try to argue it is the same thing. this is what we call equivocation.

equivication is an incredibly effective tactic in fear-mongering, splitting up groups of people, and getting something innocuous labeled as morally wrong

'Think of the children' is a good example of this. No it’s not that im transphobic, it’s that I’m concerned about children. Therefore, if you’re arguing against me it must be because you yourself hate children and want harm to come to them.  

but not everyone is as obvious as to say 'think of the children' or some other line we've heard a bunch before. they find new ways to say it, and because the current safety tactics are to watch for certain phrases and words, people dont know how to look for underlying beliefs and sentiments, leaving people more vulnerable than ever to this kind of manipulation.

so now i've hopefully answered your initial question of 'why zoophillia', i want to take this a litte bit further and ask, 'what is the end goal?'

part 3: what next?

okay so would you believe me, if i said that until now ive actually been taking an incredibly good faith reading of the discourse so far?

currently I have been presenting this as a misdirection of discomfort, but not necessarily actively malicious. now however, i want to go back to the ace discourse.

bigots on tumblr weren't actually starting shit with the ace community because they really had a bone to pick with asexuals, they were doing it because they were transphobes. Surprise!

this isnt speculation on my part, transphobes have since openly discussed that they used aphobia as a kind of 'gateway' to 'gatekeeping'

if they come out of the gates talking about how 'transexuals are evil' and should be 'kicked out of the lgbt community', then they would be immediately revealed as transphobes and most of the queer community won't listen to them. these transphobic talking points have been around long enough to be identifiable and more easily discussed.

asexuality however was, particularly at the time, very under-discussed. it also wasnt a part of the 'standard' LGBT acronym, which made it easier for them to make the argument that asexual people should not be allowed to be considered part of the community.

aphobia at the time was considered less divisive, you could be more easily convinced that this community you have never heard of is evil, dont question it. theyre pedophiles and groomers, if that isnt enough to convince you theyre evil it must be because you're also an evil person, so don't question it or do your own research. then we might come for you.

This was wildly successful! And now that that campaign has gone so well, they can now openly admit that they were secretly transphobes all along! And wow, you already aligned with us, so you need to double down on hating trans people because the rest of the queer community doesn’t want you back after that bullshit!

now maybe you consider this to be a particularly poor faith reading of the current discourse. maybe i had you in the first half, but all of this stuff about secret transphobes and conservatives playing along in ways that are more acceptable seems a little far fetched and conspiratorial to you. a bit of equivication here and there isnt inherently a sign of deeper sinister intentions. isnt all of this a bit of a stretch?

and maybe youre right, maybe im just someone who has seen something similar play out before, and im jumping to defence at something that wont become the same issue.

but isn't it interesting that the people being most vitriolistically upset about all of this, and attacking the creator of these things and accusing them of zoophillia are also misgendering him?

[Tw: Zoophilia mention]

Genuine question: WHY do so many people in this community jump on everything they find weird and immediate label it as zoophilia?!

Like- animal packers, fantasy toys, yiff art, pet play, kink gear, LITERALLY ANYTHING.

Seriously, relieving dysphoria, having "dirty" urges related to your identity, even straight up liking some freaky shit does NOT mean someone is attracted to animals. And it definitely does not mean they are actively harming/thinking of harming real animals.

People really take whatever is too weird for them and try to accuse it of war crime. Be better y'all.

[rom-e-o]

*holds Manfred hostage* Spill the tea on Belismerich's proposal, or the skeleboy gets an earful of the nastiest, funnest-to-say swear words. ... Metaphorically speaking.

NO, MANFRED! 😭 (Although that does sound like a good time…I’m tempted. Manfred has gotten good grades lately, maybe he can say ‘fuck’ one, as a little treat.)

OKAY BUT YES - Belismerich proposal! To be honest, I had not thought about what this would look like specifically, so this was a really fun ask to receive! I had to think about it. We know Emmy says before the final battle that there is so much he wants to “say” and “plan” with Rook after they survive. (He can still die horribly in a cinematic after this if you mess up enough with your battle assignments, which KILLS ME INSIDE, but not in this universe.)

If you romance Bellara, she confesses something along the lines of, “Rook, I know we haven’t known each other that long, but I feel like I’ve know you forever” right before the end. So we don’t really know how long this adventure lasts. Maybe 6 months? Harding also teases Emmrich that “you and Rook are sort of moving quickly.” (Which is funny, his romance is the only one with multiple kisses and dates, whereas most of the other allies get … one/two kisses and bed scene rolled into one. So yeah, he’s amorous by comparison.)

So, after the final battle, I don’t think Emmrich jumps right into a proposal. Even with his lingering fear of death and insecurity about aging, I feel like his desire to give Rook a proper romance comes through, which is big for him. I do HC that, after they survive the final fight, they’re sitting together in a sickbay recovering, and Emmrich slips off one of his MANY rings and gives it to her.

(This gets long, so I’m inserting a “Read More”, haha.)

Belisma: Emmrich, what is…?

Emmrich: It’s…a promise to you.

Belisma: A promise? Emmrich, are you—

Emmrich: I-I know there is much we need to do. The cities needs to recover. The world needs to heal. The ancients are gone, and the everything has changed, my love. We need to rebuild, and mourn those we lost. But … through it all, no matter what we face, I want you to know my feelings were true. Are true. Our relationship was not a flight of fancy. I still long for you. For a future with you. If you’ll have me.

Belisma: Oh. I … Y-Yes. I’d very much love that.

I think Belisma worries Emmrich’s fancy for her might fade once she’s no longer the grand hero “Rook.” She goes back to being a normal, bookish Watcher with an affinity for ballet and jam sandwiches. Is their love the type that can shift from an environment of dangerous excitement to domestic bliss? Does he only love her because of her exciting, dashing hero persona and role?

With Belisma being a Watcher, I imagine it’s easy and natural for her to move into his lodgings in the Necropolis with Manfred. There is plenty of space, and it’s private. He takes an extended sabbatical, and works on making Rook feel at home. Their rooms were adjacent at the Lighthouse, but now? They’re sharing a bed. Rooms. A wardrobe.

Isma’s fears are quickly nullified as they spend more time quiet together. Walking the gardens, cooking together, reading together by the fire. They also walk the crypts hand-in-hand, and attend lectures/seminars together on necromancy. They tend to the funerary rites of all the people lost in that final battle, and as they prepare their bodies, they reminisce and pay very personal respects. They make sure Lace has a proper monument erected to honor her sacrifice. And they travel! They visit Treviso for the amazing markets, or Rivain to frolic the beaches properly. He always wanted to travel, and now he can. So, they still adventure a bit, but much more safely, haha. They also travel to provide aid across the country, especially to those needing assistance with burying/honoring their dead. It’s a sensitive process, and they are very, very tender.

They bond over teaching Manfred magic (there’s a few close calls with the flaming rocks.) She goes back to dancing ballet. He still privately tutors his most promising pupils, and grades assignments in is spare time.

It’s perfect. Then, six months in, he proposes.

The most obvious choice is the Memorial Gardens, but I imagine he also does it there because his parents are there. 🥹 And it’s private, and where they shared their first kiss.

They share wine and dinner, and end with a walk. Belisma expects nothing; they’ve done this make times before. Then, right at the end, he leads her off the path and to his parents graves. There, Manfred is standing with an overflowing bouquet, and a small box. But they aren’t offerings. He goes to them, takes them, and beckons her forward. She obeys, and he gifts her the flowers. Shroud’s Kiss, Blue Creepvine. Weeping Widower.

They walk eternity hand-in-hand, he reads. Their epitaph. “It’s always a sentiment that is touched me, even as a boy. Their affection so enduring that, even in death, they are intertwined. Bound by their mutual adoration. Their lives ended too soon, but they set a sterling example for what love could be. Should be. Warmth. Togetherness. I longed for that in my life. A-And with a loving soul to watch over or wait for, then join that new journey … even death itself seems more than bearable. With you.”

Soulmates, in every way.

Slightly breathless, he presents the ring, and sinks onto one knee while taking hers. “Flame of my heart, I ask … would you join me in that destiny? Will you marry me?”

He doesn’t trust himself to say much, because he’s so nervous. Here he is, on his knee before the woman he loves (and Manfred, lmao) laying his heart bare for her. The ring is gold with a smoky-quartz stone in the middle. It matches her hair and eyes.

Belisma buries her face in the bouquet, so happy she is without words, before nodding eagerly. Here she was, happy to be his love in all ways. But marriage? She’s almost 36 by now. She was content with being a quirky spinster/retired hero. Now, she’s wanted as a bride? As a wife. Her heart sings, and she wishes she could twirl.

“…My love, I need you to say it,” he says. “Please.” His heart can’t handle false hope.

“Yes,” she rushes to say, “I will … happily marry you, Emmrich Volkarin. Walk hand-in-hand with you for the rest of our mortal, and immortal, days. I want to share your life, your name, everything.”

The ring is slid onto her finger, and less than a second later, he rushes upward to crush her into a thankful, passionate kiss. “I’ll always love you,” he promises through pants. “Treasure you. Keep you company, and you’ll want for nothing, my dearest. I promise. Oh, I promise.”

Manfred turns away and shields his eyes with a squeal, then distracts himself with a rose bush (“Rose! Beautiful!”) Neither Belisma or Emmrich stop this, instead continuing to kiss and whisper loving please to each other between swipes of the tongue and sighs of delight.

Belisma also takes his name, which means a lot. After all, he’s the last Volkarin. And now, she has his name. She chose to be a part of his life, and his family. That, in addition to a long list of other things, leaves him besotted and hopelessly, undoubtedly, convinced he has found a soulmate in her.

[aftxnrxbxtics]

into the pit

William Afton x f! reader

Summary: don’t stay too late at fredbear’s… or you might end up getting chased and fucked in the ball pit.

Warnings: dub-con, predator/prey dynamic, age-gap, mentions of murder and kidnapping, choking, aggressive sex, innocence kink, forced creampie, william being a sick bastard as always.

A/N: i had this idea for a long time and now i finally decided to write it, so i hope that you all enjoy it!! <3

You’re used to this. Every saturday you spend the entire afternoon at fredbear’s family diner, just to eat ice cream and play the arcade games for hours, nonstop, wanting nothing more than to collect enough tickets to trade in prize counter in exchange for that springbonnie plushie that you’ve always wanted.

Usually the restaurant is crowded, full of kids running around and happy families eating pizza while watching the animatronics performing on stage. But today is different, it’s almost empty.

You try not to think much about it, it’s been raining all day, so probably the heavy storm and thunders are what caused the lack of customers. However, it’s better for you, this time there’s no kids telling you that it’s their turn to play.

Without any distraction, you lose track of time, and before you know it you’re all alone and it’s completely dark outside. What a mistake. You should’ve gone home a while ago.

Just one more game, that’s what you promise to yourself, one more. But when you check the pocket of your jacket, there’s no fazcoins left. You already used all of them, and you’re out of real money too.

Fuck.

Maybe if you check your other pocket…

“I think you need more of these” a deep voice startles you, causing your heart to beat faster. And when you look up, you find a familiar face, it’s Mr. Afton.

You don’t know him, but you always see him around, and as far as you know he’s one of the owners. He seems kind, or at least that’s what you think when you see him there, close to you, offering you a bunch of shiny fazcoins.

You hesitate a little bit, but you end up taking the fazcoins off his big hand. It’s just a nice gift, right? accept it and don’t be rude.

“Thanks” you mutter, more shy than ever, nervously playing with the coins.

You’d be lying if you said that you don’t find him attractive, even though he’s way older than you, perhaps in his late forties, and there’s a hint of grey starting to appear in his hair and beard.

Something in him is extremely alluring, but you don’t know exactly what it is. Maybe it’s his towering height, his authority, or the fact that he’s always well dressed in suit and tie. You have no idea, but it makes you feel like a deer in headlights.

“Uh… i should go home already” you tell him, leaving the coins in your pocket. “Sorry for staying so late”.

William doesn’t answer, he just stares as you hurriedly make your way through the empty restaurant. You’re so sweet, so naive, if only you knew that there’s no way out. You’re trapped and he’s about to have some fun.

Of course, the main entrance is locked and chained, once you notice a shiver runs down your spine.

“You’re not going anywhere” William speaks, and even though you’re not looking at him, it’s obvious that he has a big grin on his face.

Run. That’s the only thing your instinct tells you. Don’t try to open the door, just run and hide.

So you do it. You start running as fast as you can, quickly thinking about which place would be the best to hide, behind the stage? the bathrooms? the kitchen? no, that’s too obvious. Your last option is the playground, if you’re lucky he won’t look there.

You go inside it, thankful for the padded mats muffling the sound of your footsteps, and there it is, the ball pit. You always see the kids playing hide and seek on it, so it must be deep enough for you to fit as well.

Trying to not make too much noise, you dive into the pit, hiding yourself under the colorful balls. It doesn’t matter that your body is trembling in pure fear, just stay still and wait until morning, don’t move.

But do you really think that you can outsmart someone like him? it’s his restaurant, his fun place, and he already knows every hiding spot. Every. Single. One.

Long minutes pass by, and it makes you think that you’re safe there, but in reality it’s nothing more than his twisted games.

When you least expect it, his hand reaches inside and pulls you out to the surface of the pit, in such an aggressive manner that causes your shirt to tear open. Still, you try to scream and fight, but all your effort is in vain, there’s no way for you to escape the grasp of a man who is almost twice your size.

Both of his hands wrap around your neck, squeezing hard, just without the intention of cutting you air flow. He still needs you alive.

“I thought about killing you” William confesses, his raspy voice now more intimidating than ever. “But i think you’re way too pretty to die, so now i have different plans for you”.

“Just let me go, please” you beg, grabbing his wrists, as if your desperate words would change anything. “Please”.

Actually, your pleading eyes and weak voice only make his cock grow hard inside his pants. He loves when someone begs him for mercy, it’s a power dynamic that he always wins.

“Just spread your legs, let me get what i want, and i’ll let you go” he says, taking his hands off your neck and slowly dragging his fingertips down to your exposed chest.

You’re scared and you know that it’s wrong, but you do as you’re told, you spread your legs in an inviting way, allowing him to see your lacey panties under your skirt. You’ve always liked him after all, so the thought of him using you instead of murdering you doesn’t sound as bad.

What you will never know is that he’s had a certain fixation on you too. Since the first time he saw you roaming around the restaurant a few weeks ago he knew he had to put his hands on you. At first, he wanted to ruin your innocence just by taking your life away, but when he realized that you were already a woman his depraved fantasies went somewhere else.

“Such and obedient girl” william says, his long fingers tracing the straps of your bra. “I like that”.

Suddenly, he pulls the fabric down, freeing your tits. And oh, and young body like yours never disappoints, you look so perfect and so soft. Your round tits, still firm and with pretty nipples, only make his gray eyes go almost completely dark in lust.

He can’t wait to see what else you’re hiding under your clothes.

His hands travel down, caressing your thighs, relishing on the tenderness of your skin. And even though he has seen many women before, none of them compares to you… you’re fragile and so fucking innocent.

God, if only you were a few years younger he’d really enjoy tearing you apart.

When his fingers reach your panties he just pulls them to the side, revealing your pussy already glistening with arousal.

“So wet for me” William growls, using his thumb to spread your wetness and rub your clit. “You want this, don’t you? who would have thought that you’d be a total slut”.

You don’t even pay attention to his mocking words or the chuckle that he lets out, you’re just focused on the pleasure he’s causing. His calloused thumb against your sensitive nub feels too good, way better than when you used to touch yourself while thinking about him.

He’s too experienced, so much that just a few more circles on your clit cause a moan to escape from your lips. But once he hears it he stops abruptly, taking his hand away, there’s no way that he’s gonna let you cum so soon.

You open your half-lidded eyes to protest, but then you see him making his way through the colorful balls to position himself between your open legs.

And for a moment, while he’s distracted unbuckling his belt, you think that maybe you could escape and make a run for the back door. But you don’t even dare to try it. Both of you know how bad that would end, so you stay still, just watching as he frees his hard cock.

He’s thick and veiny, leaking beads of precum out of his pink tip, and the mere sight of it makes you regret your decision. You don’t really think you’re capable of taking him inside you, however, it’s too late, before you know it he’s pushing into your tight pussy.

It hurts, so you try to push him away, placing your hands against his broad chest. But it’s useless, William doesn’t care at all, he just laughs at your pathetic attempts and continues having his way with you, burying his cock to the base inside your warm hole.

He doesn’t wait for you to adjust to his size, his movements are careless and aggressive, thrusting hard even if your eyes are filled with tears.

But soon enough, the pain starts to fade away, leaving only the sting of his cock stretching you open. And William seems to know that, he notices the way your body reacts and how your hands slowly stop trying to resist him.

“That’s it” he growls in a condescending manner. “Stop crying and focus on me.”

You don’t answer, everything is happening too fast and your mind is a mess, but when he leans closer, caging you under him, you have no other option but centering you attention on him and nothing else.

You hold onto his purple shirt and close your eyes, allowing yourself to get lost in the moment, even though you’re surely going to regret it for the rest of your life.

Each drag of his cock feels like nothing you’ve had before, and you can almost swear that you feel every vein and ridge, along with the mushroomed tip bullying your cervix with each violent thrust. And you’d never admit it, but you kinda like getting fucked in such an animalistic way, allowing him to take out all of his frustration on you.

The squelching noises and your whimpers are obscene, and the smell of sex is starting to gross you out, so you bury your face on his neck, inhaling his manly scent instead, a rare mixture of cigarettes and cologne.

His breathing is ragged, you can feel the warmth of it on your shoulder, and soon his thrusts start getting deeper, causing a delicious friction of his hairy pelvis against your clit.

“You feel so good- fuck” William groans, losing his mind over how heavenly your walls grip around him. “You’re so fucking tight. You were made for me, and now finally i get to fill you up with my cum, claiming you as mine forever”.

Your mind is clouded by pleasure, so you don’t realize the danger of his words, but his possessiveness sends you over the edge. You come undone with a muffled cry, arching your back as you let your orgasm take over your body.

You ride out your high, feeling pure bliss until your legs end up shaking. And William is close too, you can tell by the way his muscles are tensing and how his thrusts lose rhythm.

That’s when your heart drops, remembering what he said just a minute ago.

“Don’t cum inside. Please.” you plead, on te verge of tears again, not really wanting to deal with the consequences of it. “Don’t”.

But he just puts a hand over your mouth to shut you up. “I’m not asking for permission”.

Your muffled whines and how your pussy clenches out of fear and desperation is exactly what he wanted. Nothing more enjoyable for him than to cause such emotions in someone vulnerable under his power. You’re the perfect little victim.

William can’t resist it anymore, just a few more thrusts and he cums, grunting as shoves his cock deep inside you one last time, filling you up with his sticky seed.

He empties himself to the last drop and then falls on top of you, not wanting to pull out yet, just staying inside your hot pussy while he catches his breath. He’s an old man after all, he needs a few minutes to recover from a rough fuck.

Once he’s done, he slides out slowly and starts fixing his clothes, not really paying attention to you. He’s indifferent, and now that his fun is over you think that maybe he’s just gonna leave you there, feeling used and filthy, on your own to find your way out of the restaurant.

But he doesn’t. When William buckles his belt again, pretending like nothing happened, he stares down at you once more. You’re still shy, trying to hide your exposed body while looking up at him with big teary eyes, like a wounded animal.

How can he leave you there in such state? He’s not that bad… is he?

So he picks you up on his arms, bridal style, carrying your weight so effortlessly as he walks out of the playground. And you rest your head on his chest, too weak and sleepy to even try to escape from his hold. But weird enough, you don’t feel fear anymore.

“I think i’m gonna keep all to myself” William���s voice seems distant as your eyes begin to close, finally resting after the sudden rush of adrenaline. “You’ll be staying in my basement for a while…”

[nausikaaa]

Six Sentence Books Sunday

hello y'all! i've been having a busy week, trying to get all my christmas shopping done before December even begins, because otherwise i know the entire month will escape me and i'll wind up realising i've missed someone on christmas eve. despite my efforts, i still haven't got anything for my dad- usually he's the easy one to buy for, but this year i'm just stumped.

i'm also putting my billy goat Hadrian out with the girls (Juno, Daisy, Lucy and Mina) in just under a week, but Daisy was getting pushed around and picked on, so i separated her last week so she can put on a little weight and relax beforehand, because if she's stressed, she may not come into season. then it snowed. goats are herd animals, they prefer to have company, so i made sure she could see the others through the fence, but it turns out she is absolutely loving having her warm little hut to herself while the others all share the big shed, while Hadrian has a corner of the hay shed to himself, with wickets keeping him from the hay.

flattering photos of the handsome chap and damsel in distress before the snow hit:

sorry for the ramble. anyway! writing! well... i haven't been doing much lately, to be honest. when i'm in a writing slump, i like to read instead, and i view it as putting words in my brain so that it can make it's own words. it also helps me pick out things i do and don't want to emulate in my own writing. so instead of sentences, here are six books I read this year which i took something from:

We Solve Murders by Richard Osman, from which I am taking that it's okay to just use "said" instead of using a billion synonyms, as it blends in to the background and allows the story to flow more naturally. unless the way something is said is really relevant, it's better to show a character's feelings another way.

American Hippo by Sarah Gailey, which has such easy to follow yet engaging action and fight scenes, which I aspire to.

Home Fire by Kamila Shamsie, which had me sobbing inconsolably at the end. if a book prompts a physical reaction in me, that's an instant 5 stars. it's based on the ancient greek play Antigone, and though you don't need to know the play to enjoy the book, it really does deal an additional sucker punch to know how that story ends and yet hope so desperately the whole time: maybe it will turn out okay this time? a masterclass of foreshadowing and implication, somebody can literally die and it go unsaid, but you will know and it will destroy you.

Alcestis by Katherine Beutner. I hated this book. Plot? I barely know her. Consent? What's that? Resolution? Nah, pass. I learned what not to do from this garbage.

Percy Jackson: Wrath Of The Triple Goddess by Rick Riordan. I actually read both of the new pjo books that came out this year and honestly, they've shown me that sometimes a book can just be fun. There's no world ending drama, but still emotional moments and tension, and the whole story takes place over a matter of days. It doesn't have to be perfect, it can just be a good time.

The Amber Fury by Natalie Haynes. As somebody who writes a lot about grief, this book really helped with that by depicting it in such a raw and honest way, allowing the audience to connect with it even if they've never experienced the kind of loss the main character has. I do draw on my own experiences, but this helped me put it into words. It also shows how healing is always possible, no matter how severe the grief, so long as you have the right support system, something I am still muddling through.

an invitation to share some sentences or some books: @forabeatofadrum @cutestkilla @run-for-chamo-miles @roomwithanopenfire @prettygoododds @bookish-bogwitch @ic3-que3n @blackberrysummerblog @j-nipper-95 @youarenevertooold @larkral @that-disabled-princess @orange-peony @aristocratic-otter @thewholelemon @alexalexinii @confused-bi-queer @shrekgogurt @comesitintheclover @raenestee @hushed-chorus @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @noblecorgi @shemakesmeforget @ileadacharmedlife @supercutedinosaurs @artsyunderstudy @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 and @ninemagicks

[peppy-jester]

The thing is Fizz never came back to the bedroom that evening. Even he could read the room plus all the hinting about Queives breathing in some glitter particles it was painfully obvious Fizz's place for the night was his own room. That would have been the case if the Queives weren't aware of the shit he caused for the day. After the long shower Fizz made his way to his room, which was now more of Queives living space. Munchkin and the others made it clear even they were mad at the jester for pulling the idiotic prank on Oz. But lucky for Fizz there was always at least one Queef who would stay on his side no matter what and of course it would be Precious of all the queives. So this means it was sofa time for these two.

The night went.. well it went pass slowly. During lots of talking to his queef lots of talking, crying and of course planning. He needed to do something to make this all right, at least push things go on right direction. Maybe in time everything would be the same as it used to, right?

It was early hours of the morning, like said the night went pass slowly. Fizz already had send few texts to the sin of Greed since he knew the jester king would be awake already, if even sleeping himself at all. Fizz let the king know he had some important things to talk with him and would be there as soon as possible. With that Fizz changed out of his pajamas into more casual clothing, quick makeup he wouldn't wanna go around and look like an ugly troll. Last but certainly not least he dug out a carrier bag for Precious, of course he wouldn't leave his special queef behind.. who knows if Munchkin and the other would roughen her up for not taking Oz's side. Before making his leave Fizz stopped at the bedroom door with a sad frown on his face. He could only hope Oz managed to sleep at least.

The trip to Greed went well, at this hour not too many people were up and it was easy for Fizz to just go around unnoticed. Sure he kept an eye on his surroundings all the time just in case some nutcase tries to attack on him. Finally getting to his destination where Fizz was gonna spend most of the day. Literally first arguing with the sin of Greed, not for what happened... Fizz was not blaming any of that shit on Mammon, but... fighting for a few days off from rehearsals and such. It was. . . a struggle and usually Fizz would never go against Mammon on this but this was important. So important for him to start building the bridges he managed burn down almost completely yesterday. The rest of the day he was there just being sad, changing few words with Mam which is something he really shouldn't do. Only leaving him feel more sick in his stomach. Aside of all this Fizz did make calls, lots of calls to arrange few things like day offs and have some people to cover shifts, making some reservations. If the jester wasn't already feeling all tired during the morning all this did make him bit light headed but he had to go on, for the better future!

Last but not least Fizz started to type a message for the trio and Oz. Typing, erasing and re-typing the message few times. He would hae wanted to type a fun joke but Mammon did say it was better to lay off from any jokes or pranks for now. The message; "Hey! Hope you guys are feeling a bit better. There's something very important I need to share with you all. Meet me at the new Café, Vibe & Sip, in Pride at 4 pm. See you guys there~" with some added smiling emotes at the end.

"Hope this works" Fizz said before putting his phone away with a sigh. Now to just arrange few last things before he can 'relax' a moment and wait for 4 pm to arrive.

"Yes you didn't, you pulled unwilling paticiapants into your cruel joke via manipulation and lies. Again Fizzarolli you made it an argument, and I expect you to apologize to him like the others, understood?" You could really tell Ozz was not really in the mood for games, using the Jester's full name and talking seriously, not putting on any of his suave charm currently.

"Yes Im sure, I don't need to worry about them getting sick from the vapors or eating the glitter, but at least you see when to stop, late but what can you do." He was bitter, he was hurt, and he wasn't hiding that fact.

Simply saying "Thank you..." at the last words before laying down and burying his face in the pillows, his tail feathers curling around him and his body still noticeably tense as he tried to relax.

[mysteriousdragon2]

Birthday gift for @schadenfredde

It's the man's birthday today, so I drew some of his favorite characters! Been a while since I drew N'Doul especially, and I KNOW that he adores N'Doul which this opportunity had to be done! Hol Horse has the gift, Jotaro holding a butterschotch cake, and Keicho making it flashy with Bad Company's helicopter. N'Doul with the little birthday hat is actually adorable not gonna lie HEHE. This was so much fun to make, to please do enjoy this gift! Happy birthday, my friend! ;p

[nomairuins]

i like overthink everything now it makes me feel so dumb. i used 2 be able to just talk 2 ppl but nowadays every single thing im like Is that actually going to make them hate me. Yes probably. and then i just dont respond which makes ppl hate me. this is how it is

[chirpchirplol]

hi! anonymous asker here, I made an account to post about why I initially thought I was Lion. This is going to start off like me trying to argue it's wrong but that's not what it is. It's also long af, sorry for that, I wrote it out for myself to process it then went back and realized there was a literal question it was in response to. longafness after link, tl;dr: I value and rely on my gut feelings heavily, can't make myself ignore them, but I want them to be predictable and it's uncomfortable when they get out of line

So I felt confident about Lion, and with Badger or Snake, it was "I wouldn't like it but I could see it." Like with Snake, I love me some hedonism and struggle with selfishness - had assumed both those characters were huge Snakes lol - but find it as a whole to be a very "fuck you, I got mine" mentality. Sucks for those strangers in need with no one to come through for them! Like I have STRONG feelings about this, I don't understand how people don't find it horrifying. I actually have a weird opposite thing where I can get FURIOUS on behalf of strangers being mistreated, even hypothetical or fictional ones, in a way I don't for people I know well or even myself. Which is why I thought Badger was possible and maybe I just was resistant due to being burned or because I thought it was boring, but the unpersoning group thing creeps me out. "All people matter… except the ones that don't." It's so close to being really beautiful!

With Bird it was more, "who even does this?" Like with the Bird answer on the "lack of objective truth" question, "it's OK, I thought about it and reality is close enough to the model in my head", that is literally incomprehensible to me as a way a person would think. (My answer was "actually there is objective truth." That was my answer before I even got through the question.)

The main reason why I thought Bird was impossible is the "choosing to care about something" part. I can't do that. Caring about things is not something I can turn on or off at will, even if I want to. At least not important things as opposed to say hobbies, but even then I can't just go "ok self, you're gonna like football now because I said so" and then actually do. It's an organic process, I can kick it off but ultimately I either care or don't care, and if I don't then the farthest I'm gonna get is pretending, or lying to myself while knowing it's a lie. Definitely can't talk myself into caring about a job, god knows I've tried lol. My likes and dislikes are so fundamental to who I am as a person, so sacred even, that the idea that they are deliberately malleable for other people is just, whaaaaa?

Where this really kicks in is friends and relationships, I cannot deliberately make myself like someone I dislike or dislike someone I like, people generally don't grow more attractive to me over time. and it'd make me sad, like relationship-foundation-shakingly sad, if I found out my friends/partner felt that way with me. like they had to try to like me rather than just like me.

I'm not really a logical person either. I start with the conclusion, which is generally based on feelings, and then hope I can justify it in case I ever have to talk about it. (because arguing is stressful enough when I do have a defensible stance let alone when I can't explain it) I have this irrational but unshakeable assumption that my feelings and thoughts should just agree completely. When they don't, that feels bad, but my gut has veto power. To fully talk myself into or out of opinions I have to actually feel good about them, they have to not feel viscerally wrong, or else things get into an uncomfortable self-judging place where I know I should believe something but don't actually, truly, deep down, believe it. Or where none of the stances feel right, that's even more "fun".

A good example of that is actually the "past self is a different person" thing. My past self is still me, the things I did or thought in the past do not disappear just because I've changed nor do their permanent effects on me. I absolutely feel guilty about things I used to believe, and sure some of that is just the cringe of people knowing about it, but even if no one else knew I'd know and that's enough. And yet… I also theoretically believe in rehabilitation and think it's wrong not to, but apparently I actually don't, because that sure isn't something a person who believes in rehabilitation would say! I'm being flippant but this legitimately bothers me, especially because the idea of not believing in rehabilitation feels even more bad.

What convinced me ultimately: I'm not a Trump supporter, obviously. I would like to think it is absolutely impossible for me to become a Trump supporter. But that's what they all say, people become the things they would never EVER become all the time. Which led me to this question: Would it be worse to deliberately choose to do something wrong, or to slowly stop believing it's wrong without realizing? Or does that distinction even matter? Feel free to substitute something less extreme, like working for an evil company, bullying, cheating, selling out, betraying a friend, whatever line you would never cross.

And my answer is actually that the latter is wayyy more disturbing. I'm really big on owning and naming your beliefs and desires. It's a great way to get your conscience to kick in, to actually say it out loud then see how good or bad that felt. Same principle as how, if someone makes a racist joke, you act confused and ask them to explain it to you.

So the former would be gross, like fuck any person who would do it; but at least I could be conscious of the fact that I am choosing to do an evil thing for the sake of, I don't know, stonks. I would be engaged in the process, my conscience would be involved despite being ignored, and I would hope I would feel disgusted with myself forever. (Even considering the possibility is kind of disgusting.) But slowly having your beliefs erode over time into something bad… how do you stop that? How do you do ANYTHING about that? Shit what if it's happening right now? Even if the shift was in the opposite direction and I slowly became a better person without trying… I guess that's good? Can't argue with it being a net positive? But it feels unearned and unreliable, if you can sleepwalk forward you can sleepwalk back.

So that's conscious vs. unconscious I guess. Also I wrote and revised a ton of words to answer the question so there's that too.

bird primary + burnt snake secondary

 tl;dr: Fairly sure I'm Lion primary (maybe burned Badger since I sort of envy the idea of close communities, or hedonistic Snake, not sure where that line is)

(the way that divide works out is that basically, Burnt Badgers look like Snakes. They have the Snake's small community, but wish they could cast their net wider. Hedonistic Snakes tend to be more solo, and much more focused on /stuff/. Also, both options make pretty good short-term coping mechanisms.)

but unsure whether my secondary is Bird, Snake/burned Snake, or burned Lion.

I love researching and reverse-engineering and my immediate response to situations is to Google advice, but reactively, not proactively. I am allergic to planning, and prepwork feels stifling and unnatural.

Ooooh, have we got a single-player Environment Snake? (I also think of these as MacGyver Snakes.) Basically just pulling at the things around you in order to solve the problem at hand.

I studied math in college then did a coding bootcamp, and I always felt adrift because both only taught memorizing solutions to individual problems/proofs, not how to solve unfamiliar ones -- i.e., really learning. 

However, I neither consider myself flexible nor want to be, and singleplayer Snake is wayyyyyyyyyyyy more comfortable than stuff involving other people. (Complicating factor: not neurotypical.)

I think I can say, pretty confidently, that this system works just fine if you're not neurotypical. :) There's no reason you have to use the multi-player version if you don't want. The most dramatic single/multi player divide is probably Bookkeeper Badger vs Courtier Badger, and there are lots of people who prefer being just one or the other.

I do the "faces" thing reflexively, in the moment, but it doesn't feel like "shifting" or "becoming" anything: just me, lying.

That's Snake. "Becoming" is more of a word that a Courtier Badger would use, they kinda do have to believe it, or it doesn't work. Snake secondaries are a lot more aware of what they're doing, in the moment.

It's interesting that you are just straight-up using the word lie though. In my experience, Snakes are more likely to conceptualize that particular problem-solving strategy as "say it in a way they'll listen to," or something like that. You might just be super direct (and/or like hanging out in Neutral) buuuut... the negativity of "lie" can sometimes point to a Burnt secondary. No sign of that yet, but I'll keep an eye out for it.

I don't have a moral problem with lying; it's often even right since a) telling the truth often hurts people, and b) people do prefer it: most people want to hear what they want to hear, and if that happens to be the truth that's great.

Hmmm. This is sounding like primary stuff. And it's quite reasoned out, which makes me interested in hearing why you went for Lion primary instead of Bird.

But deep down, I guess I resent it. I wish that when I say what I mean it would convince people rather than create problems. I try to ration that to only things that REALLY matter to me, but tbh many things do. I hate arguing.

What I'm hearing here is the Bird primary fantasy of "If I was only able to explain it exactly right, in precisely the right words, then everyone would agree with me." And as you say earlier, it doesn't actually work like that. It sounds like you're feeling a bit cynical in regards to other people a the moment, and I can't exactly blame you.

I would love to be an inspirational secondary but I am bad at inspiring people.

There is definitely some burnt secondary talk going on here.

Family: I'm not close to my father -- he’s a terrible person, serial cheater, racist, etc. I'm closer to my mother, and don't think she's a bad person, but both parents were hypercritical and have horrible tempers, so my childhood felt horrible to live through since I was always getting yelled at or having corporal punishment used for doing something wrong.

Definitely seeing where the burned secondary energy is coming from, if so many of your formative experiences involved being told that the way you were doing things was wrong. I also see why you might have at least a fascination with the confident, firey, speak-your-truth-and-damn-the-consequences Lion secondary.

(On paper this could be called abusive, and anyone else being subjected to this makes me furious, but I'm not fully comfortable with the label for my situation, even though I know that's inconsistent.) 

I understand, and I appreciate that. I also appreciate your carefully articulated position, and it's slanting me in the direction of Bird primary. Even though this is obviously a topic you are very emotional about, all those emotions are arranged within the framework of thought. You're aware of and okay the fact that you feel all kinds of different ways about what happened.

Any secondary model came from my mom, but I don't know about primary. She always says my sister and I are "the most important things in her life." (One of the reasons I don’t want kids is that I don’t think I could ever believe or promise them that.) She ostensibly also hates my father and their divorce was vicious, but she kept working for him until he retired, goes on trips with him to see my sister or me, and pressured me for years to un-estrange him because “after all, he’s family” until I gave in and now pretend to have a relationship just enough to placate them. I don't have any ethical problems doing this, it's just irritating.

That is very, very unusual family dynamic. Have to get my head around that. Your mom may have some very intense Badger going on, especially with the the whole "after all, he's family" thing. That could fit go with a nasty divorce, especially if she thought his presence was a threat to you and your sister. On the other hand, she might just be able to compartmentalize to an insane degree, which would probably point to Bird secondary.

I don't understand this aspect of my mom; I observe it happening, but I don't understand it. It feels kind of sad, in an existential way. 

Honestly, I agree.

(Another way my dad sucks is that he played favorites with my sister and I, me being the favorite.

Being the Golden Child sucks just as much as being the Problem Child.

The shitty resulting dynamic is I only "care about" his approval to avoid him creating drama that ripples to everyone around him -- he's gotten better but he has literally started shit when I didn't end emails with "love" -- but my sister actually cares about his approval, and it hurts her.)

Secondary-wise, my mom would always harp on me to "pay attention to the people and things around you," and whenever I tell her about solving problems in Snakeish ways she's like "way to go, [me]!" But she also is meticulously planned and scheduled and organized, and hates surprises and not knowing exactly what will happen. She's the kind of person who gets frustrated in April when I haven’t told her my Thanksgiving itinerary, which, like... I don't want to think that far ahead.

She could be either Prep-work secondary, Bird or Badger. If she's a Bird, "pay attention to the people and things around you," points to a a Rapid-Fire Bird (which can look *very* Snakey.) Or it could be a way of describing Courtier Badger. Being that scheduled is more often a Bird thing... but I could also imagine a Badger manifesting like that, especially if she is so concerned with specifically planning holidays.

Low-stakes/high-stakes problem that felt good: This is a high-stakes problem containing a low-stakes problem. I'm rolling them together because they illustrate both aspects of my problem solving.

Higher stakes: That coding bootcamp required being on Zoom 8 hours every day. But I had 3 roommates (part of why I did it was to not have 3 roommates), and they didn't want me there that much. I can't go to coffee shops because either they're loud, or I will make them loud by talking for 8 hours, thus becoming the problem. Coworking spaces are expensive af. I even consider renting a storage unit but I don't think they have power and wifi. The idea I settle on is sneaking onto a nearby college campus: preferably the CS building, to blend in. I scour the college subreddit for posts about what buildings let students in without ID, then scout them out (this is March, the thing doesn't start until May, I'm just high on must-solve-now energy). After ~15 minutes (lol) of walking through campus I decide I've had enough, seems doable. The day of, I leave early in case I have to give up and go home, but that turned out to be completely pointless because tailgating in is shockingly easy. Like it's scary how easy it is. One day a security officer stopped me but even he eventually let me in after I acted increasingly frazzled and panicked -- not ENTIRELY an act but I definitely was playing it up.

I like this story. And I feel good about saying that it is QUITE snakey: what do I have immediately around me, and how can I use it to get what I want in this moment? Even little details like - you're not bothering to come up with a cover story or borrow/forge someone's ID. If you're caught you'll talk your way out of it. You did a little research, then scoped the place out, then were good to go.

Lower stakes: I usually did classes from an empty auditorium (students weren't supposed to be there but no one checked, and also I'm not a student right?). The whiteboard's eraser stand was a few inches away from the wall, and one day I drop my phone in the gap. Shit. The gap's way too high to reach down. I can't ask anyone for help because I'm already 2 layers deep of being somewhere I'm not supposed to be. The stand screws to the wall, but I don't have a screwdriver because who just carries a screwdriver around? (For whatever reason, going to a hardware store didn't occur to me.) I stare at the thing until I realize: I am literally in the ENGINEERING building. I search various offices, ask people for a screwdriver, but no luck. Then I see a board listing the departments. One floor has a "makerspace," and somehow, its door is wide open (the student lounge is locked down but the room with deadly power tools isn't, ???) I grab 5 sizes of screwdriver, then also grab duct tape and a ruler to fish my phone out in case the screwdrivers don't work, which turned out to be a good idea because they didn't

Sounds to me to me like you just MacGyvered a solution :D

One thing I am picking up on is your subtle critique of the existing rules/systems. Getting in via tailgateing is easier than it should be, talking your way past the guard was too easy. The door with the powertools really should be locked, etc. It's making me (again) think Bird primary for you. You've very tuned into the way things run, and how well designed (or not) that is. There's also just a little bit of Birdy rules-lawyer in "Students aren't allowed in this room, but I'm not a student (because I snuck in.)"

Hard decision-making process…. I don’t know. I don’t experience many decisions as hard. I often know what I want to do right away; the difficult part is doing it.

In the language of this system, that's a Burnt secondary.

Or I know what I should do, am obligated to do, have no choice but to do, etc., though sometimes it feels miserable or wrong, like resignation.

Unfortunately that is what it feels like to have a Burnt primary - you just use whatever problem-solving strategy you can at random, since they all feel like a chore and it doesn't really matter.

I can feel proud of making certain "right" choices in an abstract self-congratulatory way, but I never like it or really feel good about it. I either act on something immediately or put it off until the decision makes itself, a drop-dead deadline approaches, I get bored/impulsive enough to do it on the spot, or I suddenly swerve my life toward something I like better.

You're definitely an Improvisational secondary. Which is really fine, even though I know it doesn't feel that way all the time when you come from a family of intense Prep-work people. Just keep an eye on that 'wait until the deadline' impulse. It's very, very common for neurodivergent people to use that last-minute stress adrenaline to kind of hack their brain, and it's not sustainable.

I'd wanted to change careers for years but the actual decision to do the bootcamp was an impulse based on ~3 hours' research the day I encountered it.

That can absolutely work though. You *are* working on the problem and mulling it over in your head long term, even if you are (in the words of another snake secondary) "waiting for the opportune moment."

This is all healthy and well-adjusted, and it definitely has never caused any predictable problems! (Did get a job though.)

Hey, if it's stupid and it works, it's not stupid.

My fantasy: To be successful and well-known in my field; to create the kind of art I want to create and have it be respected/influential. To live the life I want, with the aesthetic I want, and the opportunities from others and follow-through from me to achieve that. The details vary based on the field but that's the general template. 

I'd say that's a very human fantasy, without too many details that slant me one way or the other, in terms of this system. There's definitely a focus on the community around you and how you relate to it/integrate into it. And that makes me think Bird (the external primary) is more likely than Lion (the internal primary.)

Characters: I relate to characters who are flawed in the same ways I am -- they feel like cautionary tales -- or sometimes via empathizing in a way the story doesn’t (Carlotta from Phantom got done DIRTY).

It's interesting that you respond to characters who the narrative framing doesn't support, because the narrative framing doesn't support them. I guess that does fit with your interest in constructed systems, and if they're useful/functional or not. Which points to Bird.

On that big pop culture character test I always get Hannah from Girls and Gaius Baltar from Battlestar Galactica: harsh, but not wrong.

(I always get Inara from Firefly and Céline from Before Sunrise.)

It's been a second since I've seen Girls or Battlestar Galactica, but I do think that both of those characters are Bird Snakes, which is honestly impressive since Bird Snakes are easily the least common fictional archetype.

Baltar is clever, adaptive, reactive, he pulls from around him. He also bluffs and will *act* like he's an expert when he really isn't. A lot of his internal conflict revolves around extremely Bird primary rationalization - is this situation really his fault? and if it is, what is he morally/rationally supposed to do about it (if anything?) "Voice of *a* generation" Hannah also has this way of getting caught in her own feedback loops when trying to figure herself out. One of my favorite moments is the bit where she loses her purse on the way back from the wedding, and then rides the train all the way to Coney Island, sits on the beach and eats the slice of wedding cake while watching the sun rise. I think that's beautiful, and a very Snake secondary response.

I also gravitate toward a specific archetype: Blanche from A Streetcar Named Desire, Madame Bovary, Violetta from La Traviata. People who desire an impossible thing deeply and unshakably, temporarily achieve it, and are taken down dramatically.

Now that, I'm thinking is a story structure that you like. And/or you're drawn to these tragic great ladies, living most of the way in a fantasy world. It's a good, cathartic archetype.

What makes me feel powerful: I don’t really resonate with that framing. The closest is that feeling like I have no options is the same for me as feeling powerless.

Okay, "not feeling powerless," I'll take it. And we're back to that Burnt secondary again. I'm hoping you'll leave your Snake a little more room to breathe and play, because it seems like you're a pretty capable person. You manage to do the things you want to get done, and you have an excellent awareness of what are good and bad situations, both for you and just in general.

Thank you to anonymous for such an excellent submission. If you'd like a Sorting of your very own, commissions are open on my ko-fi. :D

If you'd like to read more about the system I'm using, my explanation is right here.