#these are just the people i either interact with or have | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thesvnandthemooon · 1 day ago

Text

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: again, a request :)

summary: delivery driver!nat, artist!reader (not part of the request, but i decided to add it anyway), g!p nat

warnings: brief smut (handjob), implied sex, forgetting to eat (not sure if this needs to be a warning but i’m adding it anyway), mildly creepy behavior but only if you squint

word count: 7k

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Hands splattered with yellow paint. A white overall. Messy hair and the smell of turpentine mixing with some expensive perfume.

Mundane things, but she won't be able to get them out of her head.

Natasha never knows what kind of people she's going to run into while doing late-night deliveries and, frankly, she usually doesn't care. All she wants is the money and maybe a solid tip — that's it. She does it for the extra cash, not because she's desperate for even more social interactions.

She's been doing this for a while now. Being a car mechanic at a small shop, her salary is far from sufficient. The $20 an hour don't stretch far, barely manage to fully cover her rent, so she decided to pick up a few extra shifts at night. Bless DoorDash for making those quite flexible as well, otherwise she'd probably be living in the streets now.

Again, she doesn't care who her customers are. She meets all kinds of people like this, and she's seen everything from teenage boys ordering Chick-fil-A for their 2am-gaming sessions to lesser known celebrities who can't be bothered to cook. Alcoholics and single dads, college students and people who just got home from partying. In the end, their faces will all be a blur, anyway.

Your name doesn't stand out when she accepts the delivery. All Natasha notices is that she's never delivered to this address before — a somewhat remote area, up on a hill, no neighbors and nothing to do. She doesn't question what kind of person would live in a place like that, even though she maybe should. What she also should do (but doesn't) is worry about driving up there by herself. It's the middle of the night, nobody else lives up there, and the cabin looks as run-down as it does abandoned.

When the motorcycle's headlights die down, so does the last source of light she has. All the house's windows are closed and dark. Judging by the looks of it, she's delivering food to ghosts.

Natasha swings her leg off the motorcycle and grabs the paper bag from the little top-box. She notices the residual grease on her hands a second too late, but decides it isn't important. The paper bag is full of stains either way.

Once she steps on the porch, a tiny light turns on. It flickers pathetically, barely holding on at this point, but provides enough light for Natasha to see your face when you open the door.

Doe eyes and paint on your cheeks, hair pulled back carelessly. Hands that look like they have enough color on them to make even the grayest days a little more colorful. Suddenly, she regrets not taking a closer look at your name. She would've remembered.

"DoorDash", she says, holding out the paper bag.

"Right!", you say, face lighting up and eyes turning more lively. Natasha feels her thoughts falter. "Totally forgot. Lemme just-"

You turn and, just like that, disappear in the darkness of the house. Natasha pauses, still holding onto your order, before snapping out of it. She glances into the hallway and tries to locate a single source of light, but finds nothing.

That is, until you seem to appear out of thin air again. She flinches slightly.

"Thanks", you say, wiping your hands on a rag. "Had trouble finding your way up here? I know one guy who got lost in the forest. Somehow managed to take the wrong exit. Never saw that pizza."

"No, no issues", she mumbles, handing you the food and stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket. "It's dark in there."

"Oh, yeah." You nod and grab her hand. She stares at you, stunned, and then you smear the rag on the back of her hand. The streak of paint that's left behind glows faintly. "Glow-in-the-dark paint!"

"Seriously?"

"Looks great, doesn't it? I wanted to paint my bathroom with that, but decided against it."

Natasha hums, looking at the paint again. Her eyes meet yours. You give her an expectant look, as if you're waiting for something she can't place. All she's doing is deliver your food, after all. But you keep staring, so she shakes her head.

Enough. She has at least half a dozen more deliveries to get through before she can call it a night.

"Okay", she says, slowly, and steps back. "Well, uhm, enjoy your food."

You nod, already tearing open the bag of fast food and grabbing a fry. "Don't get lost on your way back."

She glances at you, seeming a little distracted. Then she nods and waves absently, already on her way to her motorcycle. The door closes behind her, a soft thud that cuts through the quiet of the night, and she tracks the vehicle where she left it.

It's an old, beat-up thing, but it's reliable. It gets her where she needs to be, it allows her to earn some extra money. She's thankful for her Harley, she really is. But in that moment, when she's hopping on her old Sportster and grabbing the handlebars, she wishes it wasn't the reason she's able to leave again.

. . .

Can doing what you love make you starve?

Maybe. Possibly. Actually? Pretty damn likely. That's your conclusion after working on a few new projects made you forget about eating for almost an entire day.

Aside from a bowl of Cheerios in the morning, topped with a bunch of sugar, you haven't eaten anything all day. Instead, you've been mixing colors and washing paintbrushes and filling your sketchbook. Doodles on walls and paper scraps on the floor, paint in your hair and a pencil between your teeth. One foot resting on the edge of your seat, you tug at the straps of your overall. The color on your fingernails isn't nail polish — it's paint.

You lean forward and inspect the little sketch again. At this point, you're not even sure what this is going to be. Another scrap? A comic strip? No way to know until you're at least halfway there. Maybe you won't know even then.

Music is making the floors vibrate. In front of you are a couple of cups. Some contain tea, others water you've been cleaning your paintbrushes with. You glance at them and resist the urge to take another leap of faith. You've had one too many sips of murky, paint-infused regret.

You turn toward the sketch again, but your stomach rumbling distracts you from the thick lines of charcoal and graphite. You sigh and shift, trying to ignore it and get back into that creative, pulsating headspace again, but it's no use. Your body is hungry.

As usual, you're not in the mood to cook. You're working, and you're scared of getting into another creative block, so you open the DoorDash app and order one of your favorites.

When Natasha looks at her phone, it's not just your name that stands out. It's the address. It brings back images of vines on the sides and tangling around porch railings, winding dirt paths, paint on the back of her hand and a heart that won't stop thrumming.

There's been a lot of this over the past few weeks. At first, it was just a coincidence — due to you ordering food at the most ungodly hours, not many drivers are available. Natasha is one of the few who are desperate enough to work past midnight. Just bad timing, in the end. Or good, depending on how you look at it.

Then, it started to feel like more. She's not sure why, or how, but it did.

It was the same for you. After a few nights of being too distracted and sleep-deprived to notice anything, you finally caught onto the fact that, hey, you'd been getting the same driver over and over again. And hey, you like that driver, and it's not just some case of classical conditioning due to the yummy food, but actually more than just that.

Natasha noticed as well. And now, seeing your name and address on the screen, your order up for grabs, she taps on 'accept delivery'.

The route to your house is familiar by now. The lack of light doesn't disrupt her ability to find her way to your porch anymore. The paper bag in her hands has ceased to merely be a way to earn more money.

You open the door and, as basically always, give her that slightly absent smile you tend to sport. Eyes just a little distant, like you're constantly chasing some cloud of thought in your head, and hands and cheeks smudged with some kind of art medium — charcoal, paint, ink. Natasha can't help but stare, her own forearms oil-smudged but concealed by her jacket.

"Hey", she eventually says, holding out the paper bag. "Your food."

"You were quick this time", you say, grabbing the bag and putting it aside. "No traffic? Or were you just that eager to get here?"

"A bit of both", she says. She's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You do tip quite generously."

You hum, eyes subtly tracing along her arms. They're hidden by her leather jacket, but you can tell she gets some sort of physical exercise. Workouts or something. Maybe manual labor. Whatever it is — it's working.

"Driving into the middle of bumfuck nowhere should have its perks."

"Oh, I can think of a few."

You shoot her a quick smile. "Hm", you say, briefly glancing into the hallway. Natasha follows your gaze and spots a half-finished painting. She decides not to comment on it, but the colors distract her for a moment. "So...any more deliveries tonight?"

"Huh? Oh, yes." Natasha nods, spinning her keys around her pointer finger. "Still got to get through a couple."

Tilting your head, you let your eyes linger. She tilts her head right back at you, but much more subtly. The air between you heats up, despite the chilly October air seeping into the hallway. Sparks fly and bodies subconsciously move closer. Just a tiny, harmless step. Nothing to worry about.

"Pity. I was going to offer you a fry", you say, peeling some dried paint off your thumb. "But I can't keep you from your adoring customers, can I?"

"Probably not", Natasha agrees, pushing off the doorframe and taking a step back again. It's getting late, and she needs to get her ass back on her motorcycle. Flirting with a customer probably isn't the smartest move, either. "Though 'adoring' isn't exactly a word I'd use for them."

"Why not?", you say, watching her walk back to her motorcycle. A black, rugged thing that makes perfect sense for her. "You're always on time."

"Maybe that's only your experience", she counters. "Like you said — eager to get here."

You lift your eyebrows. Natasha sits on the old Harley and lets the engine roar, a sound that cuts through the quiet night sharply. You can barely see her, that's how dark it is outside. But then the motorcycle's headlights come on and you feel your heartbeat quicken.

"Drive safe", you call out once you've pulled yourself together.

"Always do", she calls back.

As she drives off, you can't help but wonder whether it's still just a coincidence at this point.

. . .

There's a thin line between being romantic and being a creep.

You may or may not have been toeing that very line.

Ever since noticing Natasha works the night shifts, you started ordering food later and later. It went from 11pm to midnight, then to half past midnight. 1am followed, then quarter past.

Why? To allow her to linger.

What you don't know is that Natasha's been doing the same. Maybe even worse. She scans the orders, looking for yours. She doesn't even think about it anymore — it's just instinct.

With each delivery, she stays longer. Stalls. She lingers in the doorway, her voice hushed and raspy, silently trying to figure out what colors you used based on the stains on your hands and face.

And with each delivery, you become more used to seeing her. It turns into a routine, something normal. Like waking up to the movie posters taped to your bedroom ceiling and listening to the owls at night, you start to expect it. That shows a few weeks later, when Natasha pops up to deliver your birria tacos.

"Where were you yesterday?", you ask, sleepy and groggy, and grab the greasy paper bag. She lifts her eyebrows.

"You didn't order anything yesterday."

You pause and look up, blinking slowly. It's nearly 2am, and you really need to sleep. But you've been up, waiting to order something and have Natasha deliver it.

"You sure?"

She smiles faintly. "Didn't see your name anywhere. I'm pretty sure, yes."

"Oh." Your face falls and you scratch your cheek. The dried watercolor on it is irritating your skin. "I think I forgot about dinner, then."

"That's concerning."

You wave your hand dismissively. "Happens all the time", you say. "Maybe I need someone to remind me."

Natasha stops in her tracks when you give her an expectant look. There's no way you're serious, right?

But you are. You grab your phone and hand it to her. She looks at the screen, smudged and cracked, before glancing at you again.

"You deliver my food all the time, anyway", you argue, ignoring her soft sigh. "Why not cut out the middleman? Much more practical."

"And the reminding you-thing?", she asks, already typing in her number.

"That was a joke."

"It didn't sound like one. Here." She hands you your phone back and crosses her arms. You tuck the device into the pocket of your overall. "For emergencies, right?"

"Of course", you say, smiling. The exhaustion seems to have disappeared from your face.

It's a lie, and you both know it, but Natasha can't find it in herself to care.

. . .

"Seriously?"

"I ran out of charcoal."

"I had to drive all the way across town", she points out. "Plus, my number was supposed to be for emergencies only."

You lift your chin, silently challenging her. She doesn't seem too impressed, though, but the look in her eyes tells you she doesn't mind this as much as she pretends to.

"Food emergencies", she adds. "Not art emergencies."

"You still went and brought it."

Natasha only partially succeeds at biting back a half-frustrated, half-fond noise, and shoves the plastic bag into your arms.

The words do it yourself next time are on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn't utter them. God forbid she has to quit stopping by your house.

You peek into the bag and hum approvingly. Natasha watches you, first unmoving, then reaches out to touch the blue paint on your cheek. She swipes her thumb across it and smudges it further.

You look up, staring. She shrugs.

"Missed a spot."

"Very considerate", you say, lifting your hand to let your fingertips ghost across your cheek. Red and blue create purple.

Natasha shifts, but doesn't step away. Her eyes trace your face. You want her to stay, and she doesn't want to leave.

"No more bullshit", she adds. "Otherwise, I'll start expecting much bigger tips."

"You drive a hard bargain", you reply, cocking your head. "Can't promise anything, though."

She sighs, but the tiny smile betrays her. She can think of worse things than getting more excuses to see you.

"You're spoiled", she states. "How come you're always up this late, anyway? It's, like, 2am."

You shrug, turning on the spot and sauntering into the living room. Natasha, to your frustration, stays glued to her spot in the hallway.

"Can't sleep", you say, crouching in front of the large sheet of paper and tearing open the new charcoal. "Working on something."

She hums, trying to catch a glimpse of you and what you're doing. She can see the corner of a paper, covered in a bunch of comic strips. Then, you crawl forward on your knees and your head comes into view.

"I'm surprised I see no coffins in here."

"Huh?"

"You know. Always up at night, afraid of the sun."

You lift your head, momentarily puzzled — you're spacing out already, and you're sleep deprived, and this late, nothing seems to make sense. Then, the meaning behind her words registers.

"You're asking if I'm a vampire?", you say, sitting on your knees and wiping your face with the back of your hand. Natasha's lips twitch as she sees you smudge the charcoal there further.

"It'd make sense", she replies. "Now you're refusing to answer, too. Guess there must be something to it."

"Well", you say, wiping your hands on your overall, "let me bite you and find out."

Natasha malfunctions for a solid three seconds. Once she's gotten her bearings, she rolls her eyes and knocks on the wooden door. You look up from your project and tilt your head.

"Deliveries?"

"Yeah", she says. "Two more, then I'm done for tonight."

You nod, disappointed but not ready to argue. You get up and pad back into the hallway. You're not even sure why — she can find her way back outside by herself, obviously.

Natasha keeps her eyes on you. Her hands are in the pockets of her jeans, red strands of hair framing her face. She sees the charcoal on your bottom lip and wonders what kissing you would taste like.

"I'll text you", you say, rubbing your lip to get rid of the charcoal.

Emergencies only, she wants to say. She decides against it.

She steps back, adjusting her jacket. She should leave. She needs to leave. Somehow, she can't bring herself to. She just stands there, watching as you shift your weight from one foot to the other, the light from inside catching on the paint smudges along your collarbone.

"See you", she says, voice lower.

"Yeah", you mumble, eyes on her.

She finally forces herself to turn around and step outside. The cold night air cuts through her jacket, but she barely registers it. She swings one leg over the motorcycle and puts on her helmet, then waits.

You're still in the door, the golden light spilling out from inside framing your silhouette.

Natasha shakes her head and kicks the bike to life.

The roar of the engine fades into the night, and you close the door.

. . .

Having your motorcycle break down in the rain is less than ideal.

Natasha swings her leg off the bike, frustration etched into her features, and crouches down beside it. She filled up on gas right before leaving, so that can't be the issue. She checks the cables and wiring, inspects the spark plugs, takes a look at the battery. Once she's done that, she curses and kicks the tire.

The battery's dead. She's screwed.

Running her hand through her wet hair — of course she had to forget her helmet today —, she looks at your house in the distance. It's almost two more miles, and it's pouring rain, but she's got your In-N-Out order in the top-box and, truthfully, she‘s itching to see you.

She tries starting the bike one more time, even if it's hopeless. The battery's dead, which means the motorcycle isn't getting anywhere. Accepting her fate, she grabs the handlebars and starts pushing.

Wet hands slip on metal, rain drips down her face. Her jacket is soaked, as is her hoodie. Her boot briefly gets stuck in mud. Raindrops feel like dozens of tiny whips against her cheeks.

By the time she's gotten up the hill and to your house, half an hour has passed. She's soaked to the bone, dripping wet, out of breath, her arms hurting — and somehow, she doesn't care about any of that. She grabs the paper bag from the top-box and makes her way to your porch. Cold, reddened knuckles meet old wood.

You open the door and stare at her.

Drenched, out of breath, her once light gray hoodie now the shade of cracked pepper. Water drips from the red strands of hair that are framing her face. Clutching the takeout bag like it's life or death, her green eyes staring right back into yours.

For a moment, neither of you move.

When she lowers her gaze to the floor, a puddle forming on the wooden porch beneath her, you jump forward and cup her face.

Kissing her feels like second nature. Her lips are cold and wet when they press against yours. Her cheeks are cold, and she smells like a mixture of perfume and rain-soaked clothes.

You tug her inside, only pulling away slightly. She's still out of breath, but for a different reason now.

She sneezes, turning her head to try and hide it, but you notice anyway. You help her out of her jacket and steer her to the couch. She sits down and off comes her dripping wet hoodie. Her shirt is soaked as well, so off it goes as well. Fingertips brushing against skin, you notice how cold she is.

"You're insane", you say, returning with a towel. Natasha glances at it and subtly raises her eyebrows when she spots the paint stains on it, but you've already started toweling her hair dry. "You'll get pneumonia!"

"I'll be fine", she says dismissively. "Just a little rain. My bike broke down."

"You could've called", you mutter, rubbing her hair with the towel. "Or texted. I would've called a taxi or something."

Natasha goes silent. She didn't even consider that option. Maybe part of her wanted to prove something. Hopefully, she succeeded. If not, this may have all been for nothing.

You go upstairs to grab some clothes from your room. Natasha stays on the couch, her eyes scanning her surroundings. She expected art supplies, many of them, and she also expected some messiness. But she didn't think it'd be so...comfortable. Lived-in. Warm, despite the chaos.

Paint splatters on wooden floorboards and half-finished paintings leaning against the walls. Charcoal sketches and pastel doodles, postcards on the walls. Mismatched furniture — most of it thrifted — and glass paint on the massive window. A teddy, with a knitted dress on it.

She smells tea and turpentine, with a hint of something floral woven into the unique smell. A glance at the dining table tells her it's coming from a vase full of lilies.

You return, bare feet padding against stair steps, and walk back to Natasha's side. You hold out a sweater for her to put on, nodding in encouragement, but she grabs your waist and pulls you into her lap instead.

It's unexpected, but not unwelcome. She tugs the sweater out of your hand and tosses it aside, then kisses you again.

Fingerprints of paint stain her face.

. . .

You don't stop ordering things. In fact, you only start to order more.

You know you're being an annoying little shit. It's clear as day, and your chats prove it.

You: bring me more

washi tape pls? — 1.04am

Natasha: you're fucking

kidding — 1.04am

You: the clear one with

the stars :) — 1.05am

Natasha: this isn't a

convenience store. — 1.05am

You: it is if you bring

me what i want — 1.06am

And, half an hour later, she was in front of your door. There was a striped bag in her hands.

Once she saw your smile, she'd forgotten all about her complaints.

"This is the last time", she said, letting you lead her into the house. You tilted your head up to kiss her jaw. "Don't even try to butter me up. No more running errands for you."

You know she doesn't mind, though. One night, as you're kneeling on the floor and gluing magazine cutouts to a painting, someone knocks. You get up and open the door and, oh surprise, it's Natasha.

The first thing you notice is that she looks exhausted. Circles under her eyes, her face even paler than usual. The poor excuse of a paper bag she's clutching is crumpled and grease-stained.

"You order anything?", she asks.

Of course not. You never order on Tuesdays. Not anymore, at least — it's the only night Natasha has off.

You tilt your head in silent response. Her jaw clenches, she shifts on her feet and drums her fingers against her thigh, and you finally decide to stop torturing her.

"Come in", you say, grabbing her hand.

"Figured you'd want something", she mumbles, padding into the living room.

"Uh-huh. Here, sit down."

She sinks onto the couch's cushions, sighing quietly. You straddle her lap and take your sweet time with her for a moment. Just look at her, run your fingers through her hair, gently push the jacket off her shoulders.

Her eyes meet yours. You smile softly and grasp her chin between your fingers.

"You must really like me."

She bites the insides of her cheeks, eyes staring up at you. No response — she doesn't know what to say, because denying the truth would be as uncomfortable as standing by it.

You trail your fingers along her jaw, then slide them up into her hair. You lean in close, so close you can taste her breath and feel her lips brush against yours, but not close enough to kiss her. Finally, Natasha grips your thighs in unspoken frustration.

You laugh quietly and lean in, deciding to go easy on her. You press a kiss to the corner of her mouth and guide her to lay down.

"Cat got your tongue?", you murmur, placing lingering kisses on her jaw.

"Just tired."

"And you decided to show up here."

"Nothing else makes sense this late."

The admission makes you pause, if ever so briefly. You kiss her, hands cupping her face, and feel her hands slip under your shirt.

Fingertips inch higher up and tug at your bra. The clasp comes undone, making the pressure around your chest disappear.

It's slow. Clothes come off, lips meet time after time. Straddling one of her thighs, you litter kisses and little bites on her neck.

"You should sleep", you whisper against her skin. Your fingers are fumbling with the zipper of her jeans.

"I will", she rasps, eyes closed. "After."

"You seem tired", you point out. You tug the waistband of her jeans lower and expose Calvin Klein boxers. An involuntary noise leaves you at the sight.

Natasha puts her hand on the back of your head and pulls you into a kiss. Her other hand grips yours, slowly guiding it into her boxers.

You feel the heavy weight of her length in your hand and nearly moan. A few slow strokes are enough to get her to harden in your palm. You feel every vein, every soft throb, her quickening breathing like music in your ears.

There's something vulnerable about being in this position. Natasha is used to being on top, but with you, she doesn't seem to mind letting you take control.

Her head drops back against the armrest. With her neck exposed to you, your lips linger on her pulse point as you start moving your hand up and down her shaft. The pad of your thumb circles her tip, gathering precum and lubricating her hard-on.

She squirms underneath you, frustrated and restless, a silent request for you to pick up the pace. But you keep your movements slow and steady, drawing out the pleasure and letting it build gradually. Natasha's hips buck into your hand, her hand clasped over her own mouth to stifle moans.

She twitches and throbs hotly in your hand. You kiss her collarbone, your hand applying pressure to her cock. You're drawing her to the edge so gently she feels like she might lose her mind.

Your thumb traces veins and rubs the underside of her length. Another soft whine comes from her mouth. You lift your head to kiss her and swallow the pathetic little sounds she's making. When she comes, her body tenses through the slow, shuddering unraveling. Cum spills on your hand and you pull away.

Dazed, spent, out of breath. Natasha clears her throat, her cheeks flushed.

. . .

You only need to take one look at the bag she's holding to be able to tell.

"You forgot something", you say, paint-smudged hands on her waist as you steer her inside. Much to her dismay, you absently wipe your fingers on her hoodie. She shoots an exasperated look at the blue stains.

"You haven't even opened the bag."

"I can tell. You forgot the snail shells."

Natasha glances at you as she plops onto the couch. You put the bag on the coffee table and rummage through it. You were right — no snail shells. But you do find the requested Oreos and vanilla milk.

"You only eat trash, you know", she says, one arm tucked under her head.

You roll your eyes. "Don't even start with that."

"I mean it. Oreos and sugar-milk aren't exactly the most nutritious dinner."

"Oh, hush", you mumble, swatting at her. Natasha just grins and reaches out, grasping your wrist. "Hey, what-"

She ignores you. With one swift tug, you topple over and she's got you on the couch next to her. You grunt and adjust your position.

"You hush", she retorts, arm wrapping around you and snuggling you closer. "Always complaining. Would it kill you to be grateful for once?"

You huff, smiling. Natasha pinches your side and you let out a gasp.

"Hey!"

"Come on, say it."

"Forget it."

Her fingertips dance over your ribs. You shift and squirm, trying to get away from her grasp, but it's a halfhearted attempt.

"Come on", she repeats. "Say thank you."

Her fingers brush against the underside of your breast. Your laughter turns into a barely contained sound of pleasure.

Natasha laughs and slips her fingertips under the fabric of your bra.

"Say thank you", she whispers, "and maybe I'll be nice."

"So unfair", you retort. "Fine. Thank you."

"Mhm." She hums and kisses your cheek. "Better."

"You know, if you weren't the one delivering me stuff..."

"What?" She scoffs, smiling, and tickles your ribs. She knows better than to get offended by what you said. If it weren't for her delivering your orders, this never would've happened. Neither of you really know what 'this' is, but you both know you like it.

You squirm in her arms and bat at her hand. "You heard me!"

"Is that all I am to you?", she mocks, lightly cupping your breast. "I'm wounded. Truly."

"No", you say, not thinking. "You don't know how much you mean to me, I think."

Natasha goes quiet for a long moment. She feels your heartbeat speed up, rapid like a prey's, when you realize what you just said. But then she shifts and sits up, and she guides you to roll over, and you feel her lips on yours.

She never stays the night. She doesn't let herself get too close to anyone. She's seen you naked, touched every inch of your body with her tongue, yet staying the night always felt like it'd be too much.

This time, she stays. Fully clothed and keeping her space, she lays down. She makes sure not to breathe in the scent of your bedsheets. At some point that night, though, she wakes up. She reaches for you blindly, fingers feeling the air until they graze your arm.

She hesitates. Something has shifted, and she can feel it deep in her bones.

Finally, she pulls you closer. Tucks you against her chest, brushes her fingers along your spine.

. . .

Before she's even managed to open her eyes, you're up and about.

Digging through your closet, brushing your hair, making tea and toast and opening windows. Wind makes the curtains billow out and her hair flutter, so she rolls over and buries her face in your pillow. The sun isn't even up yet.

"Why are you up at this ungodly hour?"

"Watch the sunrise", you say, slipping into a tank top. "Paint a little."

"You're insane."

"Up, up", you say. You throw aside the blanket she's covered with and pat her butt. She doesn't move an inch. "Come on! I need your help with something."

That manages to briefly get her attention, but it doesn't last long. She slumps back into the sheets, her face hidden.

"Forget it", she murmurs.

"Nat", you drawl. "Please. It'll be worth it."

"Define 'worth it'."

You tug at her boxers, just enough to expose a sliver of her butt. She swats at your hand. It's obvious she's tired, so you decide to let it go for a while. As soon as she's out of bed, though, you're dragging her out of the house and toward a shed to the side.

You feel grass under your feet, tickling your ankles. Natasha trails after you, hand in yours, her red hair in a braid. The top she's wearing is one of yours, and it's covered in charcoal and watercolor stains. She's not complaining anymore — too distracting is the sight of you in nothing but an oversized shirt and her boxers.

But then, you open the shed. You reveal a red Fiat.

First, she just stares. The car looks relatively new. Maybe not brand new, no, but no older than about five years. Natasha's a car mechanic, so she can figure that out pretty easily.

"You have a car."

You nod and lead her into the shed. "Yeah. This is DaVinci."

She shoots you a brief, disbelieving look, then stares at the vehicle again. "You've had a car. This whole time."

"Mhm."

"...I've been driving around in the crack of dawn for nothing."

You wave your hand and lean against the wall, ankles crossing. "Not for nothing. It, I dunno...won't start. It cranks, but doesn't really do anything."

Natasha rolls her eyes. She lifts the hood and secures it with the rod, then takes a look at the engine bay. You stay where you are, subtly checking her out. A black tank top and cargos, her braid resting over her shoulder. Hands that are slowly but surely getting covered in grease.

You'd jump her bones, but you already made her roll out of bed for this, so she probably wouldn't appreciate you trying to make a move on her right now.

"Didn't take it to a shop?"

"Wasn't in the mood."

You earn an exasperated look for that. You shrug, and Natasha turns toward the car again. You have no idea what she's doing, truthfully, but that's fine. The view's nice.

"Coolant's good", she says, checking it for leaks. "Battery terminals are a little corroded."

"No idea what that means."

"Of course", she mutters. She frowns and tugs at a belt-like thing. Loose, which isn't a great sign. She unscrews the fuel filter and a nasty liquid drips out. "Jesus. When's the last time you changed this?"

"Change what?"

Natasha purses her lips and puts the filter aside. "I see. Neglect."

"You're being dramatic."

"You should've taken this thing to the shop ages ago", she complains, voice muffled as she leans deeper into the car. Tank top riding up slightly, you catch a glimpse of her toned stomach. Her biceps flex and you almost miss her next question. "Got a toolbox?"

You tilt your head and pretend to have no idea what she's talking about just to mess with her a little. She stares back at you, eyebrows raised. Once she leans onto the car, one hand on the side of the hood and the other covering her forehead, you saunter to the shelves in the back of the shed.

"Oh, thank god", she mutters. "You got a replacement filter?"

"Aw, honey. You believe in me too much, I think."

Another shake of her head. She steps out of the shed, walks to her bike, grabs something, and then returns. You eye the cylinder-like thing with the two tubes sticking out of it.

"That it?"

Natasha doesn't even respond. You do see her lips twitch, though.

She grabs the creeper you for some reason have and lays down on it. Again, abs. Muscles, covered in small grease stains, flex. You stare at them unabashedly.

She slides under the car and unhooks the filter. You crouch down to get a better view of her.

"Now what?"

"Changing the filter", she replies. Fuel dribbles down her forearms and she wipes it off with a rag. "You can thank me later, by the way."

"Will totally do."

She replaces the filter, tightens the clamp, then gives the undercarriage an encouraging tap before rolling back out. You're sitting on the floor cross-legged, shooting her a teasing smile when she reappears.

"What?", she asks, wiping the fuel off her arms.

"You're so good with your hands."

Natasha rolls her eyes, but kisses your cheek anyway. She changes the serpentine belt as well, then closes the hood and pats it. She nods at the car.

"Go on", she says. "Give her a try."

"'Her'?", you say, sitting down behind the steering wheel.

"Cars are always female."

"You learn something new every day." You put the key in the ignition and turn it.

The car seems to hesitate for a moment. It rumbles, cranks, and you're already about to give up — but then it comes to life, smoother than ever before, and you clap your hands.

Before she can register what's happening, you're out of the car again. You throw your arms around her and jump into her embrace, squeezing a little too hard. You hear a soft grunt from her.

"Hey", she laughs, "I'm covered in grease."

"Don't care." You pull away just enough to reach her lips. They're plush and warm against yours. "You're a genius!"

"I do what I can", she mumbles, a little too rosy cheeked and happy, and kisses you again. Walks you backwards until you're sitting on the hood of the car, slowly leaning forward so your back is flush with the cold, hard material. "What now? No more deliveries? I'm officially useless?"

"No", you whisper, tugging her closer by her pants' belt loops. "I'll find a way to keep you entertained."

Metal creaks beneath you. Sunlight seeps into the space. The shed's doors are still open. The air smells like grass, fuel and Natasha's cologne.

Her hands palm your sides, push the shirt you're wearing a little higher. Fingertips trail over smooth, soft skin. Her nose nuzzles your jaw, then you feel wet, hot kisses along your neck.

You wrap your legs around her waist.

"Think DaVinci can handle this?", she murmurs, one hand sliding around to the small of your back.

You pretend to think about it — and then pull her back in.

. . .

You're both on the rug in the living room, a paint-stained blanket draped over her lower half. She's on her stomach, arms crossed underneath her head and her eyes staring at nothing in particular. You're straddling her butt, a paintbrush in your hand.

You've had all kinds of canvases so far. Linen, cotton, in rolls or on panels. Small ones and bigger ones, raw or primed. Yet, none of them come close to the one you're sitting on right now.

Neither of you really talked about this. After sleeping together on the floor, though, surrounded by art supplies and sketches, Natasha’d rolled onto her stomach. You’d seen the smudges of paint on her shoulder. You’d brushed her hair aside and kissed her neck.

"You ticklish?", you’d whispered.

She'd shaken her head 'no'.

It may have been a lie. You can see her twitch ever so slightly whenever the bristles brush against the more sensitive areas of her skin. You put your hand on her shoulder and push her back down when she tries to shift.

"Not yet", you insist, trying to finish the painting of the two little bats.

"Whatever", she mutters. You smile and add tiny teeth to the creatures' mouths.

"It's cute."

"I look ridiculous."

"What?" You huff, getting off her and scooting away on your knees. You grab a different color and return. "Bullshit. You look adorable. Such a shame I'm not a tattoo artist."

She turns her head enough to look at you. Red strands fall in front of her eyes and you reach out to tuck them behind her ear. Your fingertips, stained in black and red, leave specks of paint behind.

"I truly hope you aren't being serious."

"Maybe, maybe not." You grin and wave your hand at her. "Come on, put your head back down. I'm not done with you."

"Oh, for fuck's sake", she mutters, but does as told.

Index finger dipped into black paint, you write the word mine on her lower back.

Natasha tenses, but only briefly. Her fingers curl into the rug underneath her. She exhales, her face buried against her arms again. She's enjoying this a little too much. Not just the feeling of your weight on her body, of cold paint on skin, but everything else as well.

It's been months. You still haven't given up your little routine of ordering stuff and then making her stay the night.

"I felt that", she mumbles, voice muffled.

"What?", you ask innocently. You decide to add a few hearts.

"What you wrote." She hesitates. "You mean it?"

You add another heart. You smile at your own creation, then peek at her face. You can't see her, so you tickle the back of her neck. All it leads to is a small huff, though.

"Is it important?"

"It's not not important."

"So it is."

"Y/N."

"I mean it."

Finally, she looks up. Her eyes search your face.

You haven't defined your relationship. You're staking your claim on her, anyway.

"I mean it", you repeat, seeing the incredulous look on her face. "I wouldn't have spent hundreds of dollars on deliveries if it didn't mean getting to see you."

"Yeah", she murmurs.

"I don't need the deliveries." You let out a slow breath. "I just need you."

The tips of her ears burn red. She shifts, swallows, like she wants to say something but doesn't know how. You nudge her side with your knee.

"Too much, too soon?"

"No." She laughs, dropping her face back onto her arms. "Keep going."

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #fanfic #marvel #x reader #marvel mcu #wlw #lesbian #fluff #smut #moon’s fics

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hexhomos · 3 days ago

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I think we should make a link or post with all the old vikjayce art and fics that people have found cause people are back to claiming it's a new ship and that vi and jayce was the main ship

@vikjaycecodex exists for a reason. people will always act stupid but jayce/vi was hetcrack and they were depicted as piltover friends far more often than they were seriously shipped: Vi, at time of launch, came with a shitton of exclusive special interactions and game stats just for Caitlyn - at a time where League basically didn't have any of those for majority of the roster. here's a 11yrs video reporting them. Caitvi was by faaaaaar the main Vi ship, vi/jayce was either ppl being extremely heterobasic or purposefully homophobic lol.

Vikjayce has also been here since 2012! It just happens that old fic/art hubs went through censorship wipeouts and not all of them survived, though its frankly not hard to find:

@vikjaycecodex has also archived some almost-nuked yaois from around 2014 or earlier, even BEFORE jayvik got the old college roommates update:

VIkjayce and Caitvi are old as balls. the rest is lies & cope

#hexposts #meta tag #jayvik #vikjayce #viktor league of legends #jayce league of legends #jayce lol #viktor lol #arcane #league of legends #caitvi

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urcoolgf · 2 days ago

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miss possessive

pairing : bf!rafe x reader

content : fluff , drinking(ig?) , violence(if you squint)

summary : rafe’s getting some unwanted attention at a bar, so his girlfriend has to step in (obviously inspired by miss possessive by tate mcrae)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

the music was loud, bodies everywhere, lights flashing, but all you could focus on was the girl eyeing your boyfriend. you figured it would be fun for you and rafe to have a night out. he’d been under a lot of stress lately, and you wanted to give him a chance to forget about it all. although, the only thing you were about to forget were your manners if this bitch got any closer to your man.

you had just quickly gone to the bathroom to fix yourself, only to come back out to some blonde trying to hang off your boyfriend’s shoulder. rafe seemed clearly uninterested, shrugging her hands off of him without even touching her, an agitated look on his face as he scanned the crowd for you. her eyes, on the other hand, were scanning him. up and down his body, shifting to his hands, then back to his face– basically having a staring competition with his lips.

he didn’t even acknowledge her, still trying to shrug her off of him until his eyes finally met yours. his body seemed to relax ever so slightly, and a look of relief washed over his face. he mouthed “help me” to you with wide eyes.

you looked toward the ground, shaking your head and laughing as you walked towards him. the audacity. you had only been gone a few minutes, meaning this girl had to have been plotting before you left. you finally navigated through the crowd, rafe’s smile now evident as you clasped onto his bicep.

“hey, girl! something i can help you with?,” you asked with a fake smile. you didn’t care if she knew it was fake, she was flirting with your man.

“i’m kinda busy here… can’t you tell?,” she retorted, brushing her hand against rafe’s shoulder which he quickly jerked away from her.

“busy with my man? yeah, i can see that,” you replied, still smiling, still clinging to him. your nails were basically digging into his bicep. did it hurt? a little. did rafe care? not one bit.

“your man? news to me…,” she sighed dramatically as if you were ‘too late’ to snatch him up, “that’s odd, because he was just about to take me home, weren’t you, pretty boy?,”

“no. i wasn’t. don’t call me that,” rafe’s demeanor was serious, and his brows furrowed out of frustration. her voice annoyed him, and hearing any other girl call him that made his stomach churn. this is what he got for being good looking you thought.

“aw c’mon, pretty boy, be nice to the girl, yeah?,” you responded, looking up at himself, sarcasm dripping from your tongue. rafe just gave you a puzzled look– he didn’t know what you were doing, but he didn’t dare question you.

"listen here, pretty girl. i suggest you get your hands off my boyfriend before i make you take them off," you turned to her, making direct eye contact as your eyes narrowed.

"oh, you're gonna make me?," she let out a breathy laugh, looking around as if she was ready to throw hands in this very bar– how classy, you thought.

"no, seriously. get your hands. off my man," you said, finally releasing your hold on rafe, and moving to stand right in front of her, "look, i get it… i mean he's rafe cameron. you wanna say you fucked rafe cameron, yeah?," you continued, "but, take the hint sweetheart, the only one he's fucking tonight… is me." rafe just stood there, watching the interaction go down. you were now in front of him– separating him from the girl– and he had to admit it was sexy as hell.

"because there's only two ways you're getting fucked tonight– either you take home the next man who walks in, or i fuck you up," you finished, grabbing rafe, and walking away.

"psycho bitch! you think you could do shit to me?! i'd kick your ass, you entitled brat!," she exclaimed across the bar, making some people near her freeze.

"oh, this bitch needs to be put down," you said quietly, letting go of rafe's hand, walking back to the girl. the next thing rafe sees is you dragging the girl out of the bar by her hair.

"you clearly haven't seen the 1am side of me… i'm two drinks in, and you just can't leave me and my man alone. you're in for a treat," you whispered into her ear as you yanked her to keep up with you. eventually, you made it to the sidewalk outside of the bar.

rafe followed you out of the bar. he waited by the door, sipping his drink, just enjoying the show. most guys would be concerned, but you knew how to handle yourself, and rafe was never one to stop you. plus, it wasn't really his place– acting like he didn't do the same thing to any man who dared breathe near you.

"you wanted to start a bar fight? how classy," sarcasm cutting through the night air, "didn't your mother ever teach you to always take that shit outside?," you laughed, finally releasing your hold on her hair.

"you're fucking insane!," she screamed, now holding the spot on her head you dragged her by.

"what happened, pretty girl? thought you were gonna 'kick my ass'?," every sentence you spoke at this point was accompanied by a laugh– what could you say? you were amused. you could hear rafe chuckling softly, clearly just as amused as you.

"this is assault! i'm going to the cops, you crazy bitch!," she said before storming off.

"good luck, sweetheart! safe travels!," you yelled after her, laughing as you walked back over to rafe who just put his arm around you, guiding you back into the bar.

"so much for a relaxing night," he said once you got back to the counter, ordering another drink.

"i dunno… i certainly had fun," you looked at him with a sinister smile on your face.

you were fucking insane about him… and he loved it.

little did you know, later that night rafe would have a similar altercation with some guy who tried to take a picture of your ass when you weren't looking…

this one did end in a hospital call though– and not for rafe.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

#urcoolgf #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader

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weaselle · 2 days ago

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i had an experience that really opened my eyes about how this works irl too.

My partner and i moved to a fairly big city, lots of very tall buildings and a subway kind of city. After we'd been there a while, our perception of the city was very negative, we never wanted to leave the apartment, because being in public was a bad experience.

See the thing is, when you are walking around the city minding your own business... well balanced, nice people? don't interact with you much. They mind their own business too. So all of the interactions you have are with people who are either unbalanced or not nice. Or both. That becomes like 90% of your public interactions in the city.

Then we got a puppy.

suddenly all kinds of well-balanced nice people were asking us about our puppy, asking if they could pet our puppy, telling us about their own dogs, etc. Once while walking to the grocery store we stopped on a busy corner to let someone pet Badger while telling us about their own puppy, and then someone else wanted to pet Badger and take a picture, and then after a few more people i looked up and there was a literal queue of people waiting their turn to say hi to Badger like he was a princess at Disneyland. We were there 30 minutes. Badger loved every second of it and it was great socialization and some nice conversations, so we didn't mind. And most of the time it was just individual people at several points each time we took him anywhere.

It changed our entire perception of living in the city.

Because we were still having our same ~7 negative interactions every time we were out and about, but now we were also having like 20 really positive interactions with polite considerate people on top of that.

So instead of 90% of our public interactions being negative, suddenly like 75% of our public interactions were quite nice actually.

It made a HUGE difference in our experience of the city, and a pretty decent impact on our general mental health.

The internet is basically made out of cats and dogs already, so idk what the equivalent of getting an online puppy would even be, but please know that the reason so many interactions are bad is because pleasant well-adjusted people (especially in a situation that feels crowded at all) they tend to stay in their lane and keep to themselves and mind their own business and not take up any more of your space than they have to, and try not to demand your valuable time or attention.

So what you mostly have experience with are the people who are not well-adjusted or nice.

but more people are actually nice than not. That's the very reason they're minding their own business and aren't noticeable.

there was a great study a few years that went into the whole "ppl online are bigger jerks than irl cuz theres a virtual wall and no repercussions" and the researchers were expecting to see that be the case but it turns out that people who were really angry or argumentative online were also found to just be assholes in person and people who were pretty patient and nice online were found to be patient and nice in real person as well

and it just debunked that whole cynical idea that people will naturally be mean if theres no punishment for it

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ramp-it-up · 1 day ago

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Ties That Bind

Peach VII | Next Part

Summary: Steve and Peach have thier first fight as newlyweds.

Pairing: Art Dealer (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Dancer!Reader (Peach)

A/N: Not sure If I am correct about any element of shibari, but I tried. Really nervous. This fic is a Peach Fic and is connected to the Bucky Barnes Knock You Down AU, and comes after the events in Peach VII. Interaction is life! Let me know if you like it by commenting and reblogging.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Subari (I tried ) Peach Peaching, Steve is angry and scared, first fight. Allusions to violence, talk of pregnancy, mistaken identity, veiled threats. Trust is a major theme. Rope play, dominance, submission, oral, (f and m receiving), nipple play, spit play, ass play, reference to anal, rough, raw p in v, sensory overload, breeding kink, 'lil bit of knife play, aftercare.

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

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

--------

You woke up before dawn, Steve’s arm draped over your waist and pulling you to him, his warmth wrapping around you and forming a secure cocoon.

You smiled as you gazed at his sleeping face, lightly brushing back the dark blond hair that had fallen over his face.

You were still tripping over the fact that you were Mrs. Steve Rogers.

He made you very happy.

These past few weeks were a wonderful whirlwind of love and affection. Steve was consistently attentive to you and gave you anything you wanted.

And he was square with you about the realities of his life.

He, Bucky, Nat and Sam had made a lot of money, not only for themselves, but for the people they’d done business with. And some people were angry that it was over.

You heard that, but you didn’t listen.

And you’d left lots of loose ends in Atlanta.

There was Peach Preserves, your dance studio, and your students to think about. This was the preparation week for classes to begin again after the holidays, and you weren’t there to do your work.

Dance was your first love, and you didn’t want to give that up. Steve didn’t want you to either, he just wanted you to hire help and work out a schedule where you could have time together as a couple.

And then there was the question of where you would live, Atlanta or New York.

You were antsy to get back to Atlanta, but Steve wanted you to wait a couple of days longer to go down.

He’d distracted you the night before with some stunning cunnilingus, and a thorough rough fucking that you could still feel as you shifted in the bed.

You bit your lip and smiled wider.

Being Mrs. Rogers had its benefits: Steve’s thick, stiff cock was top three. And it was always ready for you. That helped because you always wanted it. But he couldn’t distract you with that for long.

You were bound and determined that you were grown and that you could handle going to Atlanta by yourself. After all, it had been your city for almost 10 years before he came along.

It would be fine. And today was the day.

Before you escaped the bed, you let yourself revel in the warmth of Steve’s arms, daydreaming about letting him wake up, pull you close, press a kiss to your shoulder, and convince you, yet again, that waiting a little longer wouldn’t hurt.

It would be easy to just go with his flow. But you were you. You loved doing things the hard way.

You slipped from under his arm, moving slowly and carefully, barely breathing. Steve stirred but didn't wake.

Breathing a small sigh of relief, you dressed quickly. Your bag was already packed, tucked behind the closet door. You grabbed it, hesitating for only a second before leaving a note on the nightstand.

I’ll call you when I land. Love you.-- Your Peach

The rideshare to the airport was quiet, but your thoughts weren’t. You knew Steve would be upset when he woke up.

----

Steve reached out, fingers brushing the cool sheets where you should have been. His chest tightened before he even opened his eyes. He knew something was off.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat, scanning the room. Maybe you were making breakfast, or in the dance studio, but before he could go see if you were there, his eyes settled on the nightstand, and there it was.

A small piece of folded paper.

His heart thudded as he picked it up, unfolding it with fingers that suddenly felt too stiff as he read it.

Steve exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. Atlanta. You went. Even after everything you talked about, after he told you to wait, after he swore he’d go with you.

A slow burn of frustration and worry curled in his stomach. That feeling was rare before he met you. But then again, all feelings were rare before he met you.

Steve shook his head.

You thought you’d be fine. Of course, you did. That was just who you were, stubborn, independent. And that was why he loved you. But you didn’t know the danger, not like he did.

His jaw clenched as he reached for his phone. His fingers flew over his phone’s keyboard, and he took deep breaths to calm down. Then he went to his closet.

He needed to get to Atlanta.

-----

The second your plane landed in Atlanta, and you turned off airplane mode, your phone buzzed.

You really think you can just run off like that?

The message was from hours ago, when you were in the air. You exhaled slowly, gripping your phone as you replied.

I had to.

Almost immediately, three dots appeared. Stopped. And then appeared again.

You should’ve waited for me, Peach.

You closed your eyes. You could hear his voice in the words, low and growly. You loved him, but you weren’t quite willing to give up all of your spirit and independence.

The studio needs me.

A full minute passed. You didn’t move, despite others around you getting ready to deboard the plane.

I know that. But I need you to trust me. I need to be able to trust you. I need you to be with me, present in this marriage. Need you to be safe.

Shit, Peach, I just need you.

Your stomach was in knots. You didn’t have an answer to that. So you just said the only thing you could.

I love you.

The dots again

Love you, too. But this discussion isn’t over.

Your heart started beating fast because you knew that he was coming for you. You knew he would never, ever hurt you, but you were filled with anxiety for what was going to happen when you saw him again.

You locked your phone and got ready to walk off the plane, your heart pounding.

—--

The sun was setting by the time you pulled up to your townhouse, exhaustion weighing heavy in your bones. The day was long, checking in on your students, arranging for instructors and making sure the studio could run with you there day to day for a while.

You should have felt relieved.

Instead, all you felt was restless. You missed your husband. Steve hadn’t texted again since you landed this morning.

You stepped onto the porch of your place, fishing your keys from your bag, when the hairs on the back of your neck rose.

That familiar tingle was there, the extra sense that alerted you to danger back when late nights at Regine meant dealing with more than just drunk men and bad tips.

Someone was watching you.

“Well, well, well.”

You froze, fingers tightening around your keys. You knew that voice.

You turned around slowly to find Sully leaning against his car at the curb, arms crossed and a smirk twisting his mouth.

He looked the same as he did the last time you saw him, right before Steve forced him out of Regine. But there was something different in his eyes now.

Your stomach flipped, but you kept your face neutral.

“Sully.”

He pushed off the car, walking toward you with slow, deliberate steps.

“Heard you and Grant, or should I say Steve, took a little honeymoon.”

His eyes dropped to your stomach, then back up to your face.

“Didn’t take long for him to knock you up, huh?”

You didn't flinch or react at all, although you were confused.

“Now that you know who he is, you can probably guess that Steve wouldn’t take kindly to people showing up at his wife’s place uninvited.”

You hoped that Steve was really coming.

Sully laughed, a hollow sound.

“Is that so?”

He tilted his head, watching you like he was trying to figure out how much of a fight you’d put up. He should’ve known from seeing you scrap a couple of times at the club.

“See, I think Steve’s real good at running his mouth. All talk and no action. He let you come back here. Alone.”

You wanted to laugh out loud. Let this asshole fuck around and find out with Steve Rogers.

“What do you want, Sully?”

You kept your voice calm and controlled.

His smile faded.

“I want what I’m owed.”

You rolled your eyes.

“What are you even talking about, Sully?”

He stepped closer to you, and you didn't back away.

“You and that attitude, Peach. ‘S gonna get you hurt one day. I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. Your husband put me out on my ass, and now, I’m gonna return the favor.”

His lips curled as his eyes swept down your body again.

“And since you’re carrying the next little Rogers/Barnes/Romanoff/Wilson prince or whatever, that makes you real valuable.”

Your blood ran cold. That’s what this was. Sully thought you were pregnant. He had you confused with your cousin. He thought you were pregnant and that was why you and Steve eloped.

Idiot.

You weren’t about to set him straight and put your family in danger. Your fingers tightened around your phone, and you forced yourself to breathe evenly.

“Sully, you’re making a mistake. Whatever you think you’re doing? It’s not worth what Steve will do to you.”

He stared at you menacingly for a long moment, like he was waiting for you to break. But he was going to have to wait a long time for that. You held his gaze.

Steadily.

Then, slowly, he smirked.

“We’ll see about that.”

He turned and walked back to his car. You didn’t move until the taillights disappeared down the street. Then, with shaking hands, you pulled out your phone and typed.

Sully was here.

The read receipt popped up immediately. Steve always had them on for you.

Stay inside. Lock the doors. I’m almost there.

—-

The traffic around him inched forward at a crawl, horns blaring. Steve swore under his breath, his pulse hammering. He needed to move. Needed to get to you. But he was trapped, locked in place.

You were okay, you’d just texted him, but he was beyond frustrated. He slammed his palm against the steering wheel, frustration boiling over. Every second wasted in this damn traffic was another second Sully could come back.

His mind raced through every possibility. He should’ve been there. Should’ve made you wait.

He should have tied you to the bed.

A gap opened up in traffic. Steve hit the gas, weaving between cars, eyes locked on the road ahead. He was coming. And if Sully was still anywhere near you…

-----

Ten minutes later, the knock at the door was heavy and deliberate. You don’t even have to check, you knew it was your husband.

Still, you hesitated, but not really out of fear. It was more like anticipation. You exhaled, steadying yourself, and unlocked the door.

Steve was standing there, his broad shoulders tight, and his jaw set like he’d been grinding his teeth the entire time you’d been apart. There was a backpack slung over one arm and his eyes flicked over you, scanning, searching to make sure you were okay.

The second he saw that you were fine, something else surfaced in his gaze.

----

The door opened and relief hit him first, because you were there, standing right in front of him, whole and unharmed. But the relief crashed straight into the anger, the frustration, and the fear that had been eating at him the whole morning.

He was still struggling under the weight of every worst-case scenario still running through his brain.

Still, despite everything, when Steve’s eyes locked onto yours, he couldn’t deny that he was a simp because all he wanted to do was to take you in his arms. But something had to change.

Because at the end of the day, you’re his.

You were standing in front of him, looking at him like you knew exactly what he was feeling. And that was the only thing keeping him from going nuclear.

----

You knew Steve was angry.

And it made you weak, wanting to supplicate for him and beg for forgiveness around his cock. But of course you resisted that urge and chucked your chin higher.

Steve never felt so angry and so grateful at the same time. But then he saw the glint in your eye and shook his head, almost wanting to laugh.

This is what it was going to be like married to someone as stubborn as he was.

He stepped inside without a word, closing the door behind him. The space between you crackled like a live wire.

“Tell me what the fuck happened.”

You crossed your arms and cocked your hip meeting his stare head-on. Steve was angry and hard, ready to fuck you into submission.

But first he needed answers. You told him what happened, including the most important part.

“Sully thinks I’m pregnant.”

Steve’s entire body went rigid. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and for a second, he didn't say anything.

Sully was threatening his family?

For half a second, the blood rushed in his ears as the adrenaline flooded his senses, and he had the urge to tear something apart. He had to consciously slow his breathing to keep from running out of the door after Sully.

“He what?”

“He thinks that’s why we eloped,” you said, keeping your voice steady.

Steve turned away for a second, dragging a hand down his face like he was trying to keep himself from exploding. It didn’t work.

“He came here,” he turned back to you, eyes flashing, voice barely controlled.

“Because he thought you were carrying my kid?”

You nodded.

He stared at you before stepping closer. You were looking up at him, breathing his air, looking into those l blue eyes, with everything on you that could get erect standing at attention. This was going to be your first fight.

And what a fight it was.

“And you didn’t think to tell me the second it happened?”

“I did–”

“Not after, Peach," he interrupted.

“Not when he was already gone. When he was here. When you were standing face-to-face with the sonofabitch who threatened what was mine?”

“Steve, I handled it.”

“Oh. You handled it.”

His hands raised to the sky and then raked through his hair, wild with frustration.

“You think telling a man like Sully to fuck off is handling it?”

“I think if I’d called you while he was still here, you’d be dealing with a murder charge right now,” you snapped back.

Steve stared you down and you didn’t break eye contact. Neither did he. The air between you was thick, buzzing, and charged with frustration. You longed to put your arms around his neck and turn back time to the chalet.

But the honeymoon was over.

Finally Steve took a slow breath.

“Sully needs to understand that he doesn’t threaten my family. Or his threat needs to be eliminated.”

Steve pulled out his phone without another word, already dialing. He paced the living room as it rang, muscles still wound tight. You watched him, fighting the urge to touch him.

His eyes were on you the entire time.

“You should’ve waited for me,” he said suddenly, voice quieter, but still railing, his anger simmering all over him.

You exhaled, leaning against the table.

“I know.”

He shook his head, not looking at you. His free hand gripped the back of his neck like he was trying to keep himself grounded. The call connected.

“Buck,” he said, his voice deadly calm.

“We’ve got a problem.”

—--

Steve hung up the call with Bucky, his grip on the phone so tight you half expected it to snap in his hand. His jaw was clenched, his breathing measured, like he was barely keeping himself in check.

“What did he say?” you asked carefully.

“He’s on his way to get her now. Said he’d call me once they’re somewhere safe.”

Steve finally looked at you, and the intensity in his eyes made your stomach flip.

“I should’ve been here.”

You crossed your arms, lifting your chin.

“And what? Sully shows up, you do whatever mafia thing you do, or worse, he does something to you and now we’ve got a problem and if you get killed or go to jail now, Steve Rogers, I will murder you.”

Steve moved closer to you, the space between you shrinking.

“The problem is that you were alone. I wasn’t here to protect you. That is my one job in this life.”

You cocked your head and smiled at him, your heart wrenching.

“Baby. That is not your one job in life. You do lots of good work in the art world, with Rebirth…I can take care of myself, Steve.”

His jaw ticked.

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?” You held your ground. “Because as far as I can tell, I handled it.”

Suddenly, Steve moved, and although you expected him to come for you, he stepped past you, toward the door, his voice low and sharp.

“I’m going to find him.”

Your reaction was immediate.

“Steve, don’t!”

He stopped at the door, his hand on the knob, thinking about tracking Sully down, and putting an end to this permanently.

“He came to this house. He threatened you. That is never going to happen again, Peach.

Steve's anger was controlled. Focused.

You stepped closer, and he could sense your strength, the kind of strength that always had the power to stop him in his tracks.

“Steve, I get it. I do. But you just got out of the life. You wanted out.”

He turned his head slightly, jaw tight.

“I did. Because of you.”

The weight of that settled between you.

Steve could feel the pull, the fine line between who he was now and who he used to be. The life he swore he left behind was still there, still waiting for him to step back into it.

“Steve, Sully wants you to go back to that. You gonna let him win?”

Your fingers curled lightly around his wrist, grounding him, but he didn’t move for a moment. Then, his fingers relaxed on the doorknob. The storm inside him didn’t disappear; it shifted.

His priorities realigned. He chose you over his rage. Always.

You two needed to work this out. Immediately.

You let out a breath, but you both knew this wasn’t over. He took your hand, rubbing his thumb over your skin, watching the way your eyes flickered with wariness.

“Come with me. I’ve got something to show you.”

—-

Steve led you to the bedroom with slow, deliberate steps, picking up his backpack along the way. His grip on your hand was firm, to keep you close.

When the door shut behind you, he turned, those clear blue eyes searching yours, a mixture of anger and something deeper. You were so damn nervous.

Who was this man before you with this dangerous look on his face that was pointed at you?

“You don’t listen, Peach." Steve was willing you to understand. “You think you have to handle everything alone.”

You lifted your chin, defiant as ever.

“I can handle myself.”

Steve let out a slow breath, a smile tugging at the corner of hisn mouth. He stepped closer, his thumb brushing your lips.

“I know very well that you can,” he admitted. “But, baby, you don’t have to. Not with me.”

Your breath caught, as his hand slid to your neck, fingers threading through to your nape as he tilted your head back, forcing you to hold his gaze.

“I love you,” he said, and it made your stomach flutter. “And I won’t ever stand by while you put yourself at risk.”

The look in his eyes was molten blue.

“If Sully hadn’t left,” Steve continued, his voice rough with emotion, “if he’d put his hands on you… what would you have done?”

You swallowed hard.

“I would’ve taken care of it,” you whispered.

Steve hummed, like he wasn’t quite convinced.

“You’re not invincible, Peach,” his voice was softer now. “And you don’t get to decide when I protect what’s mine.”

The way he said 'mine' sent heat curling low in your stomach and moisture pooling between your thighs. His lips brushed your forehead, lingering there, and your chest tightened at the sheer devotion in the act.

Then he turned, reaching for the bag. When he faced you again, a length of smooth, ivory rope was coiled in his hands. Your stomach flipped and your heart started racing.

“Do you think you can just do whatever you want?”

You held your breath as he uncoiled the rope, and you watched his fingers working it with practiced ease.

“Steve,” you whispered. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

His jaw flexed. His fingers paused on the rope. And then, slowly, he lifted his eyes to yours.

“Yes, I want you to trust me.”

You blinked up at him.

“I do trust you.”

Steve almost believed you as he looked down into your beautiful eyes. But then he shook his head.

“You didn’t this morning,” he said quietly. “You left without telling me. I need you to prove that you trust me to take care of you.”

“What do you mean?”

Steve stepped closer, jaw set.

“You’re scaring me,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

You searched his face for meaning and he gave you nothing. Butterflies rioted in your stomach as he moved behind you and his lips touched the edge of your ear.

“Good. You’ll cum harder that way.”

You gasped as your cunt clenched. You couldn’t have heard him correctly.

“I’ll what?”

“I need to remind you what it feels like to let someone else be in control.”

He slid his hand up your arm and turned your head so you could look at him.

“You gonna let me?”

It wasn’t really a question. But he waited for your answer anyway, his gaze steady.

Slowly, you nodded. Steve smiled.

“Good girl.”

You had visions of him inside you right at that very moment, but he interrupted your thoughts.

"Take off your clothes."

The command was quiet, but it left no room for defiance. You complied, the air cool against your skin as you got naked for him, excitement building inside you from the way he watched you.

“You put yourself in danger,” Steve continued, his voice thick with emotion. “And you expect me to just let that slide?”

His stepped behind you and his hands moved over your arms, holding you close against his rock hard body.

“You are my world, Peach.”

He whispered it into your ear and you shuddered.

“Steve…”

“You were reckless with your safety,” he interrupted as his fingers worked the first knot, wrapping the rope around your wrists, securing them just enough for you to feel it, but not to hurt.

Steve worked quickly but precisely, bathing you in tenderness, preparing each area with soft kisses before his ropes made the next pass.

He bound your wrists behind your back, the smooth fibers digging in just enough to make you feel helpless under his control. He moved swiftly, looping the rope around your torso, cinching it tight across your chest, down your waist, framing your curves in a way that made you lose your breath.

You were surprised at how much this turned you on.

“What is this, Steve?” you breathed.

He leaned in, brushing his lips over your temple.

“I'm teaching you how to let go, my love.”

His hands continued their work as he held your gaze, and strangely as he tied your body together, it didn’t feel like a punishment.

It felt like a lesson in trust. And surrender.

Steve stepped back, taking in the sight of you. His eyes darkened with awe.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, almost to himself.

Your cheeks burned. Your heart pounded. You never felt more vulnerable. Or more seen.

Loved.

He reached out, tilting your chin up with gentle fingers.

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?”

You swallowed hard and nodded and his thumb brushed over your lips.

“Good. Now relax, Baby. I’ve got you.”

You exhaled shakily, easing into the bindings. You felt better now. Safer, somehow.

Steve watched you, his gaze lingering on the way your body softened. His hands slid over the rope, testing its hold and making sure it wasn’t too tight on your satiny skin.

“Kneel for me, Peach.”

The deep baritone of his voice made your pussy clench, but you obeyed, sinking gracefully to the floor. Your breath caught as your knees hit the soft carpet, the vulnerability of the position sinking in.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

You did, and the sheer adoration in his expression made your chest tighten. His fingers skimmed over your bound body, teasing you, sending shivers racing across your body.

“Remember Peach, I’m doing this because I need you to know that you don’t always have to be the strong one.”

His hands moved over your back, tracing the rope, grounding you.

“You’re gonna feel everything I do, and you’re not gonna fight it.”

His eyes locked onto yours and you held his stare.

"...Okay"

Steve chuckled at your spirit. He loved the fuck out of you, but you needed this lesson.

“Good girl.”

Your eyes closed at the praise and he stepped back, his fingers once again skimming over your restrained skin.

“You’re trembling,” he observed, voice tinged with amusement. “Are you nervous?”

You swallowed. “A little.”

“Don’t be.”

He down beside you and leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder, then to the curve of your jaw.

“Steve…,” you whimpered.

“You trust me, right?”

His lips were against yours now.

You exhaled a shaky, “Yes" into his mouth.

“Then let me take care of you.”

He pulled away and his eyes held yours for a long beat, making sure you understood. His hands moved around your rope-bound ass grazing the ropes framing your thighs, the ones holding your pussy lips apart.

You gasped as his fingers brushed against your aching heat.

“You're dripping for me already, Peach. Do you like being tied up?”

You were delirious with anticipation. But you didn’t know how to feel.

“No!.. Yes… I don’t know.”

He got down on his knees behind you as you tested the binds instinctively, your wrists straining just enough to remind you of your helplessness. The pressure was intoxicatingly restrictive and unrelenting.

You didn’t know that you craved this.

A warm hand slid over your stomach, fingers grazing the rope cinched tight around your waist. He pressed in, letting you feel the heat of his palm against your skin and the graze of his fingertips against your clit. Not to mention his hard cock pressed into your spine.

You bit back a moan as he continued, his touch slow and purposeful. Steve’s hand slid to your throat, his grip firm, but not choking.

"You are my wife," he said, enunciating each word with quiet intensity. I am responsible for your safety… and when you forget that?"

His grip tightened for a fraction of a second before releasing and trailing down your neck.

"I will remind you."

He murmured against your ear, his breath making you wetter. His other hand gripped your chin, forcing you to tilt your head back, exposing your throat to him.

"Do you love me?" he asked.

"Yes," you whispered, the answer spilling from your lips without hesitation.

"Why?"

You’d been broken down to the raw truth.

“I don’t know. So many reasons.”

You were trying to collect your thoughts which were scattered like leaves in the wind.

"I see you in everything," you whispered.

"In every work of art, in every song that I dance to. I feel you in places I didn’t even know existed."

Steve’s smile was angelic.

"Do you remember when I first saw you?"

His teeth scraped the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw, a nip that made you suck in a breath and shudder. His lips curved into a wicked smirk against your skin.

You exhaled as your pulse quickened. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t escape the press of his body behind you and the overwhelming heat of him surrounding you just like the ropes.

"On stage at Regine’s?" you guessed, breath hitching.

"No," he said, voice rich with memory.

"You were walking into the club, lost in your own world, bopping along to your music, completely unaware of me. You were gorgeous. Sexy. Free."

His hands traced the rope securing your thighs apart, squeezing just enough to make you whimper.

"I had to know who you were. I had to get you to notice me. And when you did?"

He exhaled, like the memory itself was intoxicating.

"I felt like the luckiest man on earth, Peach."

Your body sagged into his, relaxing even more, drawn in by the absolute possession in his voice.

"I can’t tell you how many times I’ve envisioned you like this," he murmured.

"What?" Your voice was barely a breath. "Bound and helpless?"

Steve chuckled, the sound rich and sinful.

"Sweetheart, you are far from helpless."

You closed your eyes as his fingers traced slow circles over your inner thighs, where the rope dug into your skin.

"And you shouldn't be in any pain."

His lips brushed your ear, his voice dipping lower, a promise wrapped in silk and steel.

"I think you're going to enjoy the hell out of this."

He guided you down, so that your cheek was on the carpet, eyes searching for his as he ran his hands over you again. The ropes made every sensation more intense, and you couldn't help the sounds coming from your mouth.

You felt his breath on your ass before you felt his tongue strike out to lick a stripe up the center of you as your body arched. You needed more.

A finger worked inside you, then two, scissoring and curling with a sinful knowledge of your body. Steve worked you over with his hand as his mouth played with your emotions. You were so close to release because every thought was centered in that direction.

But then his fingers withdrew and his warm mouth left your pussy.

You moaned in protest as he pulled you up by the ropes and moved in front of you, unzipping his pants.

Every sense was magnified and the sound of his zipper sent waves of your slick sliding down your thighs and blood racing to your nipples. You were oh so hard and wet.

His hard cock was ready and silky smooth, rolling over your lips as his musky scent surrounded you. It only made you want him more as you opened your mouth wider to taste him on your tongue.

Steve hissed, groaning as you took him deep in your throat.

"So good, Peach..."

He rocked into your throat, careful to let you breath as you concentrated to focus on this one thing. You were moaning around him, the pleasure that you were giving him close to getting you off as well.

He stopped pulled off the rest of his clothes, depriving himself at that moment. Again, he lifted you by the ropes onto the bed and handled your ass again, spread open by his handiwork.

"Remember when you trusted me to fuck you here?"

Steve spit on your asshole and rubbed his finger there as you writhed in your binds.

"Ughhhhh! Steveeeee."

You could barely form coherent thoughts as you shook beneath him.

Steve rubbed himself up and down the split of you repeatedly while you kept moaning his name. You were both very nearly insane as he let his cock rest at your entrance, pounding on your door to get in.

His fingers grabbed the ropes on your thighs, pulling you sharply onto his cock. And you screamed, cumming almost immediately with his first stroke.

"Holy fuck, Peach!"

Steve felt you coming apart around him while held together by the rope and he threw his head back as he set a beautiful pace in and out of you. The sound of skin smacking soundly onto skin lent depth to the pornographic sound of your screams and his groans.

And the ropes on your skin lent an extra dimension of sensation. You were intoxicated with feeling, bound up but feeling so free.

“So tell me, Peach…”

Steve bent over you and his fingers found your nipples and pinched, rolling them hard. It was so much that you nearly came again right then then and there. The next words sent you further into the brink.

“What happens if you get pregnant?”

Steve rolled his hips over and over again into your pulsing, clenching cunt.

"Oh, Steve.. fuck..."

“Who is going to protect you and my child from the likes of scum like–”

“Don’t, fuck, Steve, don’t say his name…”

It would ruin your high, thinking of Sully at the moment.

“Say it, Peach. Who is supposed to do that, Peach? Who’s gonna protect my family?”

Steve said it through clenched teeth, but you knew he wasn't just angry. He was scared.

“Answer me, Peach!”

“You would, I know you would, Steve?”

“Are you sure? You gonna let me? Gonna let me knock you up? You gonna trust me to take care of you?”

His pace was frantic, the vision of you pregnant and safe in his arms propelling him forward into the abyss.

Tears stung your eyes at the thought that he doubted you.

And they fell when you realized that you’d given him reason to.

“I do, I trust you Steve. I promise. I’ll let you take care of us. I swear.”

Steve slammed into you harder, holding you tight with each thrust.

“Is that what you want? Do you really want me to do that?”

You just wanted to soothe the hurt.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” you sobbed.

“I want you. I trust you. I need you. I’m sorry!”

Steve’s thumb found your clit and rubbed your sparking bundle of nerves relentlessly, causing you to strain against the ropes again.

“Oh, Steveeee!”

You shattered into a thousand pieces, only to be held together by the rope Steve wove around you. He pulled out and stoked his cock over you, painting the exposed pieces of you with his cum.

You shook as each hot drop hit your skin, aftershocks rocking you as you found his lust blown eyes.

“F-fffuuuckkkkk!”

Steve was profane as he came all over you, lost to the feeling of your release and his. He reached in his bag again and brought out a knife and started cutting you out of your bindings, kissing and massaging each place on your legs that he cut free.

He licked his cum off of you, paying special attention to your cunt, swiping you with his wide, flat tongue as he soothed your skin with his hands.

When you came again, he moved on, cleaning you up and cutting you loose carefully and tenderly. The disparate sensations of his tongue on your skin, his hands massaging you, and the cold steel of the knife set you alight one more time, and as he sucked his spend off your nipples, you came again, untouched.

It was a perfect, tiny aftershock of pleasure.

—-

You opened your eyes to the harsher light of your bathroom, as Steve was lifting you with him into your garden tub filled with hot water. He cradled you in his embrace.

His hands, the same ones that had restrained you so firmly, now moved with infinite gentleness over your skin in the water, watching you closely for discomfort.

"You okay?"

His voice was low, quiet, and filled with genuine concern. You nodded, your limbs heavy, your body still floating somewhere between exhaustion and satisfaction.

But Steve wasn’t satisfied with a nod. He tilted your face toward him, meeting your sleepy gaze, searching for any sign of discomfort.

"Talk to me, sweetheart," he intoned, thumb stroking over your cheek. "I need to know you're alright."

A small, tired smile tugged at your lips.

"I’m perfect," you whispered, and it was the truth.

The intensity of it all, the way he had pushed you, claimed you, and him caring for you made you realize how safe he made you feel.

And that was the point.

Steve exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath, then pulled you closer, wrapping you in his embrace. The contrast was stark, from restraint to absolute freedom, from domination to protection.

You melted into him, feeling the steady, soothing rhythm of his heartbeat. Suddenly, a bottle of water was produced from the side of the tub and you wondered how long you were out after you came.

“Drink. Let me take care of you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple.

His hands never left you, fingers brushing over you in quiet reassurance as you drank.

"You did so well," he bragged, his voice laced with admiration and pride. "I’m so proud of you.”

You got emotional. You drank half the bottle and put it down, turning in the bath to put your arms around his neck and resting your head on his chest, seeking the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat.

"Stay," you asked, as if it were even a question.

Steve lifted your chin and looked into your eyes.

"Always," he promised.

#steve rogers #peach fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x you #mob boss! steve rogers #chris evans

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ang3ltine · 14 hours ago

Text

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 - Bucky Barnes x Maximoff freader

fluff fic & soft Bucky

a.n - Just a metal armed super soldier falling for a Maximoff. Who also happens to harbour the same feelings but is too afraid to reciprocate. Why? Because she thinks she's a freak. But Bucky convinces you otherwise.

warnings - slight mention of experiments/torture & gets kind of heated at the end but nothing too extreme

It was early morning in the Avengers tower when Steve walked in, bags in hand, and a slightly awkward Bucky trailing behind.

The kitchen counter was filled with piles of pancakes that were meticulously crafted by you.

You were quite proud of your newly found gift of baking sweet treats and wanted to make breakfast for everyone. The sound of compliments filled your ears as they dug in. They hadn't even noticed the pair standing directly behind them, until Steve cleared his throat.

"Guys, you remember Bucky," Steve gestured to the stiff man next to him. Clearly not wanting to be there.

"I know his past is... questionable. But he's not brainwashed by Hydra anymore. So I want you all to be nice and help him fit in."

The room went eerily quiet and you could see everyone's reactions were mixed. You hadn't exactly been attacked by Bucky before so you thought it was only natural for you to step in first.

"So uh Bucky was it? It's nice to finally meet you, I heard great stories about you from Steve."

Bucky was taken aback as you reached out your hand for him to shake. Your smile, no your whole presence, felt warm to him. He feels his tense shoulders relaxing as he shook your hand wordlessly with a small smile.

You introduced yourself then offered him some pancakes, which you had just taken hot off the pan. He happily obliged along with Steve as the three of them sat down to eat.

There wasn't enough space at the table with the others, so you guys opted for the couch. Steve nudged Bucky's shoulder, which made him almost choke as he mentions in a low tone. "She's single, by the way."

Steve could only laugh when he saw how annoyed yet flustered his poor friend looked.

That was 3 months ago.

Bucky was slowly starting to adjust at living with the Avengers and trying his best to make friends. So far he was close with Sam and not so surprisingly, you.

He found out that you were Wanda's sister and that you had been experimented on by Hydra just like your siblings. You had the ability to manipulate any form of light and have electricity that flows through your veins. Making you a living, breathing battery.

Hydra had also used electric shock therapy to 'tweak' your powers, which drained you both emotionally and physically.

Tony and Bruce created a suit and a pair of special gloves to help you control your powers, and with time you eventually didn't need to use them anymore. You still kept the suit though and let Tony make adjustments.

Also, who knew you'd be the perfect defibrillator in case of emergencies? You were the most relied on during missions with high risks. Which everyone was grateful for.

However, you'd constantly have night terrors and a major case of insomnia. Luckily, it's begun to die down over the years. Thanks to your friends and a certain super soldier.

No, not Stever Rogers, although he's helped you in other ways. Like easing yourself around the others when you first joined.

Bucky, of all people had been keeping a close eye on you since your first interaction. At first he would carefully observe you from a distance. But after one night when you were roaming the halls of the tower, you bumped into him.

You suggested having a movie marathon together since he couldn't sleep either. Bucky asked why you couldn't sleep and you trusted him enough to tell him about your past.

From then on, you and Bucky were inseparable. Despite the confused looks from the others, and a few teases from Natasha. You two worked well together during missions so at that point, everyone found the odd relationship to be normal.

You had just finished training and was heading to your room to take a shower. Wanda was by your side since her room is next to yours as you both made your way down the hall.

"Hmm, I can feel your mind reeling you know."

You sighed, ofcourse Wanda was going through your thoughts yet again.

"You think Bucky won't like you back? He's been giving you that love sick look whenever you're not looking. Trust me he definitely likes you."

You wanted to believe your sister, but at the same time you were unsure. Tony sent you on multiple missions with him for a few months now but you still haven't shown Bucky the full extent of your powers.

"I'm scared wanda. Scared that he might think I'm a... freak." Your shoulders slumped as a sad look appeared on your face. "He hasn't seen how I look like when my powers are maxed out."

Wanda knows what you're talking about. Whenever you do use your full power, you start to glow from within. Making your skin look thinned out, and your hair frizz up slightly from the electricity coursing through your body.

She felt hurt knowing her baby sister felt that way about herself.

"Look at me," she stops you in your tracks and places both her hands firmly on your shoulders. "You should be proud of who you are. You're beautiful and extremely powerful, and I know that Bucky will love you regardless of what you are."

Your eyes started to glaze over as Wanda pulls you into a well deserved hug, whispering sweet nothings into your hair.

Speaking of Bucky. Sam was also determined to get his best friend to confess his feelings towards you.

They were in the kitchen preparing dinner since they came back from a mission pretty late.

Bucky already started eating his meal when you walked in. Your hair was slightly damp from the shower you had just taken. Bucky recognised the top that you were wearing and almost choked on his food.

You were wearing his tshirt that he had left behind a few nights ago. He had completely forgotten about it, and to make things worse is that you look absolutely gorgeous with it on. Not to mention, your thighs were exposed since your shorts were hidden underneath the gigantic top.

"Oh uh- hey Bucky....I didnt know you were still awake," blood rushed to your cheeks when you realised Bucky was staring directly at you with wide eyes. You had no idea he'd be here, thinking that everyone else had gone to sleep already.

Bucky cleared his throat and swiped his bowl to the side. His dinner now forgotten about and directed his attention towards you. You felt like a deer caught in headlights, you were planning on giving his shirt back but you kept on delaying up until now.

"Hey uhm...h-hi, doll."

The muscles of your cheeks began to rise as you felt yourself smile at the sweet nickname that he had given you, making you feel all giddy inside. Bucky on the other hand? Felt himself swoon whenever you gave him that smile of yours.

Sam returned from the pantry with a bottle of water in his hand with a shit eating grin on his face. Giving knowing glances between the two of you.

"It's nice to see you too Samuel."

You retorted playfully as you shook your head in amusement. Already knowing that he's going to tease the absolutely living hell out of you.

"How's your day been beautiful?"

Bucky had the sudden the urge to smack that annoying smile off of his friends face. He knows he's just trying to wind him up and it was working.

But he soon settled back down when he noticed your form taking a seat right next to him.

You fought back the urge to smile again when you noticed the tips of Bucky's turning red. He looked like a puppy begging for attention. Nonetheless you turn back to Sam to answer his question.

"My days been eventful, to say the least. I mean Tony's been doing new adjustments to my suit so it could take in more volts of energy-"

Sam nodded and promted you to carry on. You spoke about the drills you had done with wanda.

Bucky had tuned out of the conversation. He rested his head in the palm of his vibranium arm as a lovesick sigh escaped his lips.

He followed the way your mouth moved while you talked and the way your hair would bounce slightly from every gesture you'd make. Seeing the way your eyes would sparkle whenever you'd talk about something you're interested in.

Bucky considered himself lucky to be in your presence and the way the light above them gave you a warm glow. He didn't even notice the conversation dying down as you and Sam turned their heads towards him.

You looked at him with concern while Sam muffled his laugh behind his hand. He saw how smitten his best friend looked which only convinced him more to get you two together.

"Buck sweets, are you ok?" Sam let out a choked laugh at the nickname. You gave him a light glare as he calmed himself down.

Your body was fully facing the now flustered Bucky, he almost flinched out of instinct when your cold hand met his burning cheeks.

"Geez Bucky you're burning up, are you feeling ok?" You started to get worried, thinking maybe he had gotten a fever.

"Mmh I'm feelin' fine though." Bucky murmured as he looked like he was going to collapse right there in your arms. Getting absolutely drunk from the attention you were giving him.

"I'd say otherwise," Sam mumbled to himself in amusement as he excused himself, knowing that he'd teased them enough already and gave them some space.

Bucky saw the way your mouth was still moving but he couldn't focus on the words that you were saying. If this was anyone else, he wouldn't even let them touch him.

But it was you. The woman that had the ability to make his heart hurt from how lovely you were. He'd never felt so much love for someone in a long time and it kind of scares him.

You were still patting his cheek, feeling the slightly rough stuble beneath your skin. You also moved stray hairs out of his face and tucked it behind his ears. He wanted to say something but no words came out.

"Maybe we should head to the med bay to get yourself checked out." You were about to get up to leave until you felt a strong grip on your arm as Bucky made you sit back down again.

"Do you not want to go?" You asked in confusion as you tilted your head.

God you were adorable, Bucky thought to himself.

His hands reached up towards your cheeks and gently caressed them with his thumb. He was impossibly close now, his nose practically touching yours. The faint scent of your shampoo and conditioner fills his nostrils.

Your peer into his deep blue eyes, his pupils were dilated but oh so full of love.

You're not sure what to do as your breath hitches in your throat.

Bucky brushes his lips against yours, testing the waters. Not knowing if you wanted this or not. Without a second thought you pressed your lips fully against his. They molded together perfectly, you don't know why you waited so long to feel this, to feel him.

But a voice at the back of your head made you pull away. Bucky noticed the way your eyes filled with worry, knowing something was bothering you.

"C'mon doll, I'm fine," his words were slurred with a heavy accent. He swipes the bottom of your lip with his thumb. "Don't be like that."

You let out a sigh that you didn't know you was keeping in. "Would you want someone like me? I mean- don't you get freaked out whenever you see me use my powers?"

"Darlin' is that the reason why you're so hesitant?" He saw you fidget uncomfortably under his gaze as he lifts your chin up with his finger so you could look at him again.

"I didn't fall for you because of your powers. I fell for you because you're you. Besides I think you look pretty badass whenever we're assigned on a mission together."

You couldn't help but smile brightly at the compliment, all your worries leaving you in an instant. He took that as a sign to continue his previous act. His metal hand reaching back to apply a gently pressure on the lower part of your back.

The kiss was gentle yet full of desire. Head tilting the side, his hot breath mingling with yours as his tongue dragged gently across your bottom lip. Coaxing you to open your mouth. Your tongue meets his as the hand that was on your cheek slips to the back of your head, his fingers gently played with the hair at your nape.

He coerced you onto his lap, not breaking the kiss while you let out a surprised gasp. He smiled against your lips at your cute reaction as he softly grazes on your bottom lip. His kisses become more heated and full of want as he tilts your head to get better access.

The rest of the world faded around you as you both got lost in time. It was beginning to get hard to breathe as he pulls you against her to deepen the kiss. You felt a butterflies deep in your stomach that you never felt before with anyone.

Bucky could taste the slight hint of strawberry on your tongue from the candy you ate just before taking a shower. This only just fueled him to ravish you even more. He nibbled softly on your bottom lip and tugged on it pulling out a quiet moan from you.

His hands were all over you and he had a hard time keeping himself under control. Giving your hips a gentle squeeze while you sat on his lap. Literally, anyone could walk in and see you two, but clearly that wasn't on their mind at the moment.

But eventually you both had to pull away for air, your cheeks were flushed but you were content. Smiling softly down at the ravenette below you. Bucky lightly nuzzled his nose against yours and both your breaths became foggy due to the cold air in the kitchen.

"So Sunshine, can I finally call you mine?"

Before you could answer you hear the sound of muffled talking in the hallway and they were headed straight towards the kitchen.

You two quickly scrambled off eachother and tried to act casual. Bucky picked at his now cold food while you rummaged through the fridge.

"Cut the act you two. We already know what happened," a teasing voice called out.

You internally groan as you turn to see Natasha with a smirk on her face with Sam having the same amused look.

"So, are you two dating now?" Nat asks while she looks between you and Bucky.

You huffed as you made your way over to Bucky, who was already standing up from his seat. You reached up and placed a firm yet soft kiss on his cheek.

A bright faced Bucky and a shocked Natasha and Sam could only stare in disbelief at the bold action. Which only made the situation more funny.

"I guess we are," you respond with a doting smile as Bucky shared the same look he'd always have.

Lovesick.

p.s - Bucky also had to hear an earful from Wanda. He's going to have to get used to having her as a sister in law because he plans on marrying you one day.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x female reader #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier fanfiction #sebastian stan characters #the winter soldier #james barnes x reader #james barnes x you #james bucky barnes #james barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut

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xxsinisterbunniexx · 2 days ago

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✘ Ticci Toby ✘

General Characterization and headcanons

My general thoughts and characterization of Toby :3

I will DEFINITELY add to this because he is always on my mind and I just know I will think of more stuff, especially the general headcanons

Toby is loud, obnoxious, impulsive, and extreme. Basically, on every scale of anything ever he’s at the far end. He’s uninhibited in just about everything, so he’s not afraid to speak his mind. This also means he has no problem making vulgar comments 24/7. He has no memory of his life before, because Slenderman wiped his memory. “Toby Rogers” no longer exists, and honestly the original Toby would be horrified by the version of himself that exists now. My theory on this is that Slenderman will “amplify” traits that are useful to him when he makes someone a proxy. For example: Toby has ADHD, which would likely make him impulsive and act without thinking. This trait would be amplified once he became a proxy.

Let’s address Toby’s many disorders (also these are constantly getting changed on his wiki page). Let me just say: I have a background in psychology but I am by no means a professional. Nonetheless, here are my thoughts on how these would affect Toby.

Tourette’s and CIPA are both neurological disorders. I feel like a lot of people get the general gist of Tourette’s but I do want to clarify that Tourette’s does not cause a stutter. I know a lot of people write Toby having a stutter, and I think it’s become a headcanon itself at this point, but this would not be due to Tourette’s. I keep it pretty simple when it write his tics, just a few motor and verbal tics, like cracking his neck or cursing. CIPA stands for Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis. Basically, this disorder causes him to not be able to feel pain or temperature (which makes sense because both of these are conveyed on the same spinal tract). He also can’t sweat, because if you can’t feel temperature then your body doesn’t know when to produce sweat. Realistically, people with this disorder have a lot of issues with living daily life, mostly due to overheating since they can’t regulate their body temperature. Most people with CIPA do not live past age 25, but he’s a fictional character so we’ll let it go.

ADHD is a neurodevelopmental disorder, and there is more than one type. Based on his behavior I’d guess Toby either has combination type or hyperactive type. He’s impulsive, easily distracted, and at times it can be hard to keep him focused. He will sometimes interrupt during conversations or speak at times when it’s not appropriate.

Amnesia is also listed which is Slenderman induced. Based off his original story, I would argue that the schizophrenia is also Slenderman induced. Nonetheless, I think his main symptoms would be hallucinations (so hearing voices) and disorganized speech. Basically, you’d ask him a question and he just would talk on and not really answer the question (Google patient interviews for Schizophrenia if you’re confused by what I mean by this). I also think Toby would be subject to delusions, mostly to do with illusions of grandeur or paranoia.

Toby also has bipolar disorder, though it’s not specified whether he has type one or type two. Honestly, this is where I have a qualm which is that I think instead of saying he has schizophrenia and bipolar disorder, it should just say he has schizoaffective disorder, bipolar type. But I DIGRESS!

I think Toby would be silly goofy to be around. He’s super uninhibited and speaks his mind. He’s always full of energy. He can be a lot to handle at time and he doesn’t often listen to reason. You could definitely get into some shenanigans with him.

I think it’s easy to interact with him, he’ll talk to pretty much anyone and act friendly with them, but it’s a whole other ballpark trying to get close to him. It would take extensive amount of time, and would have less to do with your behavior and more with you just pinging in his brain in just the right way to make him want to invest more into you.

My thoughts on Toby are never ending, and I’ll probably continue to update this post when I think of new things. However let me say this: this man is not medicated for ANY of these issues so they would all be present in some capacity if you interacted with Toby.

Random headcanons

✘ TOBY SMELLS LIKE PINE AND CEDAR AND LIKE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE

✘ has snakebite piercings (meow)

✘ speaks German

✘ I like to think he’s second gen, like his parents were immigrants and thus he speaks German and English

✘ Toby, I need to know where ur grandparents were from 1939-1945

✘ lowkey would use his Tourette’s to get away with everything

✘ like would defo punch Jeff in the face and then be like “aw shit man sorry that was my Tourette’s”

✘ would also use it to get away with saying crazy bullshit

✘ covered in scars cuz CIPA

✘ Toby likes to go fishing and catch them with his BARE HANDS

✘ he can only be in the car if he’s the one driving, it really bugs him if he’s not in control of the car…. Though he doesn’t know why

✘ says crazy out of pocket bullshit 87% of the time

✘ but it would be funny as hell though

✘ like it would be the type of stuff where you know you shouldn’t laugh and you try to avoid laughing in front of him because you know it’ll make him do it more

#creepypasta #crp fandom #creepypasta headcanon #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #toby rogers

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blondeaxolotl-twstocs · 5 hours ago

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I genuinley need to talk about the tear on murray is tail along with the necklace. I don’t know if you covered this or not but I remember the first comic for it where she is holding the necklace talking about the tweels is dad while holding the necklace so was it his?

Along with the rip on her tail did she get it out of a fight or the moment when something happened with their father? Im sorry if Its a bother I’m just attached to your art rn and wanna unravel it

Plus when you drew her as a kid I wanna know if it was either a small scar she got either if she was a kid or my random thought was right.

I hope you have a good day/afternoon/night I enjoy your art and the rambles you give us thank you for everything.

Ps. I found the comic but yeah she’s holding the necklace and all that I really wanna know more!

Hehe I was waiting for someone to ask about the necklace, I'm glad you asked 🤭🤭!

The necklace is a mourning locket. Mourning jewellery is very common and popular in the Coral Sea, since it's the most efficient way to grieve the death of a loved one. So the necklace isn't his, but technically IS him, since there's both a lock of hair and a picture of him inside of the locket (yes it can open, though Murray rarely opens it/doesn't want to)

For the rip in her tail, I'm actually impressed that you got it, but yes it's from when something happened to papa Leech. The rip was caused by Murray trying to escape and it got stuck on something. I can't say much since I am planning on making a little comic about it in the future but yes, you are correct about it being from something that happened to Papa over there.

I will eventually post more info about Dad Leech, his character design and how he interacted with Murray. Though that's going to happen after I introduce Murray's (adoptive) dad, since that old man is still very much in the picture and is one of the people who helped raise the tweels.

#Was waiting for someone to ask about the necklace but damn I wasn't expecting the rip on her tail to be mentioned #but ofc I love answering any questions or theories people might have about the tweels parents #well at least the questions I CAN answer without spoiling future posts GULPS #but yeah feel free to ask any more questions if anyone wants to lol #💜- murray leech #💜- rambles #💜- ask #twisted wonderland #twst #leech parents #parent ocs #twst ocs #twisted wonderland ocs

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rtv-puzzlevision-studios · 21 hours ago

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THE RTV!STUDIO TOUR: RULES & GUIDELINES

THE OFFICIAL DATE FOR THE START OF THE TOUR (for now) IS APRIL 4TH 2025!

CONTINUATION UNDER THE CUT

If you stop here I will get you Istg /silly

Of course, every major event has some ground rules and we here at Puzzlevision Studios put much worth on those.

So read carefully through the following rules and be sure to uphold them!

★ HOW THIS WORKS:

This part of the event will mostly consist of writing with a few illustrations from me here and there. I will basically play the narrator throughout all this, summarize your guys actions, write my characters and guide you through the story.

It all will work the following:

I will post a starting post with a poll at the end of it in which you can vote on how the story continues! Example: Through the poll you choose with department you explore first. So even if your character is not part of the tour, you still have the chance to be a part of this by voting!

You will have a week to draw or write your characters' reactions and actions to my post! Please be sure to add the tag #RTVTour25 and to ping me!! When I saw your post and deemed it to be okay, I will comment with a checkmark! I shall reblog all checkmarked posts a day before my next post!

I will post the next part of the tour after a week. It will contain links of all your reactions and a brief summary of them, as well as the continuation of the story which is influenced by your actions and the poll result.

The same thing repeats. You draw your reactions, I respond, until the end of the tour.

★ TIME DURATIONS:

Time between my posts: 1 week may be subject to change we will see how it goes

Poll Duration: 3 days

★ RULES:

Once again: Ping and add the tag #RTVTour25 in your posts.

Be respectful to one another.

Always check the #RTVTour25 tag to see other people’s posts and possible updates.

Don’t just drag people you may like along. Be mindful if they have their own plans for the tour and try to communicate with them beforehand to check if certain bigger actions are alright!

Try to stay at least in groups or pairs, so I have a better overview.

Please don’t draw or write yourself doing actions that the poll is supposed to decide before the result is even available.

Your character is NOT invincible. They can be immortal, they can be powerful, but this is RTV’s world. There will be consequences to your actions. Though I won’t of course kill characters off without permission.

Stick to the given time limits.

At the end of the day this event is a massive collaboration. Of course, I have some things planned out, but the story is majorly focused on YOUR decisions.

This can either be a chill tour or a full-scale exploration. It’s up to you guys!

Also, please mind that this is my first time organizing something like this on this scale and alone, so please have mercy with me lol

★ Ok, but…

Can I work together with others? -> Yes, you absolutely can! Interactions are more than okay! But remember communication is key.

Can I interact with other RTV!AU characters? -> You can! There will be plenty of opportunities for that, in fact. However, I ask you to wait until I introduce them in the story, and not just summon them out of nowhere.

What if I don’t follow the rules/make something contradicting? -> You will not get the checkmark when I see your post, but instead a comment of me explaining to you what you need to change. You will have the rest of the time to do that. If you don’t, I will have to ignore your post.

What if I have to leave/cannot participate? -> No problem, there are several options for you! The easiest being, just not participating at all. This is just for fun, you don’t have to participate! ->However, if you have to leave in the middle of the tour or have worked together with other people, I ask you to inform them and me before jumping out, so we can make adjustments to our ideas/story and there won’t just be a hole left!

What if I have to sit out a round? -> All cool! I know not everyone has the motivation I have so if you ever need a break, simply take one. Just give me a heads up if your character is currently more heavily involved in the story. If you all need more time we can also make the time limit longer.

Why the polls? -> The polls are for decisions that concern the whole group, for example which department to visit first and so on. It also gives people who haven’t submitted an OC to the event the opportunity to have an impact on the story.

How are you going to manage this many people? -> I doubt that all 50+ people will participate throughout this entire event, but yes we are a lot.

-> Hence why I decided to keep most of my posts as writings which I can do way faster and also allows me to summarize all your possible actions properly. As mentioned before, I would also love it if you guys stick together in teams or at least pairs so it won’t get too scattered in the end.

How many parts will this have? -> Entirely dependent on your actions. I have ending possibilities planned, but once again, this story is based on your choices. I will probably have to improvise most things so it’s hard to say.

Is it okay if my posts are just writing? -> Absolutely! I know this will probably take motivation and energy and I don’t want to send you all straight onto a burnout. You can write, you can draw, or you can make a mix of it like I do! Up to you!

If there are any other questions, you are more than welcome to message me or comment! I shall add the answered questions to this list.

Rules may be added too if I see it necessary!

#!ani talks #reality tv au #rtv au #200 follower event #RTVTour25 #smg4 puzzlevision #smg4 #smg4 au #If I forgot smth I will cry

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bitchinbarzal · 21 hours ago

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Secret Drawer | B Faber

summary: you’re broken up and now you’re roommates.

Brock is exhausted when he steps off the plane. A four-game road trip, back-to-backs, and a brutal loss in overtime have drained every ounce of energy from his body. He just wants to get home, throw his bag on the floor, and collapse into his bed for about sixteen hours.

Except, when he gets to his apartment complex, his key doesn’t work.

He frowns, trying again. Still locked.

“What the hell,” he mutters, tugging his phone out of his pocket. His notifications are a mess, mostly texts from teammates about bad calls, group chat chaos, and random NHL updates he doesn’t care about.

Then he sees a missed call from his landlord.

His stomach sinks as he calls back immediately, pacing outside his apartment building.

“Faber! Good, I was hoping you’d call,” the landlord greets. “Listen, man, your place got flooded while you were gone.”

Brock’s brain short-circuits. “Flooded? What—how?!”

“Pipe burst. Maintenance is already working on it, but your stuff had to be moved. Don’t worry, I had the movers take it to the address you had listed as your emergency contact.”

A cold chill washes over him.

No. No way.

“What address did you send it to?” he asks, voice tense.

The landlord rattles off an address, and Brock physically winces.

Because that’s not just any address.

It’s yours.

His ex-girlfriend’s apartment.

“Shit,” Brock mutters under his breath.

The landlord keeps talking, but Brock is already tuning him out, mind racing. He had meant to take you off the emergency contact list when you broke up, but between travel, training, and pretending he was totally fine without you, it never happened.

And now all his stuff—his clothes, his hockey gear, his entire life—is sitting in your apartment.

This is a disaster.

When Brock finally makes it to your apartment, his stomach is a tight knot of anxiety.

The moment you open the door, the air shifts.

You don’t look surprised to see him. If anything, you look like you’ve been preparing for this exact moment.

His eyes dart past you, and sure enough—his stuff is everywhere.

Boxes stacked in the hallway. His old jerseys draped over the couch. His gear bag tossed to the side, sticking out like an ugly reminder that he doesn’t belong here anymore.

Brock runs a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “So, uh… I guess you got my stuff.”

You cross your arms, leaning against the doorway. “Yep. Shocking surprise, by the way. Really made my week.”

The sarcasm stings.

He shifts on his feet, feeling like an intruder in a place he once called home. “Look, I didn’t plan this. My landlord screwed up.”

Your expression stays neutral, but there’s something in your eyes—a flicker of old history, of memories you both left unresolved.

“Yeah, well,” you sigh. “It’s not like I can kick you out. Turns out, the lease is still in both our names.”

Brock’s head snaps up. “What?”

“I tried to fix it months ago,” you say, rolling your eyes. “But apparently, you never signed the paperwork, so now, legally, this is still your place too.”

He stares at you.

So not only is his stuff here, but now there’s no easy way to leave.

“Great,” he mutters under his breath.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I don’t want this either, Brock. But I don’t have the energy to figure it out tonight, and clearly, you don’t either. So for now? Just—stay out of my way.”

And with that, you turn on your heel and walk toward your room, leaving Brock standing there, surrounded by everything he thought he had left behind.

The next few days are pure hell.

Every interaction is painfully awkward—like two people who used to fit together perfectly but now can’t even exist in the same space without stepping on landmines.

The first morning, you walk into the kitchen to find Brock standing there, shirtless, drinking coffee like this is totally normal.

It is not normal.

You freeze. “You can’t just—be here.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Pretty sure I live here.”

You groan, grabbing your own coffee mug and avoiding eye contact at all costs.

Then there are the accidental run-ins—like when you’re both trying to leave at the same time and nearly collide in the hallway.

Or the one time you walked into the bathroom only to find Brock hadn’t locked the door.

“Jesus, Brock!” you yelped, slamming the door shut.

“You could’ve knocked!” he shot back, voice muffled.

“You could’ve locked the damn door!”

Neither of you spoke for an hour after that.

The tension only builds.

There are moments when you almost talk—when he looks at you like he wants to say something, like there’s something unspoken between you.

But neither of you take that step.

Until the night you go looking for a pen in your nightstand.

And you find the drawer.

It’s filled with your stuff.

A necklace you thought you lost. An old hoodie of his that you used to steal. A handwritten note—the one you gave him on your anniversary.

Your breath catches.

Because Brock never threw it away.

And suddenly, everything you’ve been pretending doesn’t hurt—hurts all over again.

You hear footsteps behind you.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Brock says quietly.

You turn, clutching the note in your hand. “Why do you still have this?”

His jaw tightens. “Because I couldn’t let it go.”

You shake your head. “You broke up with me, Brock.”

His face twists. “Yeah, and I’ve regretted it every damn day since.”

Silence.

Raw. Unfiltered.

For the first time in months, you’re looking at each other without the walls up.

“I thought about reaching out,” Brock says, voice rough. “But I figured you didn’t want to hear from me.”

“I waited for you to,” you admit softly.

His expression crumbles.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he says, shaking his head. “I thought I was giving you space, letting you move on. But I never did. And now I’m standing here, and all I want to do is tell you that I was an idiot for ever thinking I could let you go.”

Your heart pounds.

You could walk away—tell him it’s too late, that you’ve healed and moved on. Maybe it wouldn’t even be a lie.

You could try.

Slowly, you inhale. “If we do this again…”

Brock’s breath catches. “Yeah?”

“It has to be different,” you say firmly. “No half-measures. No leaving.”

His eyes darken with something determined. “I won’t mess it up this time.”

You search his face, looking for doubt, hesitation, anything that makes you think he’s saying this just because it’s easy.

But you don’t find it.

You find Brock. The same one who never stopped holding onto the past, even when he thought it was too late.

Maybe this time—it’s not.

You exhale.

Then, finally, you let go of the note.

And instead, you reach for him.

Brock doesn’t hesitate.

His arms wrap around you, holding you tight, like he’s terrified to let go again.

And this time, He won’t.

#brock faber imagine #brock faber x reader #nhl imagine

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tune-on-in-folks · 16 hours ago

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I actually like this a lot! (and totally not because I am also socially awkward.)

Vox doesn't attend the Overlord meeting, one because Alastor's there; but two, he'd be in public and he'd have to talk, and he doesn't have a script for that!

He puts on a front with everyone he's interacting with. We see it when he has to go see Valentino. "Just another day with Val, hey, hey, hey! Fuck my life." And he also seems to put on an act for Velvette, just in the way he interacts with her. He portrays this type of character for them that he doesn't seem to be.

He's always putting on an act, a show. Always performing.

Vox tells Valentino that their brand is "perfection." He wants to portray to the public that the Vees, but mostly him, are perfect. Which is where his little hypnosis power comes into play.

He obviously dreads dealing with the paparazzi, he's frowning before he deals with them before putting on that showman act. And once he's done with his peice, he hypnotizes them so he can make a swift exit, and keep them compliant. But he can't hypnotize Alastor.

When he does face Alastor in Stayed Gone we see him start cool headed. "Top of the hour! We're discussing a certain has-been. Who has been spotted cavorting around town....Did anybody miss him? Did anybody notice? More on tonight's program!" It's an intro to Vox2Night, his show, where he obviously writes the scripts, and has them practiced.

He's eloquent at the start, using rhymes and being witty. But as soon as Alastor joins the song that all goes out the window because now they're off script. His eloquence suddenly becomes desperate attempts to stop Alastor, barely insulting him. "What a dated voice!" And "...he's the shit that comes before that!" And my favorite, "you old-timey prick!" But most of what he says are interjections, "come on!" Or "oh please!" Or "hold on!"

Vox is flashy and in your face, but it's typically in a way he can control. Editing is a thing after all. But when he's doing a live broadcast? Welllll, not so much. He wants to control what everyone thinks of him all the time. What his business partners think of him, what the public thinks of him. It's all about control with him, and Alastor takes that control away. Just by seeing though him, by tripping Vox up.

And Alastor does all of that with a cool confidence. He's not flashy and in your face, but rather cool and collected. He's very similar in certain ways to Vox. (Wanting people to acknowledge that he was gone, wanting to know the theories, etc.) But he's also very different in just the way he holds himself.

All this to say, I agree. Vox is an anxious outgoing introvert and Alastor is a calm confident extrovert. Either way they both like attention and control.

You won't be able to convince me Vox isn't introverted/socially anxious in some way. We don't see him leave Vee tower once during S1, he only talks to the paparazzi with a plan to control the narrative and then mind controls them into accepting it, and his preferred medium is something he can both control entirely and is usually scripted, meaning he knows exactly what topics will be discussed or what anyone else will be doing so he can prepare a reaponse in advance (Vox2Nite).

Plus, he has the "if all else fails hypnotize them" backdoor cheat to his powers.

There's a reason that, as soon as he went against a foe who wasn't following his very clear pre-prepared script and who he couldn't see to hypnotize into letting him control the narrative, he immediately fell apart.

Alastor and him are foils because Vox is very flashy and in your face, but he's using it to hide that he needs tight control over everything or else he'll fall apart. Alastor, however, relies on his personality being the draw, and he's excellent at rolling with the verbal punches.

Vox is an outgoing anxious introvert, and Alastor is a more subtle confident extrovert, and both of their mediums reflect this. Vox needs to distract you so you don't notice anything even slightly amiss, and Alastor needs to entertain you so you don't get bored without something to distract you.

#and need to kiss #who said that?#hazbin hotel #alastor #vox #hazbin vox #hazbin alastor #character analysis #axel speaks

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neoninky · 1 day ago

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Diasomnia Courtship Headcanons 2.0

I was digging around some old files as I clean up my Diasomnia canon x oc fic for its revival and I found this old post that still makes me laugh. So here's some serotonin for all the Diasomnia lovers out there. I did brush it up a bit as well cuz why not.

Diasomnia lovers supreme and general super rad people: @nuitthegoddess @hanafubukki @masquerade-of-misery @foxwitchaine @aquaburst3 @wysteriadelights @thosebrookfieldgirls

*puts on some Bridgerton/Jane Austen film sounding music to set the mood*

The Diasomnia fam got their happy ending at long last but wait - there's more! Now the boys enter their Twitterpatted Smitten Boi eras *flowers and sparkly bubbles all over the place*

Featuring Lilia’s two sons and their aggressively loyal neighbor/cousin (I may or may not be using these inspirations as I write the boys in my Diasomnia canon x oc reboot *suspiciously sipped tea*)

Malleus: The prince and soon-to-be king of Briar Valley; he is naturally expected to find himself a queen and future mother to his heirs. So courtship isn't something that comes as a surprise to him. In fact, it's something he was prepared for since he became old enough to understand what courtship and marriage even were.

For Malleus, this can go one of two ways: 1) if he's being forced to meet and court a some daughter of a noble family that he's not interested in, he'll be…avoidant. In other words, he out (Malleus just poofs away in firefly dust). This man could have a whole ballroom of lovely ladies vying for his attention like the prince from Cinderella, but if he's not interested in any of them? He's going to be re-enacting the forementioned ballroom scene from Cinderella except it's the musical version with Brandy where the prince is literally only dancing with each girl for like two seconds just to get through the night faster lolol. Once the guards, or Silver and Sebek, OR Lilia, finally hunt him down and force him to show up, Malleus is polite and pleasant at best. He goes through all the motions and acts like the perfect gentleman, but anyone who knows him well can see the distant, far-off look of escapism in his eyes.

OR Option #2: he's not only interested, he is invested. This man is locked in. Hoo boy, good luck stopping him from trying to be the first in line any given moment for this girl's attention. Not only does he perform all the expected etiquette perfectly, Malleus Draconia is the epitome of "down bad". What's her favorite color? Favorite flowers? Does she like music? What's her favorite food??? This man will discover and procure all of it for her faster than lightning. Seven help him if she is (for some reason) not impressed, he'll be crushed and it will become the worst part of everyone's day. Not out of malice or wrath, it will just be near impossible to get Malleus back to normal spirits for a long time after. Seven help him if she is impressed and shows appreciation and affection in return. Smitten doesn't even skim the surface. Malleus Draconia needs to marry her now. Put a ring on it? Malleus will put a ring on all ten of her pretty lil' fingers lol. His crew will have their hands full trying to help the love-struck royal from not come on too strong it's already too late or rush things too quickly. Either way, once his mind is made up, Malleus only has eyes for his queen.

Silver: Being a human raised primarily around fae folk or even half-fae folk, Silver is familiar with the range of courting rituals that various fae have performed over the years. Human courtship, on the other hand, well…he's a bit lost if not old-fashioned in that department. Mostly because of his lack of human interaction, but also because his father is Lilia. Self explanatory. He doesn't have a preference on fae women vs human/other women, though he understands that fae live far longer than humans so that might complicate things. Regardless, Silver is clumsy when wooing women (or anyone he might be interested in). He has the heart of the very best-boi boy but he can be a bit awkward when trying to express interest in someone.

The majority of his life has been dedicated to becoming a worthy knight for Malleus, though his school days allowed him some leisure and fun in between his training. Even so, Silver's bravery and tenacity in battle doesn't always translate into romance. Silver logically knows certain things he can do to show his affection on paper. In action, however, he may need some help practice. He is very traditional in his approach and believes in chivalry but might trip over his own good intentions. Definitely is the type of guy that would adorably mess up a compliment by telling his crush "my eyes are beautiful" instead of saying YOUR eyes are beautiful lol.

Don't even get him started on the anxiety his sleep condition brings him. He gets so nervous about suddenly passing out in front of the girl he wants to romance that it will sometimes make him literally sick (poor guy). Once he FINALLY gets over his nerves and takes action, Silver can make his feelings known. It may be awkward but you won't find another more genuine confession from a guy who looked like he walked out of a fairy tale. Also don't be surprised if an army of woodland creatures show up to help out.

If rejected, Silver is nothing if not a man of honor. He sees no point in hounding a woman who isn't interested in him, no matter how much it hurts. If his feelings are reciprocated, the poor man might pass out from joy. If he prepares correctly, Silver drinks enough coffee to keep that from happening. Silver will then exhale in immense relief ask his beloved for an even more romantic date...which he definitely did not spend three business days putting together a plan of action with Malleus, Sebek, and Lilia's help cough cough.

Sebek: While Malleus is enthusiastic and full throttle and Silver is charmingly shy/awkward and slow to act, Sebek is somewhere in the middle. This man is and always has been very disciplined in all endeavors. For him, romance will be no different. Sebek Zigvolt has trained since childhood to be Malleus' knight. This is his greatest goal and ambition. Someday his lord will marry and have children, precious little princes and princesses! Naturally, their security and well-being are Sebek's top priority!! As such romance has been put on the back burner through the majority of Sebek's teen years.

Once Sebek sets his sights on courtship and romance, he will not settle for just anyone, no sir. He is a man with taste and standards. You know those girls who write down the traits of their ideal husbands in a list? Sebek is the male equivalent of that. It's not as shallow as it sounds, Sebek just knows what he wants. Granted he started the list when he was about 13 years old cough, so some things do change as he matures. Even so, Sebek is - like Silver - old-fashioned in romance. He knows all the moves: bringing her flowers on the first date, taking her on romantic moonlit walks while also respecting her boundaries and fighting off any hooligans that may threaten her dignity, getting her father's approval, the whole nine yards!

And boy is he prepared. He's actually quite proud - if not smug - of how much research he's put into properly courting a lady. His grandfather made sure to leave books out for him when he was young so of course he grew into an avid reader. Definitely learned a thing or two from romance novels but will not admit it out loud.

Either way, once Sebek finds his dream girl, he already has a strategy all mapped out. If one plan doesn't work, he's got backup plans. If those don't work? A quitter he is not. This man will find a way come hell or high water. What's an obstacle? Never heard of them.

If things are going well, Sebek will not rush the courtship, but he will absolutely have the proposal and the wedding (hell, probably the honeymoon too dayum) all planned out in his head. If he somehow misses a detail, his mother and older sister will have at least five to ten different options at the ready to help him achieve perfection. Grandbabies for Mama Zigvolt are on the line here! Failure is not an option!

If for some reason Sebek's affections are rejected, he will put on a strong front…until he gets home/back to Malleus's castle and then he'll just fall to pieces. He's gonna need a grieving period, bless his heart. He will more than likely be a complete wreck until he gets the heartache completely out of his system. It'll be much like if Malleus is rejected except Sebek will somehow be much louder, more dramatic about it, but for a shorter period of time. Eventually he just locks in and starts working out way more than he already does or something, just to keep his mind off heartache so he can move on.

If all goes well and Sebek does successfully get with his dream lady love, pssssh well OF COURSE he did! Was there ever any doubt?! Foolish humans, of course not! (Lies, Sebek definitely has moments of doubt that he covers up with loud outbursts, binge eating, and/or vigorous training to the point of exhaustion. Thank Seven that it did work out though, whew.)

What's Lilia's role in all of this?

Lilia is hyped. He is SO ready for his boys to find love and start having cute lil' ones that he can dote on and teach things for better or worse. Definitely wants to level up into the Beloved Grandpa era of his life. Can you blame him? Baul just makes it sound amazing. Once it finally happens, Lilia cries like a fool at all three weddings. He is so unashamedly happy and proud of his boys. Chaos ensues any time Lilia tries to make a meal to welcome his new 'daughters/niece' to the family. The boys immediately go into covert ops to stop him from getting into the kitchen, sometimes asking their girlfriends/wives to help distract him or getting Lilia started on a story tangent about his travels, his glory days as a general, anything to keep him talking. The girls have heard all the horror stories and may have had some close shaves during their courtships with the boys, so they will more than likely rise to the occasion. No questions asked. If/when Lilia finds a partner, she immediately becomes the final boss Lilia has to defeat to get access to the kitchen or feed any children they may have cough.

BONUS ROUND: 'A rival enters'

Malleus: Gentleman #1 but also 'oh HELL naw'; His Majesty doesn't fool around. Hold his crown, there's about to be a gladiator level duel the second he spots another dude tryna make a move on his queen. Now if this happens before he can make things official, well he definitely does not like it, but a lady's consent is important. He is an honorable king and will not cross a boundary or treat the lady like some trophy to be won. What he will do is show up the rival SO hard that said rival has no choice but to exile themselves from proper society due to devastating levels of humiliation lol. His victory will undisputed and written about in history books.

Silver: Gentleman #2 Prince Yuki Sohma but Disney and with weapons; Silver VanRouge is basically a storybook prince just by existing and also he is technically a prince but alas, he too finds himself faced with another competing for his crush's affections. Well, he may not come across nearly as peacock-ish as Malleus or as aggressive as Sebek would. It's not really his style. He would stick to his guns and keep pursuing his crush on his terms without picking a fight with the rival until he's either rejected or his feelings are reciprocated. Now if a rival is pressuring his girl to choose them when they're signaling otherwise or even worse, trying to break them up to get to his lady, the sword is coming out. No one harasses Silver VanRouge's girl (or women in Silver's life in general) and gets away with it. This honestly goes for Malleus and Sebek's girlfriend/wives as well; Silver looks out for them too if the boys aren't there to do it themselves.

Sebek: Gentleman #3 but spicy Nat Geo; Sebek gets heated. Who does this fool think he is? He's got another thing coming if he thinks that Sebek Zigvolt is just gonna roll over and accept defeat! Maybe it's the crocodile genes, maybe it's just the Zigvolt family ferocity, but Sebek has to put effort into not absolutely turning this situation into a pissing contest with said rival. Sure he's a very intelligent young man, strong, disciplined, etc. he's anything but some meatheaded jock! But...bless his heart, Sebek is a competitive, stubborn guy. Sometimes to his reputation's detriment. If the rival intentionally tries to push Sebek's buttons, it wouldn't be that surprising if Sebek took the bait as a knee jerk reaction. However, in his heart, Sebek is a good respectful boy. He doesn't want his crush to feel objectified and if his actions were clearly upsetting them, Sebek would back off and cool down until he can try again in a more mature manner. That said, the minute he gets picked over the other dude, Sebek will trash talk the rival a ridiculous amount like pretty much any NRC boy would lol. He just wants to be 'the one' so badly please he needs this lolol.

#twisted wonderland #diasomnia #malleus draconia #silver vanrouge #sebek zigvolt #lilia vanrouge #diasomnia headcanons #twst headcanons #twst courtship headcanons #they drink their respect women juice for breakfast #also silver respects the bro code to a fault #the reptile bois are a bit more aggressive lol #dragon fae #croco fae #twst fae folk #neoninky #diasomnia arc

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groovy-rat-man · 15 hours ago

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behold! the punch out promotional comics and a few (or more) words I have to say about them!!

this is.. uhh. this is gonna be a long ish post

I dont know why but i do NOT like how joe looks here. I think it's the teeth... The bread belt is pretty funny tho and the fact that him and the ladies make the french flag and also mac is here so thats fun!

Aaaaaaa the babies!! The kaiserlings!!! I always love it when people bring up the fact that vk is a teacher and have him interact with his students and stuff, and they seem to like him as a teacher!

Omg hes so pretty and I love him so so so so much i wanna kiss him all over ohhh and his shy little pose when he talks about his win/loss ratio dont worry babe you'll get there, by the way did I mention I love him? (also this is one of my favorite ones art wise, the colors and expressions and sparkles are so so so fun!!)

It's it's my adult son who could crush my skull with one hand, my beautiful boy! But yea anyways he looks absolutely adorable here especially in the 1st and 5th panels also how did he get in this ring he doesnt know anything about anything. (oh yea and macs here too and that's always a plus)

Wifeeeeeeee noooooo don't sit like that too long.., honey your legs... (also i love his angy face at the end an d i wanna kiss him also)

This might sound dumb but I like this comic more for having Ms. Bear than for having Bear Hugger, we actually got to know her name! I also really like the colors and the FIGHT!! thingy those are really cool

Okay so I'm gonna talk about something real quick, it feels like ALL of the promotional media for punch out wii mentions gt's gem. Did they think the fight would be to hard if you didn't know about his tell? Why did they keep bringing this up?? Also he's really pretty and I like the way they draw his little clone thing and mac is here too and his confused little face is funny. (also does anyone know what he's saying in the first panel i really wanna know)

I really like this one but I always thought that the blatant use of his official art is a little jarring lol. But yeah I love how much of an absolute pimp he is here and also how his ass GETS GOT at the end and ALSO how he talks to the audience and references the game itself, that's WILD! Sadly I'll have to dock a few points for a lack of Carmen :'(

I'm not gonna talk about this one too much because I Do Not like what it does to me. I will say that I am (disrespectfully) looking at his boxy little ass

Ayyyyyyyy my main man Soda Popinski!! I'm also not gonna talk about this one too much because the ending is. Not for me. It's for someone though! Anyways yeas I really like the portrait on the first panel and also this was a thing with Joe's comic but he also has an unnamed coach so that's neat. Also Popinski is kind of an inconsiderate asshole so that's fun lol

I love how the first panel has him being all intimidating and scary but every panel after that is just him being harassed. LET HIM LIVE, FOR FUCKS SAKE!!!!!! However much he beat the shit out of the guy in the last panel was completely deserved, paparazzi are parasites <3

HUMMINA HUMMINA, AWOOOOOGA!!!! But in all seriousness the art (NOT MACHO MAN'S ASS >:/) is just wonderful, the colors and shapes and the text bubbles and hears and stuff AAAAHH it is beautiful!! This might unfortunately be my favorite of the comics actually. (also the spotlight and his shy little pose at the end is cute i will admit)

I friggin love sandman yall, I also love how it shows all the other boxers and stuff. Also what kind of asshole challenges a guy in boxing gloves to rock paper scissors? Sandman was completely justified tbh. Although I will admit I wish they added SOMETHING to his character, but I guess they didn't add much to anyone else either so it's whatever

ALSO I JUST REALIZED THAT DOC ISN'T IN ANY OF THE COMICS AT ALL, LIKE NOT EVEN IN THE BACKGROUND WITH MAC LIKE WHAT THE FUCK????

#punch out!!#punch out #punch out wii #little mac #glass joe #von kaiser #disco kid #piston honda #piston hondo #bear hugger #great tiger #don flamenco #aran ryan #soda popinski #bald bull #super macho man #mr. sandman

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scandistar · 2 days ago

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Rolan's Personality Type

So, when responding to @sleketon-or-slekky's post on what Rolan's MBTI would be, I wondered if I should try writing an "essay" on it. Mind you, I have never written a character essay before and I'm not entirely sure how it works, but there is a first time for everything and I thought the topic was interesting enough to share my thoughts on as best as I can. However, I won't make any extreme deep dives as I am not a professional, so I'll keep it pretty basic but still explain my understanding of it. Do take everything I say with a grain of salt.

Before I start, I want to point out that personality typology such as Myers Briggs type indicator, enneagram, astrology and everything else that falls under the term are highly unreliable to use on real people, as every individual is too complex to perfectly fit into one box or another. Personality types are mostly regarded as pseudoscience in psychology, so in my opinion, they shouldn't be applied to anything other than entertainment and fiction.

(I've found most of my information from sources like 16personalities and Truity)

Anyway, let's begin.

MBTI, or Myers Briggs type indicator: The Prodigy

I think a lot of people on the internet have heard of MBTI before, which is a pretty straightforward tool to find your personality among 16 distinct types based on four letters that make up your functions. Introversion or Extroversion, Intuition or Sensing, Thinking or Feeling, and Judging or Perceiving. You're either one or the other of all four of these categories and they explain how you operate as a person. Of course, no one person is strictly a feeler and never thinks logically, and nobody is entirely extroverted and prefers to spend all their time around people. The lines blur somewhere, but the letters are based on how you function the majority of the time.

A lot of us know what Introversion and Extroversion are, but most people don't exactly know what they mean. It's not just about whether or not you like being around people, but when and where you get your energy. Some people prefer to be on their own to recharge, but that doesn't necessarily mean that they dislike people or struggle with being social. Others get their energy from being among friends and family, but that doesn't mean that they refuse to be alone or are unable to recharge in solitude.

As it is with NPCs, we haven't seen enough of Rolan to tell for certain whether he's an extrovert or introvert, but you can get a general idea from your interactions with him. He seems to strive for renown, dreaming of his name being known "far and wide". He wants all eyes on him, and though he could be feigning confidence, I also think it's tightly linked to who he is, as he genuinely seems to value being someone others look up to. He thrives in environments where he gets to show off his skills and he responds well to praise and applause. Those who aspire to be in the spotlight are often rather extroverted people, whether or not it is a coping mechanism. So I'll give him an E (don't worry, babe. I'm not grading you).

Then there is Intuition and Sensing. It means you either utilise concrete thinking as you analyse the world around you (Sensing) or abstract thinking as you regard the "what if"s of a situation rather than the tangible (Intuition).

Rolan is a very concrete and literal person. He's highly focused on the things that are in front of him, and the things that are the most important: The safety of his siblings and his apprenticeship waiting for him in Baldur's gate. He is laser-focused on both, and he's practical enough to act on achieving them by all means. He doesn't stop and let his imagination do the work for him, he's hellbent on continuing forward and learning all that he can. So much so that he didn't think to question if Lorroakan's treatment of him was entirely necessary, as he thought it was the prize he had to pay "to become a true wizard". He saw his abuse as a test and it seemed reasonable to him. He is also very good at taking past experiences into account as a way of learning from them, which is brilliant for his character development. So, I give him an S (because he's S-teir).

Thinking and Feeling are often discussed when it comes to MBTI. If feelers are nothing but illogical crybabies, and thinkers are unfeeling machines. Both are entirely untrue, of course. Some lean more into their feelings than others, while some focus more on the facts, but that doesn't mean that the former can't practice logic and rational thinking and the latter are unempathetic and hold no sentimental values. We're still human (humanoid in Rolan's case).

Rolan comes off as unfeeling the first time you meet him. He wants to leave the grove and the refugees behind to continue onward to Baldur's gate, refusing to stay and help. I've read plenty of great character analysis posts on why that is his stance, and they've all painted a good picture of him as a person and what he has potentially been through as a child when you take his mannerisms into account, which are rather atypical compared to the other tieflings. But I won't get into that, because now we're talking about our feelings! I can say straight off the bat that Rolan is a highly rational person. He does things because they make sense and not necessarily because they feel right. It makes sense to leave the grove because one: They have places to be and he "cannot be late", and two: These people won't make it otherwise. If you and your companions hadn't arrived, he would've been right. Why stay and defend a bunch of strangers that will ultimately die, when you have the chance to bring your family to safety? He doesn't hold anything back either, as he says what he thinks, even if it makes him appear in a less savoury light. But it can also be said that his emotions do fuel the things he says, especially when he lashes out at you in Act 2 after losing Cal and Lia. But like I said, he's a person. So, I give him a strong T (for our Testy grump).

Lastly, we have Judging and Perceiving. Either you're a very organised and schedule-oriented person. You're less open-ended, focus more on efficiency than flexibility and want to have things determined and prepared (Judging). Or, you're a far more spontaneous person who doesn't want to restrict your options. You want to have the opportunity to explore your interests and alternatives freely without being tied to timetables and intricate plans (Perceiving).

I think I've pretty much established that Rolan is single-mindedly focused on getting to Baldur's gate and starting his apprenticeship. Little else can infringe on that plan and whenever he has no choice but to postpone it, he gets noticeably stressed and upset. Speaking to him at the tiefling party, an occasion which is a distraction from the current course of action, he reveals that it wasn't his decision to come, but Cal and Lia's. He's decisive, stubborn as an ass and wants things to go according to his expectations, and when they don't, it tests his patience and puts him ill at ease. With his every plan, he makes it abundantly clear that he will follow through with them no matter what. No matter if it means conquering the shadow curse to save his siblings. No matter if it means being frequently verbally and physically abused to achieve his dream. No matter if he has to rip his newly-acquired tower apart to find a way to help you fight the Absolute. He is stalwart and orderly, which is admirable, but his aversion to any form of help has come with its share of consequences. Thus I'll give our beloved tiefling a J (I don't have a clever joke for that one).

So, that would mean that he falls on Extroversion, Sensing, Thinking and Judging. Or to put it simply: ESTJ.

An ESTJ, also known as the "executive" or "supervisor" (as referred to by 16personalities and Truity respectively), is a hard-working, traditional and dedicated individual who appreciates orderly and methodical approaches to their everyday life. They're assertive and efficient and want structure and control of their physical and social environment, while also being highly resilient and determined. They're grounded and see things for what they are and how they can be improved, often taking inspiration from past problems and solutions, and they're mostly at home in a setting where they're in the lead, therefore shining in roles as managers and directors of both themselves and others. Although they can be unapologetically straightforward and honest, they're incredibly loyal and reliable, staying true to their word and never breaking their promises.

An ESTJ, however, is rigid and unyielding. They can be uptight and have strong convictions in their beliefs of what is right and wrong, making them rather judgemental of those who do not fit their opinion of "right". Due to their extroversion and strong traditionalism, they can put a bit too much importance on status and have incredibly high standards for themselves.

Now, I am aware that it would be better to go into cognitive functions and assess which one of those he aligns with, but that would make this essay twice as long and a lot more convoluted than what I've already made it, but I'm pretty confident in my conclusion either way. I didn't intend to make this a deep dive and I think ESTJ fits him almost to a tee.

I don't know how exactly to conclude this. As I said, I've never done a character essay before and I've always had a hard time trusting my own judgement and opinions on things, but sometimes you have to take a leap of faith.

Anyway, I had fun with this! But if there is anything I missed that is worth mentioning, or if you have any additional thoughts on this, I'd love to hear them! Every perspective of our beloved grumpy tiefling wizard is a welcome one and I am always open to discussion. I wrote this for the Rolan nation, after all!

Thank you for reading! <3

Also, before you go, have a little Rolan dressed as the ESTJ avatar from 16p:

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 rolan #rolan #holy rolan empire #rolan bg3 #rolan empire #rolan nation #rolan fanart #character essay #personality psychology #mbti #mbti personalities #mbti types #mbti estj

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