#and for some reason that makes me feel even worse

[summertimesadnessirl]

Everyone hates hypersexuality because they think it's like...

We get to tell you to stop fucking.

Also our entire culture really wants to tell people to stop fucking.

I'm pretty sure that's literally the purpose of a lot of sexual abuse- to make people stop fucking.

People who fuck just to fuck are going to get labeled as hypersexual even if they aren't.

People who are hypersexual are going to get blamed for the actions of other people who have weird pathology around the idea of sex, or certain types of sex.

Weirdly, someone can have sex with you and then later turn around and go "now I blame you for making me bad" when they consented to or even asked for and initiated the sex and enthusiastically consented over and over at various points in the process.

People who like sex just to have sex, even if they initially became that way because they were sexually abused, might not actually be doing something that hurts them. They might be doing something that works effectively to help reduce other symptoms, make new friends, etc. They might be doing things that genuinely make them feel better. You can even get slapped with an "inappropriate hypersexual" label for masturbating a lot. Like... to fantasies or porn of other adults. Like vanilla porn. Because it can't just be a harmless quirk that sometimes you get anxious or upset and you get off and then you feel better if you have a history of sexual trauma because people in the community want to hear that whenever someone like you consents to sex it's secretly that they were groomed or they have low self esteem and really just want validation or something.

People have tried to tell me over and over that I just want validation and not sex.

I guess I do sometimes have sex with people because I like knowing I can do something for someone else if I feel powerless to fix problems in my own life, or when I'm in a lot of negative social situations and I want to be be in one where the outcome is positive at the end for both people. I still enjoy the sex, though. It's not something I do and don't enjoy on a physical level.

I think secretly that's the problem.

I think the goal of a lot of things in our society is to slowly make people hate sex. Make them think something is wrong with them if they enjoy it, even if they seek it out or consented to it it was actually rape, etc.

It's some weird fusion of anti lgbt and anti woman and patriarchy and the church and the psychiatric system where we tell people doing a fun activity with your friends that everyone enjoyed and made them feel good is actually making them empty and worse and a sign that they have low self worth.

If you can't accept that sometimes having sex with someone because you both want to feel good is enough reason to have sex with them, you're just perpetuating the weird nasty shame shit that people did to you when they emotionally abused you.

If your advocacy for truama/abuse survivors isn't inclusive of

Survivors who are not women

Survivors who developed hypersexuality

Survivors with personality disorders

Survivors with anger issues

Survivors with did/osdd

Survivors with substance abuse issues

Then maybe you should start making an effort to make it. I'm not asking anyone to shift focus to a topic they don't understand, but you dont have to become an expert in hypersexuality or personality disorders to not actively exclude or demonize them

[revelboo]

reading Waspinator story reminds me of this for some reason

Pretty much 🤣

I like to think the Cybertronians with more animalistic alt modes are much more keyed into subtle differences in scents

Worker Bee Part 12

Waspinator x Reader

• Shivering and defeated, you don't resist as he tries to 'help.' When he finally grips your chin in his claws and tips it up, you lean away and fumble until you get the water off. And he follows you as your back hits the cold tile wall, his mandibles flexing to make your skin crawl. "Don't." At your hoarse growl, his antenna flatten back before he presses his face against your neck to force your chin up. Staring at the shower head as his arms curl around you and lift you off your feet to walk you backwards out of the stall and down the hallway. And you can't even care that you're both dripping all over the carpet, too exhausted to deal with him right now. Too exhausted to even cry anymore.

• Carrying you to your nest, he sets you on your feet to find something to dry you with and his wings flick when he hears the nest creak. Turning, he finds you laying sprawled face down across the sheets. Still wet. Whatever's wrong with you, he doesn't like it. "Little friend?" You don't acknowledge him at all, and he hisses softly, grabbing your legs hanging in the floor and moving you so you're fully in your nest. "Little friend?" Already recharging? Crawling up with you, he cages you with his body and brushes his mandibles against the back of your neck, but you don't fuss at him or resist. Recharging, he decides unhappily. Venting against you, he rubs his jaw against your shoulder, buzzing softly before pulling away. Hungry. Lingering in the doorway, his wings flick. Needs energon, but you'll be defenseless while he's gone. Needs to protect you. You're his.

• Face down on the bed, you feel it creak under you as Waspinator moves off of it. And you hear his peds going down the hall. Leaving you alone. You're afraid to hope that it's actually over. That he's finally bored of following you around all the time. Reaching for a pillow, you pull it over your head. No, he's probably just eating the rest of your damn silverware. He's never leaving. This is just your life now. A big, alien puppy invading your space. Destroying your stuff. Eyes closing, you let the stress and exhaustion pull you under.

• Tearing the thin plastic you'd sealed the hive with, his wings flick as he steps into the cold night. Anxiety humming through him as he lingers close to the entry. He'll be quick. Steal some energon and return before you wake. "Waspinator return," he whispers as he starts back toward the Decepticon base. You'll be safe without him to protect you and your hive for just a little bit. You have to be.

• It's the sunlight slanting through the blinds that wakes you and you squint and roll over and don't find yourself face to ugly face with your roomie for the first time since you'd found him. Shivering, you sit up and slide out of bed to get dressed. You're chilled to the bone, used to your alien space heater nearly smothering you in your sleep. Drifting through the house, your breath catches when you find the torn tarp over the door. He's gone? Really gone? It's over. Laughing out loud, you sweep into the kitchen to fix some breakfast and freeze looking out the window over the sink. Out in the yard half buried in snow, you catch a glimpse of a wing. An antenna. And you're shoving through the tear in the tarp, running barefoot through the snow as the cold bites you to the bone. "Waspinator?" Dropping to your knees beside him, you pull his head into your lap and those purple optics open, one flickering. Hurt. Much worse than when you'd originally found him. And he whines softly, an arm lifting and then falling again. Shivering, you hook an arm around him and pull. Movements slow, he drags himself after you, back to the house.

Previous

[ladybirdswritings]

INVISIBLE STRING, AU — clark kent x reader.

DESCRIPTION: you lock eyes with a charming stranger at a party you’d rather not be at, and now he’s whisking you away on a date. NOTES - leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | prev part ; next part

three;

Your skin was drowned in amber and cashmere—rich, silken, and sparkling. Your hair was tied up in a bun, allowing a few mischievous ringlets to escape, highlighting the curve of your slender neck, and the pulse racing there.

Your dress was a deep violet, so deep that only under fluorescent lights could you see the purple hue—otherwise, it appeared black.

You looked gorgeous.

And nervous.

Entirely nervous, as you reapplied your gloss and paced the tile floor, where Kate and Axel eyed you suspiciously.

“Y/N, you really need to stop pacing. You’re making me anxious,” Kate snapped, having had enough of your shaky tirade. Axel nodded in agreement. “Calm down, you’re going to scare him away before he even gets here.” You scowled at that.

In the time since you and Clark had shared a quiet moment by the fire, when he trapped a ruby berry between your joined palms and blurted his desire to take you out, you’d texted sporadically and awaited a jolt to snap you from this dream.

“He’s definitely a serial killer,” you decided, and Kate pinched the space between her brows, shaking her head.

“Y/N, if he was a serial killer, don’t you think he would have killed you when you were alone at the bonfire?”

You huffed. “Ted Bundy had a girlfriend he adored. He didn’t chop her up into tiny pieces.”

“Oh my God…” your brother sighed, and Kate snorted.

Vera, Kate’s strawberry-blonde bombshell of a sister, stood and pressed warm palms against your shoulders. “Or maybe… you’re a really pretty girl, and he wants to take you on a date because he likes you. Duh.”

You gazed into the sincerity swimming behind her cyan eyes, nodding hesitantly. No, she was right. Your doubt, your pacing—it was just self-deprecation that had burrowed into your bones over the years. It had been so long.

Your ex was a jerk. Beyond that, he was cruel. His words still echoed in your mind.

You won’t find anyone else like me…

No one can deal with your baggage like I can…

No one else would want you like I do…

When you first dumped him, you were confident—until that confidence slowly evaporated, as time passed. Two years, in fact, with no strong man to keep you warm. All the boys you looked at were either taken or vile creatures who only wanted in your pants. Or worse—they didn’t want you back.

Vance was a great example.

Flirty, but noncommittal.

Yet for some reason, you still pined, and it made you feel pathetic.

The hum of the doorbell made your eyes widen to saucers. A cold chill kissed your skin.

“Do I look okay?” you nearly shouted in a whisper, anxious.

“You look great,” Vera promised, and you nodded, dragging your kitten-heel-clad feet toward the door.

The scent of pine from January’s chill lingered with honeyed whiskey, chai, and… flowers.

Flowers? Oh, you were definitely dreaming.

His glasses were lopsided and fogged, and he bumped them up with his wrist before offering the bouquet of creams, mauves, and navies toward you.

“Hi,” he breathed, furrowing his brows in frustration as the fog filtered his perfect view of his date. But he could smell you, and hummed a low, satisfied sound in his throat that you just missed.

“Hi.” You offered back, glancing anxiously at Vera and Kate, who hid their smiles behind their palms. You gently grabbed the flowers, fingertips grazing his, and brought them to your nose, inhaling their lovespelled scent.

“They’re… lovely. So lovely. Thank you, Clark.” He grinned, less lopsided than usual, and you handed them to Kate, who promised she’d find a vase before waving goodbye as you stepped outside.

A chill ran across your skin, and though Clark couldn’t see you clearly through his foggy lenses—too big for his face—he felt the ice linger on you. Without a word, he draped his suede blazer over your shoulders. It smelled of him, just like the bonfire, and you inhaled deeply, wrapping it closer.

Who taught him to be so… bookish?

“Come on,” he urged gently, his hand at the small of your back, guiding you to his sparkling navy truck.

You felt every bit the Miss Bennett to his Mr. Darcy as he offered you a warm, far larger than yours, palm and helped you into the elevated truck. Once inside, he quickly rounded to sit beside you. After buckling, he cleaned his glasses with the cloth of his navy shirt before tucking it back into his onyx pants.

Then he faced you and grinned again.

“Well, don’t you look purdy.” He teased, amplifying that Kansas twang, making a flush kiss your cheeks.

He was handsome. So handsome behind those glasses and his books and—well, everything. And here he was, on a date with you, one he initiated.

You’d been anticipating the night to go horribly wrong.

But it hadn’t just yet.

“So, I was thinking, I want to give you options. Mellow, casual—or fancy and… schmancy? Trust me, I don’t mind either. Especially not with you looking like that… uh—not that you don’t always look like that, I just mean—”

You arched a brow, watching the pinch return between his own chocolate brows. He met your eyes, catching the glint of mirth there. He huffed a laugh at his own expense. “I’m bombing this already, aren’t I?”

He tilted his head, his lazy grin making your head spin. You pursed your lips.

“Just a little,” you whispered, grateful that the moonlight cast enough of a shadow over your lips to show him you were joking. He laughed softly. A moment passed, and you realized you hadn’t answered his question.

“Is this another test of yours?”

His brows shifted upwards, and he smirked.

“Maybe.”

“Hmm…” Fancy schmancy restaurant sounded… exhausting. As pretty as you were, you knew very well you couldn’t keep up a tiresome charade for the entirety of the date. It wasn’t you. His pretty car and his Pinterest-worthy face made him seem like the type to prefer that option. But you decided that after you spoke your next words, he’d likely kick you out of his truck— and maybe that was okay.

“Mellow. Casual,” you whispered, and your heart dropped when his mouth turned into a thin line.

There it was.

Too good to be true.

Your palm itched for your seatbelt before that lopsided grin slid back onto his face.

“You’re trying to steal my heart, huh?” he whispered, perhaps more to himself, eyes roaming over your glossed lips. He offered a satisfied nod. “Okay, Y/N, hot chocolate or chai?”

•••

By the time you reached your destination, your eyes widened in awe at the glowing fluorescent letters.

THE WANDERING QUILL;

A bookstore.

You blinked, glancing toward Clark, who flexed his palm in an anxious manner whilst stepping out of the truck. Before shutting the door, he ducked back through it.

“Stay there,” he ordered, and you had to purse your lips together to stifle the giggle bubbling in your throat when he circled to open your door and offer you a veined hand.

Maybe this was a trap. Maybe this perfect stranger was leading you into a slaughterhouse, ready to slice your skin and pick his teeth with your bones.

“C’mon, purdie,” he whispered as you hesitated, grabbing his hand. He led you down with ease, his fingers twitching in your grasp, but he let go, not wanting to push you before he even had you.

“I’m taking you book shopping,” he said, his hand on the small of your back as he guided you through the doors. You were admittedly overdressed, but his suede jacket hid that from view.

It didn’t matter, though. The moment the scent of aged parchment and spiced chai kissed your nostrils, you almost melted in contentment.

“This is my favorite place,” he said, his voice snapping you back to your senses. You looked up, and he was already peering down at you with an anticipatory expression.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, and his lips twitched as he turned you sharply right and led you to a quaint café beside all the books. He was amused, perhaps because it was maybe the third word you’d spoken all evening. A flush spread across your skin at that realization. You were being too shy. He’d undoubtedly grow bored of you, tire of your muteness, and—

“What’re you thinking about?”

Your eyes snapped to attention, and his expression softened when you spoke.

“No one’s ever taken me to a bookstore,” you said, catching yourself. The barista handed him two warm cups of molten chocolate that made your mouth water. Goosebumps erupted as you wrapped your hands around it.

“Do you like it?” His voice carried hope, and you were far too naive to catch it. Your beaming face melted something in him—like a puppet freed from its strings.

“I do,” you promised, and his lips twitched again. He blew on his drink and led you to a corner behind the café, surrounded by gold-dusted pages and crimson and violet-bound books, like something straight out of a storybook. He swapped your cups, less scorching than before, and then grabbed his own. He tilted his chin, signaling you to take a sip.

You did, and when the molten chocolate coated your tongue, you nearly melted too.

Christ.

If he dumped you on the side of the road after this, at least you’d die with a stomach full of this delicacy.

He laughed—a subtle, joyful sound. “That’s good, right?”

You could only nod, sipping again in tandem with him. His eyes wandered over the books around you. Then you blinked when you read the cursive sign that displayed “romance” in bold letters.

“Okay,” he began, taking your cup gently from your hands, making you pout. As if afraid to wilt you, he guided you forward. And god, if your neck wasn’t so close—so suckable—he might have stopped there. “Um…”

You tensed, wondering if maybe your amber-and-cashmere scent was off, if you’d forgotten deodorant. Christ, your stomach dropped.

Then you felt it—his hand at your hip, warm and firm, much firmer than you expected from his sweaters and flannels. Slowly, it snaked around your waist. He was asking permission, not demanding anything.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, so low you almost missed it. His touch wasn’t sexual; it was exploratory, as if seeing just how the pretty, shy girl—who he’d seen in ridiculous hedgehog pajamas before this—could feel in his arms. You exhaled shakily and nodded.

“And this?” he whispered again, guiding you a step back, treating you like the delicate flower you were. You were back to chest with the bookish stranger you’d met just a week ago. Held. Wanted.

And though your paranoid, self-saboteur mind screamed that this would be disastrous, The gentle thrum of your heart told you this was exactly where you needed to be.

A breathy giggle escaped you as he tested a gentle squeeze on your hip.

He felt almost barbaric, on the verge of losing control as he buried his nose into your honeyed locks with a not-so-subtle inhale, followed by a grin. You smelled like fresh linens and gourmands, and if he were a lesser man, he’d tilt your chin up so to taste you with his starved tongue.

But you were shy, and he wasn’t a lesser man. Raised well by his parents, he only swayed you slightly, loosening the tension in your sharp bones.

“Alright,” he whispered, amusement in his voice, dipping his head low as if to shut out the noise of the world around you— as if to trap you both in this moment. He handed you your cup back, warm, though his body was warmer, and it took all your strength not to shiver and melt into him.

“How about this: you pick a book for me, and I pick one for you. We’ll read them, then when I take you out again, we’ll talk about them.”

When.

Already… when.

You swallowed hard, wondering for a moment if he was seducing you or if he was just a little mad. You were shy, quiet, and painfully awkward, yet he was planning a second date already.

Despite your racing mind, how you felt in that moment told an entirely different story. Maybe playing along wouldn’t be so bad.

“Deal,” you murmured, a mirrored grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. He swayed you again.

“Yeah? Okay. Romance only.” You nodded, “Romance only. Got it… close your eyes.”

And he did. His lashes brushed against your silvered ear as he lowered his head to steal another inhale. It took all his restraint not to pull you closer, not to lazily lick at the vanilla coating your skin.

Your fingers skimmed over the book spines for a long moment before settling on the first one that came to mind— Book Lovers by Emily Henry. Fitting, the title alone was enough, but beyond it— the meaning. Girl doesn’t believe in love, boy changes it… maybe this little game he had you playing could be more than just fun— maybe it could tell him something deeper.

For a moment, you considered playing it safer, but in the end, you decided against it, tucking the book to your chest. “Okay, your turn.”

His grin grazed the place just below your ear as he tilted his head up again, moving his hand from your hip to cover your eyes. You giggled, the sound light and sweet.

“No cheating, y/n,” he murmured, waiting patiently as he plucked a gold-trimmed book from the rattan shelf.

“I’m sure you know this one,” he added, tucking it to his side as you turned to face him, free from his warm grasp. You felt cold again.

“On three?” you offered, and the corner of his mouth lifted, a lazy grin spreading.

“Three,” he said, and your eyes widened as you quickly turned your book to him— and he did the same.

The Notebook.

“Oh, Clark.” His gaze shifted from your chosen book to his own, brows furrowing. “You’ve read it,” he concluded, but you shook your head. “Never even seen the movie.”

His brows lifted, blue-gray eyes widening slightly as he processed your words. A ringlet of onyx hair fell across his forehead as he checked his watch.

“Can I steal you for another… two hours?”

You just didn’t have it in you to say no…

[kaislvves]

IN WHICH; you and kaiser get into an argument over a stupid reason which leads into a hard launch after his match.

a/n: do NAWT speak to me about how unrealistic the last scenes are. i KNOWW how crazy fans can be and they’d probably be mauling/trampling you guys to death😭 also say no to telling me to put my ear to your mouth and listen what you have to say (kaz ref…) only to tell me this is ooc leave me alone pls. & not proofread lolz

cw: swearing, arguments -> making up, my writing

“i could stay for tonight.”

it was sickening coming from your tongue because kaiser knew he didn’t want you only for tonight. he’s coming close to crushing you with how hard he’s squeezing your body like he never wants you to leave.

“just for tonight?” is a question he poses. the air around you two remains silent and it angers him—are you thinking about an answer? for there is no other answer than accepting defeat and staying in his arms, forever.

you try squirming around to wiggle your way out of his hold because it was getting warmer than you’d like it to be. “yes, micha. just for tonight.” you start whining at this point but he does not budge no matter how hard you try. he’s only growing more irritated by your response paired up with the nickname you call him to be affectionate.

affectionate his ass—you’re basically admitting you hate him. as much as he loves being seen as an enemy in others’ eyes, he hates when you perceive him in such a manner. “don’t call me micha.” his huffing out and you can feel the vibrations in his chest

“okay mr. football prodigy.” your tease is muffled by his chest. in most situations, he’d take it as a compliment to feed his ego but he knows you’re deliberately trying to egg him on. and though he currently can’t see your face because of the position you guys are in, he swears he can feel your eyes rolling at him.

“i still have a life… and a job.” now it’s your turn to get fed up by his behavior. “am i not your life?” he’s sounding like you genuinely just offended his whole bloodline and hell, maybe even very distant ancestors. you want to say he’s joking but judging by experience, he most certainly isn’t.

one thing you understood when you first started dating him was that he would not give up his career for you and using the same logic, you didn’t have to either. now can some mind reader tell you why this is happening? why is he being so stubborn about this in particular? not like kaiser isn’t dramatic or stubborn most of the time but he’s never been this stubborn over a matter like this.

“michael that’s not… i just—i can’t just give everything up for you.” oh, now you’re calling him by his full first name? perhaps that wasn’t the best way to word it because you feel grip shifting to the back of your head to keep it in place, he does this because he doesn’t want you seeing his face. “why not?” he barks a lot quieter than he normally does.

“what do you mean by ‘why not’? this has been my life, even before i met you.” you try holding in the scoff that you were trying so hard to avoid but it’s obvious now.

as if it wasn’t already tense but it feels like it bloomed into a raging silence. you believe he’s thinking of an answer but in reality, he isn’t. he’s thinking about anything else other than him opening his mouth because only the heavens know what words would spew out of his mouth if he were to—imagine how worse he’d make this petty argument.

you hate this.

you hate silence.

you hate him being silent.

and you make the dumb decision to add salt to the injury—the one thing kaiser didn’t want to do. “do you actually want to argue about this? if so, i’m not staying at all.” there you go, saying things you don’t actually mean. “do you mean that?” oh he actually responded. you did try to choose your words carefully but your mouth moves faster than your thoughts.

“and if i did?” you’re lying through your teeth, but he takes the bait.

that was what unlocked his vile mouth that should be censored on television after losing a match. “you really are annoying, you know that? i hope you didn’t because i didn’t know that either when i started liking you. or were you just leading me on? i don’t care if you aren’t staying anymore. just fucking leave.” he’s lacing his words with cyanide.

he’s second guessing his thoughts of wanting you to stay forever if you were just going to be acting like that. his grip on you is finally loosening and it’s easier to slide right past his arms. you take the chance and peak at his face. it wasn’t the look you want to see on him normally but it is justified in this situation. he has a scowl on his face but he still looks so pretty like this. he’s looking at you too, albeit not with the admiration you’re doing.

it isn’t the best idea to stay silent and so you don’t.

“fine then.” you say while walking away from him to head towards the entrance and like expected, he doesn’t follow you. you take the bag from the front-door rack and slip on the shoes he gifted you.

you spare no time opening the door, not even glancing back when you shut the door as well. kaiser is the one looking, glaring at the back of your head before you disappear behind his door. after he knows you’re off completely, he goes over to lock it shut but also ends up smelling the slight scent of your perfume floating in the air.

looks like you won’t be staying tonight anymore. and now that this happened, will you ever? did he want you to?

this argument could have been so minor if both of you had just sucked it up.

were you still together? it didn’t end in clear closure, just him telling you to leave and you did.

did you still want this? did he still want this?

in all honesty, he just wants you. no matter what form, no matter what, he still wants to say he knows you. it didn’t have to be this way.

safe to say neither of you had good sleep that night.

kaiser has many ways to express his aggression. be it words, physical contact (past), or what he’s doing right now—football. he hasn’t contacted you ever since that day and you haven’t either. makes him question what he still is to you.

why does he care? if you don’t want to talk to him, neither do you. if you hate him, he hates you.

however, whenever he does take his anger out of the field, he dominates it. effectively becoming the king of the field. from the get-go it was obvious bastard munchen would win the match against some other team they were playing against.

you could tell too, setting aside the fact you were sitting pretty far from the game. what made you want to watch the match even if you thought he was probably your ex already? you didn’t know. it’s like you just gravitate towards the stupid rat tails man, he’s an annoying magnet to you now.

and like everyone betted on, bastard munchen did win.

the team immediately celebrates by huddling together, slapping each-others hands, carrying each-other, and what not? you unconsciously smile at the scene, it was small, you could still feel it but you couldn’t help it.

kaiser is celebrating with his team, being somehow lifted on-top of ness’ shoulders (which he is really annoyed at and he’s wondering how the fuck he’s doing that, what is wrong with him?). he ultimately scored the last goal they needed to win. it wasn’t a surprise because when he plays, he wants to—needs to—win.

despite that, his teammates couldn’t help but realize his anger, leading to yoichi asking him a question that makes kaiser want to choke the black-haired man on the spot.

“the hell was that?” he asks (referring the stupidly impossible goal kaiser was able to score, but you know… he doesn’t believe anything is impossible.) “i have a question for you too, yoichi. what the hell is that kind of question?” he’s laughing out, still on ness’ shoulders. but he’s laughing so hard his whole body starts to shake, making ness stumble a little.

still, yoichi was able to tell something was off.

“uh… what’s gotten your panties in a twist?”

but before kaiser could answer that with going off on him, he’s being pulled into an interview.

what made that goal possible?

“it was never impossible.”

what do you feel after winning?

“as if we weren’t going to win.”

boring questions he didn’t want to answer but he was obligated to—for he was basically the star of the show, like always. that was until a certain question was asked that made him look around the stadium for the first time.

that was quite an impressive goal.

“of course.”

is there anyone you wanted to watch that shot?

he’s silent. he’s thinking of you as he gazes around the bleachers—embarrassingly thinking everyone has your face and accidentally making eye contact with crazy fans that go berserk when he does. the only reason he never looked before and during the match was because you wouldn’t be there.

what a desperate reason, right? row after row, he’s scanning every seat, even the ones that are empty and imagining you’re the one sitting in it. 3rd to the top row, he scanning and not expecting to see you.

the fuck? is that you?

is he looking at you? kaiser is looking in your direction and in the area you’re seated but you’re so high up you can’t tell and it’s very unlikely he is but he keeps staring. you’re awkwardly looking away and around your section to hide your face.

oh but he’s already gotten a look of the face he so desperately wanted to see and he’s not going to look away, nor will he stand in one place. like a lunatic who just escaped some mental hospital, he’s booking it from the interviewer who stands shocked.

oh ok... he totally saw you which defeats the total point of you sitting so far away, was he lying to you when he said his eyesight wasn’t the best? probably. anyway, that was your sign to also walk away.

screams of fans were deafening and you felt like your eardrums were going to burst anyway.

who cursed you? because it was such a coincidence that kaiser comes out the way you were going to exit. he didn’t count how many fans who were asking all sorts of things he ran past to get to you.

as soon as you saw his face, you tried playing it off cool and spun the other way to walk away but he was by no means dumb and he saw you do that. he clicked his tongue in annoyance.

it felt like when you ask your friends to chase you and they actually do and now you’re screaming your lungs out trying to outrun them. obviously it was futile because he was so much faster than you.

no words could explain how fucking loud the crowd was, first when he ran, second when he entered the spectator area, last (hopefully) when he hugged you tightly from behind, stopping you from running.

like that night, he was warmer than you’d like him to be. arms wrapped around your waist and his chin on your shoulder. “are you running away again?” he’s whispering into your ear and despite the crowd + the booming voices around you… ++ the paparazzi basically stomping on people to get a photo, he’s unbelievably close to your ear, you have no trouble in hearing him.

“kaiser.” you breathe out in the same shock the interviewer was probably in. “don’t call me that. answer my question.” he huffs—he hasn’t heard you call him that in for like… forever! (unless you count other arguments)

“should i want to run away?”

“i don’t want you to.”

the grip is getting tighter and it slightly stops you from breathing for a second. you don’t want to run away, you don’t hate him.

you were thinking the same as him, whether or whether not he still considered you his. but you know his ego is way too high for his own good so you do him a favor and ask him instead.

“are we still something?” you ask and it hurts him that you do—did you not think that anymore? his eye is twitching with uncertain emotions. “…tell me your answer first.” there’s hurt evident in his voice because he doesn’t want to jump into conclusions and hurt his ego even more than he already has fighting for his way to get to you.

“i don’t know, are we?” he’d flick your forehead with full power if he wasn’t trying to make up with you. it’s barely audible but you hear “i still want this.” a frown is on your face and he took it as a bad sign.

“i do too, micha.” you admit, he’s spiraling by how you say his name.

as much as he wants to say that he did want you to stay with him forever, that he didn’t want you to leave him, that he doesn’t actually find you annoying, that he loves you. he decides on doing only the second and last option because he’s kept himself, you, and the fans waiting far too long.

(you also wanted to say you didn’t mean it.)

he’s spinning you around to face him.

“don’t leave me, ever.”

he holds your hands in his, leaning forward to kiss you.

and though you guys still have so much to apologize, discuss, and everything in between… you both would rather leave that for a private matter. just stay in this moment, in his arms for now? if not forever.

oh and now you hoped this was the last time the crowd got as rowdy as it was.

GERMAN FOOTBALL PRODIGY; MICHAEL KAISER AND HIS SUPPOSED PARTNER MAKE IT PUBLIC! WHO IS THE LUCKY PERSON? EVERYTHING WE KNOW RIGHT NOW…

locknessmonster : bro wtf

[bathypelagicbutch]

the first time i was treated even remotely respectfully in public when i first transitioned was at 3am in a 24 hour pizza place while high out of my mind on shrooms. i was in full drag with a full face and it was the first and only time i was ever gendered correctly and respectfully in a public place while presenting femme. i pass now, and I'm thankful that i do, but the amount of effort I've had to put into making my body as acceptable as possible for people just so i don't get harassed for more reasons than being Black in places i don't belong (super white grad school lmao) is wild. i shouldn't have to make myself look like you want me to fuck you for you to respect me, and it really shouldn't be that hard for queer people to realise that that is literally what most of society, including white queers, forces us to do. there's a weird intersection with Blackness and masculinity for both Black men and women that i feel gets pointed out a lot, but i feel like the hypermasculinisation of Black women unless they present sufficiently slutty is something that only gets talked about at length for cis Black women and queer Black women in general. mainly because whenever the dolls try to bring it up the only response is immediate horniness or complete denial. it's also interesting that when i started presenting more masc i started passing, but since then the amount of horny white people who've been unable to remove the rupaulified fucktoy version of me in their brain for long enough to listen to me when i try to talk about how much it sucks being butch and trans has increased. exponentially. you all have too many issues with Black men to even notice how your racism affects every part of how you view Blackness in general.

speaking of! follow up to that earlier thing i said about not being able to be masc and trans without ppl needing to remind you that they only support you for your ability to fuck them ‐ it's worse when you're Black, and you white queens do it too. and i really don't think you realise you do! because I've talked about this with almost every person I've been with (if I've even been allowed to before being dismissed without a hint of concern) and most of them just admitted to doing this at some point in our relationship. so instead of being philosophical I'll just use a few examples from the past 3 years (because they get worse if you go earlier and also i. do not have to)

you don't get to call me sir in bed because I'm masc and you said you want to treat me like a guy in bed (you're gay please stop confusing Black masculinity for being a man and work on your issues before fucking me) and you especially don't get to use this as leverage against me whenever i discuss how racist the relationship dynamic is despite your incredibly vocal support of my activism. you don't get to use my body or the right to demand that i use your body because you have a fetish for Black men, and you aren't allowed to get upset when i point out that this is the most supportive attitude you've had towards any part of me the entire time we've been together. you don't get to take out your frustration against Black people or Black men by making me fuck you, and again you don't get to get upset when i point out how fucked up that is that you call yourself an ally and then only use that allyship to get dicked down. you don't get to assume that because I'm Black and masc i'm the most aggressive top you've ever come across and you don't get to white woman tears your way out of it by using your own transness as a pass. you aren't allowed to enjoy Black bodies if we're only a commodity to you (which you openly admit) and you similarly don't get to white woman tears your eay out of it by using your confused sexuality as a pass.

i think I've made my point so I'm gonna stop! but yeah can you all be normal about Black people thanks a million blushes sweetly

kinda uncomfortable how ppl cant celebrate black trans women unless they are superduperhyperfeminine with 19 layers of makeup + expensive surgeries/weaves/dresses and looking like theyre going to walk the red carpet every day

[istoleyoursphenoidbone]

Danny in the Bathroom

DPxDC

I wanted to try and get back into writing (havent in like a good 5 years), so this might be horrible. But inspired by the song "Michael in the Bathroom" from Be More Chill.

The music and chatter from the party outside pulsed through the door like a heartbeat, distant and muffled. Danny Fenton leaned against the bathroom sink, his hands gripping the cold porcelain edge. His reflection in the mirror stared back, pale and tired, framed by messy black hair and the faint glow of his ghostly aura that refused to fade completely. He couldn’t blame it; even his human half wanted to disappear. He turned the faucet on, letting the water run for no reason other than to give himself a task. It masked the noise outside, made him feel just a little more alone—but not in a bad way. Not in the way the rest of the party had.

He had come here with Jason. Jason Todd, the guy who somehow managed to make him feel grounded in a way no one else ever had. They weren't even officially together, but they'd found some weird balance of trust and shared darkness that felt enough. Or, at least, it used to. Danny had thought this would be one of those rare nights when things felt normal. A party, some laughs, maybe a moment where it was just the two of them sitting outside, away from the noise, watching the stars like they always did. Instead, Jason had vanished into the crowd of people who seemed to orbit around him effortlessly.

"I should’ve stayed home," Danny muttered, running a wet hand through his hair. "Could’ve binge-watched something dumb. Or, you know, not gotten up at all." The faucet dripped. A drunk voice outside slurred through a Whitney Houston song, loud and off-key, and it almost made him laugh. Almost. Instead, it made his chest ache. He used to joke about stuff like that with Tucker and Sam. Now it was just him, Danny—in the bathroom, his phone clutched in one hand as he tried to summon the courage to text Jason.

"Hey, you okay?” he typed, then deleted. “You ditched me. Cool, I’ll just head out.” That went, too. He leaned back against the sink, closing his eyes, letting himself feel the weight of the night press down. The memories of Jason’s grin earlier, the way his voice had sounded when he said, "This'll be fun, trust me," felt like salt in the wound now. Danny had trusted him. He wanted to believe Jason hadn’t forgotten about him, but the silence in his messages was louder than the music outside.

The door suddenly creaked open a crack, and Danny tensed. "Occupied," he called out, his voice sharper than he intended. But instead of retreating, Jason’s head peeked through the gap. His hair was messy, cheeks slightly flushed—not from alcohol, Danny knew, but from whatever chaos he'd just left behind.

"Hey," Jason said, a little breathless. His blue eyes darted over Danny, taking in the slouched posture, the furrowed brows. "I've been looking for you." Danny crossed his arms. "Yeah? You looked really hard." Jason winced, stepping fully inside and shutting the door behind him. "I got... caught up. I didn't mean to leave you hanging." Danny looked away, focusing on the faucet again. "Sure. It’s fine. I’m fine."

Jason stepped closer, the tension in the small room rising. "You're not," he said softly. "And that’s on me. I’m sorry." Danny sighed, finally meeting his gaze. Jason looked earnest, and Danny hated how much he wanted to forgive him just for that.

“I’m not mad," Danny admitted. "I just... don’t do this kind of thing. I’m not you. I don’t know how to be in a room full of people and not feel like I’m invisible—or worse, like I’m not supposed to be there." Jason frowned, then moved to sit on the closed toilet lid. "You think I don’t feel that way? Half the time I’m in a crowd, I feel like a ghost.”

The irony wasn’t lost on either of them, and for the first time that night, Danny let himself smile—just barely. “I’m serious,” Jason continued. “I don’t know how to do this stuff either. But you? You being here? That’s the only thing that made me want to show up in the first place.” Danny blinked, caught off guard. He let the words hang between them for a moment before he pushed off the sink, sitting down on the tiled floor across from Jason. “So,” Danny said, “you’re saying we’re both disasters?” Jason grinned, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Exactly. But at least we’re disasters together.” And suddenly, the noise of the party outside didn’t seem so loud anymore.

[wemalyri]

could you do enhypen reaction to ur self harm ?? I loved ur last post

pairing: hyungline!enhypen × gn!reader genre: angst, hurt/comfort warnings: feeling guilty, obv self-harm, brief description of negative feelings and thoughts + personal tw for each member w/c: 640+ a/n: thank you for your request!! sorry that it took me SO long(( (it's been in my drafts since august just so yk :/)e also I did only hyung line I hope you don't mind. I tried to mention and describe different reasons and situations. some members include sad endings and feeling of hopelessness. I know that if you're deep down in this even words of your loved ones might not help. if you have this problem pls remember that you're not alone( take care of yourself properly! also sunghoon one is kinds crazy, sorry for that !!! likes and reposts are welcomed !!!

Heeseung

tw: comparison to others, jealousy, toxic perfectionism

You hadn’t seen each other for a few months. The reason of it was Heeseung’s job. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t stay with you all of the time. Three months of tour felt like eternity. However, it was finally over and now you could see each other again. Heeseung promised you to come over as soon as possible but you didn’t expect him to do it so fast. Forgetting yourself, you ran to the front door and opened it with a bright smile. Heeseung immediately hugged you, holding you tight. His hand held your head, burying your face in his chest. “Gosh I missed you so much…” He inhaled your scent with a loud sound. “You smell like home.”

You playfully giggled and pecked his lips, looking at him. He pulled away to explore your appearance with a smile, but it immediately faded as his gaze fixed on your thighs. “Y/n…” He whispered with fear, not believing his own eyes. 

Upper side of your legs were covered in scars, recent ones. You absolutely forgot to cover them, too excited to meet your boyfriend. 

Yes, Heeseung was perfect for you but that only made your self-esteem worse. You always thought he was too good for you, you never were on the same level. Heeseung wasn’t just an idol, he was a goddamn ‘ace’. Perfect at everything, you never noticed his bad habits, selfish thoughts or actions. He was like an angel fallen from heaven, someone who would never match you. This is what you thought. And when he left on tour you knew he wouldn’t be able to control or see new scars if you left them. Every time you got jealous, you would blame yourself for this feeling, making your mental statement even worse. Negative feelings were too much to handle but you were too embarrassed and ashamed to share them with Heeseung, knowing pretty well that even his sweetest words wouldn’t help you. This is how you found a way to express everything you felt, punishing yourself for not being flawless.

Your eyes looked down, searching for a reason of Heeseung’s worried expression. When you saw your scars, you felt ashamed and guilty. 

“It’s nothing.” you answered, trying to sound casual.

“It doesn’t look like nothing.” Heeseung’s tone of voice was serious. It felt like you had never seen him with such an expression. His eyes met yours and you could see a deep worry and hurt in them. “Why have you done that?..”

You felt guilty. You didn’t want to hurt him with your words but you didn’t want to lie to him at the same time. “I…didn’t feel well.” The reason you named sounded so stupid that a sense of shame washed over you.

Heeseung’s expression didn’t change. It seemed like your words didn’t convince him at all. “You could call me… text me… anything but not that.” 

“I didn’t want to bother you. You have a busy schedule, I don’t want to wear you out even more.” 

“Y/n… It wouldn’t hurt me as much as this.” You went silent for a second, biting your lip.

“I didn’t want to complain to you, okay?” It felt like you didn’t understand each other at all.

“Baby, that’s not complaining when you tell me about your feelings. That’s normal. I’m your boyfriend, you don’t trust me enough to share your thoughts?” You didn’t say anything as tears welled up in your eyes. Heeseung immediately stepped closer, pulling you to him. Your hands wrapped around his waist, holding onto him as the last hope. He pecked your head, whispering. “Tell me when you don’t feel well next time, okay?” You slightly nodded, thinking that maybe it will help you to go through this. At least, you decided to give it a try.

Jay

tw: ED, fatshaming (reader to themselves)

Jay is the best cook you've ever known and everyone always says that they're jealous of your luck. Your boyfriend cooks for you everyday, he never fails to make sure you're eating well even when he's tired. However, for you personally this obsession with good meals never was for the best. Your relationship with your body never was the simplest one and even though Jay and you dated for a while, you managed to hide it from him. However, at the last time something went wrong and your boyfriend started noticing what attitude you actually had to food.

One day you were having a meal at your apartment and of course Jay cooked. Again. Sitting next to your boyfriend, you were picking at food. 

“Is something wrong? You don't like it?” Jay asked, looking at you through his eyelashes with concern. 

“No, everything's fine. Just not hungry.” You managed to say, trying to sound casual. Jay's eyebrows frowned and he pulled chopsticks away. 

“Are you sure? You haven't been eating well lately.” This question suddenly made you annoyed. You didn't want someone to talk about your eating problems, so you tried to change the topic. 

“Just not hungry.” The same words left your mouth and it made Jay confused even more. Something definitely was wrong and he just couldn't understand what exactly. 

“Y/n, I know something is wrong. Don't try to hide it from me.” Jay's tone was serious and it only irritated you even more. 

“I said I was fine!” You striked the table, that made your sleeves of shirt roll up and show off your scars. Jay looked at your wrists and his sight immediately catched those parts of skin you were hiding from him. Fresh scars were relieved for his eyes, blooming on your hands. 

“Y/n, your hands…” Jay spoke quietly in disbelief. Your eyes immediately widened in realization. He saw them.

You rolled down your sleeves, hiding marks of the hatred to your body, eyes looking down.

“How long ago did you make it?” Jay asked seriously, clenching his fists. He didn't hear an answer from you. “Why?..” For a minute that you were staying silent, a lot of different thoughts ran through his head. Weren’t you happy with him? Was he a bad boyfriend? Why did you hide it?

“Jay, it's not your fault.” His flaw of thoughts was ruined by your quiet voice. “It's just… me.”

He absolutely didn't understand. His eyes looked into yours with desire for more explanation. He was begging you to talk about it. 

“I-I don't like myself. My body. And I feel even worse every time you try to feed me. I'm fat. I can't let myself eat that much.”

Of course, he was so stupid all of this time. You had always been eating purely. Once he even noticed you judgingly looking at yourself in the mirror. And he did nothing.

“Gosh, I'm so stupid…” Jay hid his face in his hands, rubbing the forehead, trying not to bunch his head under the table. 

“No, you're not. I never talked about it. You were just being a good caring boyfriend.” You saw how awful he felt and it made you feel guilty. 

He quickly stood up from his place and you could see his watered eyes, when he slipped his hands away from his face. He approached you, gently pulling your wrist to the side to examine you. “Did you hurt yourself anywhere else? Are there any more scars?” 

“No, Jay.” You settled him down with your voice but he didn’t seem to believe you. “Really. That’s all.”

Jay slightly sighed, closing his eyes. “Listen, I’m sorry.” You stood up and placed your hand on his shoulder, feeling even more guilty. 

“You shouldn’t apologize to me. You should apologize to yourself.” Jay looked mad but this expression on his face was actually hiding his concern. He looked at you and was met with your sad puppy eyes that made him want to hug you. His hands pulled you to him and he pressed his lips to your head. 

“I know…” You mumbled into his chest. “I just can't. I don't want to.”

“Baby… do you hate yourself that much?” Jay asked looking into your eyes when he lifted your chin up. Your eyes watered, giving him a clear answer. “I'm sorry…” He whispered. “I'll make sure you'll love yourself.”

You slightly shook your head in resistance but didn't say anything, ran out of energy. Jay patted your head, kissing your forehead, and while looking into his eyes full of love you thought that maybe he will keep his words. 

Jake

tw: reader can’t express their feelings, bad experience in sharing problems

Jake always was clingy towards you but it never was the problem. His hands almost always were wrapped around you, no matter if you were in public or not, you would feel his touch on your back or shoulder.

One day you had a movie-night and Jake was clinging onto you as usual. Wrapping hands around you, laying his head on your thighs, caressing your skin, he almost touched your recent scars that were covering your shoulder. Everytime Jake moved or shivered you would slightly flinch, avoiding contact between his hands and your scars under the shirt. 

Suddenly, your boyfriend pulled away from your thighs, holding onto your shoulder and you immediately gasped. “Ouch!”

Jake looked at you with worried eyes, pulling his hand away and holding it in the air. “Sorry! Did I grip too hard?”

You sighed, looking at him. “Yeah, a bit harsh. But it's okay.” Jake's gaze switched to your shoulder, covered with a shirt. He slightly pulled your sleeve up. “I'm sorry… There might be a bruise now. Let me look.” You immediately flinched from him. He didn't have to know about your scars. 

“No, it's okay.” Jake's eyes switched to your face with worry. 

“Baby, I'll just look…” He gently placed his hand on yours and you looked away, giving up. You knew he wouldn't leave you alone. Insisting would only cause more questions. 

Jake's fingers slowly pulled your sleeve up and his eyes widened. “Baby… what is that?..” Now he could see your recent scars that were blooming on your skin. 

There wasn't a certain reason why you did that. Sometimes negative feelings were too much to cope with and you, the person who had never been learnt how to take care of yourself and let your emotions out, would express everything, hurting yourself. You knew it was wrong but the thought of sharing your feelings with someone was too strange. Of course, you had tried. But it always ended the same. People would say you complain a lot and you would shut up, regretting letting out true feelings. But this time it was Jake. Jake who was your boyfriend, Jake who would never let himself hurt you. 

Your eyes watered with a feeling of despair but you didn't dare to meet his gaze. Awkward silence took the air away, not letting to breathe. However, tension in the room suddenly disappeared with Jake's gentle voice. “Hey…” His fingers tilted your chin up. Jake’s worried eyes met watered yours. “Where are they from?..” 

He looked so genuinely concerned that you couldn’t confess you were the one who did that with yourself. You bit your bottom lip, holding tears that started welling up in your eyes. There was no response. Jake started realising what your silent answer meant and his world faded away.

“It wasn’t you, right?..” he whispered, scared of his own words “You wouldn’t do that to yourself?…” Silence was making Jake go insane and he called you by your name. 

“Y/n?..” his hands held your, slightly squeezing them “Please, say something. I won;t judge you, I swear.”

You looked in the corner of the room quietly saying only a few words “That was me.”

Jake’s jaw clenched but he managed to ask “Why?..”

“I don’t know… I wasn’t… feeling well…” your voice was slightly shaky. Jake leaned close to you, making sure you could see everything in his eyes. 

“You have me. You can always share with me, you know that, right?” 

“I don’t want to complain to you. You don’t know what you’re signing up for.” you warned him, recalling your past experiences. 

“I don’t care. I want to make sure I’m doing the best I can to make you happy.” Jake saw your slight smile and leaned even closer to peck your lips before wrapping hands around you and whispering in your ear “Can you do that for me? Next time you feel bad… Tell me, scream at me, yell at me. As much as you need until you get rid of wanting to hurt yourself.” 

You caressed his hair pulling him closer and whispering “I love you, Jake.”He smiled, replying with the same soft words “I love you too.”

Sunghoon 

tw: self-harm in details, blood, low self-esteem, anxiety, jealousy, reader has REAL mental problems… (this one is crazy fr)

You knew Sunghoon pretty well as much as the fact that he only seemed to be cold. When you first met him, you thought he hated you for something or just didn’t like you, but after a while you found out you were wrong. Because of his cold appearance it’s hard to say what he’s feeling or thinking about. Still, you’ve loved him the way he is. However, your anxiety and self-esteem suffered the most in your relationship. Not because Sunghoon was too cold, but because you were afraid of doing or saying something wrong. Mental problems and fears took control of you and sometimes it led to hurting yourself. 

Sunghoon went out with friends. You were absolutely fine with that until it started being late and stars covered the dark sky. Sunghoon didn’t answer your calls, didn’t reply to your messages and you started worrying too much. Was he with other girls? Did he lie to you about his feelings? 

Minutes with these thoughts and attempts to call him again and you already found yourself in the bathroom with a blade in your hands. Fear of losing Sunghoon and hatred to yourself led you towards irrecoverable actions.

Consumed by your feelings, you didn’t notice the sound of unlocking door and footsteps of your boyfriend. He was surprised by not seeing you greeting him in the hallway and suggested you were sleeping. As Sunghoon carefully headed towards the bathroom he stood still in the doorframe, seeing you with bloody hands sitting on the cold tile. His eyes widened in fear and he ran to you, holding your shoulders and turning you to him.

“Y/n! Are you here? Do you hear me?” he enquired with fear slightly shaking you. 

Your eyes shoot opened “Hoon? What are you doing here?” 

“What do you mean? I came home as usual. What’s happened?..” he looked over you with worried eyes “We need to take you to the hospital.” 

Sunghoon started lifting you up but you stopped him lightly tapping his shoulder. 

“No… It’s okay…” You weakly smiled, tears on your cheeks becoming dry.

“It’s not okay. Your wrists are literally bleeding…” You could tell he was trying his hardest to stay calm but hysterical notes in his voice were telling the opposite. Sunghoon laid you on the bed and called the ambulance with shaky hands.When the call ended the room went silent. 

“We need to stop your… blood first” He hurried to the bathroom for some bandage to negligently stop your blood. Fortunately, cuts weren’t deep.

“I thought you wouldn’t come…” you mumbled watching Sunghoon treating your wounds.

Sunghoon looked at you with confusion “Why did you do that?.. I don’t understand…” His voice was quiet, your heart breaking into million pieces. 

“I’m sorry…” you whispered reaching for his cheek. “I thought… I thought you lied to me. You weren’t answering my texts and calls…” Your thumb slowly caressed his skin, wiping away a lonely tear that escaped from his watering eyes. Sunghoon gently took another hand of yours in his, rubbing the knuckles.

“My phone was discharged…” 

Oh. That was so stupid of you. How could you overreact so much?..

“Oh… I didn’t think about that…” The room went silent again. 

“Y/n, please… I’m begging you. Never do that again. Okay?..” Sunghoon’s pleading voice broke the silence. You hesitated before slowly nodding. “I don’t want to lose you like that.”

Your eyes watered, you started realising your mistake and what you did, what could happen. “I’m sorry, Hoon… I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The room was suddenly filled with a syren of the ambulance that flew from the opened window.

[undercoveravenger]

Calm

Pairing: Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Male!Reader

Requested: No

Summary: Former barracks bunny Soap coming to terms with having feelings for you.

Warnings: Suggestive, but no actual smut

-----

Johnny MacTavish has always had too much energy for his own good. He’s always had a leg bouncing or fingers tapping or something to tear apart and put back together during briefings, always been running his mouth during transits, always bouncing from person to person because he’s just too much for one person to handle.

He’s had a handful of partners through the years that get close, but no one that’s been able to hold up against his stamina. It’s probably why he’d become something of a barracks bunny in the last few years, shacking up with anyone who catches his fancy for half a second in an effort to curb his libido but he just can't get the same enjoyment out of it that he used to. The enthusiasm of the rookies eager to get a taste of him or the punishing way someone from upper command bends him over just don't do it for him anymore. 

None of them bring that same satisfying ache that you do. 

It’s the sweet way you hold him during makes him feel like he's not just a problem. Not some chore to be tolerated and dealt with and then pushed to the back of your mind to be forgotten about. It makes him feel like he's whole for a little while, at least until he forces himself out of your bed to start gathering his clothes, stumbling his way back into his underwear and cargos on numb legs and wishing he'd hear you tell him to stay but knowing that he can't let himself.

He can’t turn around. Can’t bring himself to check if you’re watching him - hoping he’ll come back to bed. Or worse, what if you’d just rolled over and closed your eyes? Ready to wash your hands of him and let him leave the way he always does?

He pauses then, shirt in hands and pants unbuckled around his hips. You’re the one person who has ever treated him like this. The only one who never bustled him out as soon as the sex ended or pushed him to stay when he didn’t feel like it. The only one who actually wore him out enough that he didn’t feel like he needed to seek someone else out for another round before bed. You’d always been careful to check in with him. Always willing to at least hear him out if he asked to try something without pushing him if he said no to one of your own requests. Always asking if he needed anything from you after.

“Why?” The question escapes him unbidden and it takes him a moment to realize it even came from him. “Why,” he says again, eyes fixed on the way his knuckles go white from gripping his shirt so tightly, “don’t you ever ask me to stay?”

It’s clearly not something you’d expected him to say, not from how long the silence stretches between you. 

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.” You’re looking at him, Soap notices when he turns to face you, whether you were or not before, you are now. Lying sprawled on your side, with one hand propping your head up, and your eyes are fixed on his and he’s not used to the intensity - not used to someone looking at him like that instead of with wandering eyes even when he is trying to be serious. “Everyone’s always talking about how you don’t stay. That you just want a bit of fun and then you go.” You shift onto your back and your breath escapes you in a huff and Johnny can feel his chest squeeze fondly at the sound. “Doubted you’d want me pushing your boundaries.”

He’s not sure what to say about that. That you hadn’t asked because you didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. He’d known you were a pretty stand up guy - there was a reason you were the one sent in to deal with victims or newly recovered prisoners, something safe about you that even a stranger could see. 

“And,” he says slowly, forcing himself to continue despite the pit in his stomach, “What if I’d asked to?”

The smile that crosses your features brings an unconscious one to Johnny’s own lips, “Then I’d ask which side of the bed you prefer,” you said, simple and matter of fact. Like him staying wasn’t even something you’d have to think twice to be alright with. 

Johnny nodded slowly, butterflies racing in his stomach as he thought about his options. How he could leave and go back to his usual habits and pretend this never happened, or how he could see how this went with you. He steels himself, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than he ever has on an op as he drops his shirt and kicks his cargos back off, moving to settle beside you on the bed. “Left side’s fine,” he says, grinning as he tugged the sheets back up over the both of you and tucked himself tight against your chest. 

If it gets him more nights like this with you, Johnny thinks he could certainly get used to the calm.

[quokkaholic]

Give Me Face l.f

Warnings: fluff, little angst, slightly suggestive, bi besties to ??, alcohol consumption, kissin and touchin, cussing duh

Synopsis: You have been really down lately, your best friend Felix notices and wants to go out to the club to snap you out of her slump. The club is filled with hot people and some jealousy ensues.

Song recommendation: MADRE by Young Miko and Villano Antillano

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You’ve been rotting in bed all day and have no plan on moving for the rest of the night, that is, until you get a message out of the blue that Felix is on his way over. Flinging the covers off, you start frantically picking up the place. Your apartment is such a wreck you don’t even want your best friend to see it in this state, so instead of brushing your hair or changing the clothes you’ve been wearing for the past two days, you are shoving shit in your closet and shoddily loading the dishwasher. Before you even get the chance to pick up the food wrappers and takeout bags, Felix is opening the door with his spare key. He stands there in the doorway taking in the scene before tilting his head to the side and giving you a sympathetic look.

“Oh baby” he coos and closes the door behind him before opening his arms for a hug, and you immediately oblige. He mimics your tight squeeze as you nuzzle your face into his neck taking in his familiar scent: clean and floral with a touch of amber and musk.

“What are you doing here Lixie?”

“You’ve been slow to respond the past week and haven’t attended a single group hang in like a month. Come on girl, you think as your best friend I don’t know your signs that you’re down?”

You can’t help but grip tighter at his words. You are so lucky to have such a considerate and caring person as a best friend.

“Plus I have your location and saw you haven’t gone anywhere besides work and McDonalds in like 3 weeks. What's going on, babe?”

You spill your guts to him about problems at work and in your love life. Ever since you and your partner split 5 months ago, you have only had shitty dates and situationships, and the loneliness is now setting in. You know isolating yourself from your friends only makes the pain worse, but for some reason, it is just instinct when you start feeling bad to pull away. Luckily, Felix can always see through your bullshit.

“Y/nn, we need to get you out of this apartment. We need to get you out of your head too. Tonight we are going out! Don’t even try to fight me on this. Let's get ready.” He states, rushing back to your room. You follow quickly in toe, but when you get there, its too late, hes already pulling open your closet door.

“Felix no!” As the words leave your mouth, the mound of questionably clean clothes fall around his feet, and the room is filled with his sweet laughter and a few happy claps. You both rummage through your wardrobe looking for things to wear, trying on countless items making an even bigger mess than you began with. He lands on an outfit; after looking at himself in the full length mirror that hangs on the closet door, he turns to get your approval.

“How do I look?” He asks. You admire him for a moment. Felix looks so good in everything he wears, but there's something about seeing him in your clothes that makes your heart flutter.

“Honestly, cunt” He chuckles at your response then continues searching your drawers to help you with your look. His searching persists, tossing out options until finally finds what he’s been looking for, a sexy but elegant tank top you’ve had forever. With the shirt in hand, he strides over to where you sit on the bed surrounded by failed prospective outfits.

“I’ve always loved this one on you. Arms up” He instructs and slips the shirt over your head. You’ve always been comfortable around each other, being dressed by him just feels like second nature. There might’ve been some slight tension at first, but he has always so gracefully ridden the line between making you feel sexy and beautiful but also respected and appreciated. That is just one of the million reasons you love him. The love you feel for Felix is so deep, and your relationship is so special to you. You’re constantly pushing your romantic feelings down in the name of preserving what you have, too scared to take the risk of losing it. After pulling the shirt down and smoothing you the wrinkles, he offers you his hand to help you off the bed.

“Spin for me” he commands and you do just that. This wouldn’t be the first time you played dress up with him styling and you modeling for him.

“Stunning, y/n. Truly” He compliments, eyes raking over your form then landing intensely on your own. You don't give yourself time to feel the coyness rising up your spine, turning to your vanity and flicking on the light.

“Makeup time!”

You quickly style your hair in a way to keep it off your face and neck because you know you'll be sweating later and go to the kitchen to pour some pregame drinks for you both. You turn on some confidence boosting ‘feeling myself’ type of music and scoot next to Felix to share the mirror. Before starting your makeup, you order your ride to be there to pick you both up in an hour. You pass products back and forth and bounce along to the music occasionally using the brushes as microphones to sing along. He has already finished his makeup and is picking up clothes trying to undo the disaster you two created earlier.

“Lixie, will you do my eyeliner?”

He immediately drops what he was doing to aid you; his hands are gentle but firm as he cups your chin and tilts your head up. You feel your drink start to hit you as you hand him the black liner and stare up getting lost in the freckles peppering his cheekbones that he intentionally leaves uncovered and his sweet but alluring brown eyes.

“You gotta close your eyes, love” unable to think of an excuse, you just default to apologizing.

“Shit, sorry” You mumble as you lightly close your eyes so as to not create any creases giving him a smooth working surface. When you feel him lightly using his fingers to smudge the edges to match the smoky look of his own makeup, you know it’s safe to open your eyes again. When you do, you see Felix has lent down to get a closer look at his work. His eyes immediately snap to yours, and his smudging finger slowly drags down your cheek. It's as if you were both in a trance for a moment, and when you snap out of it simultaneously, you turn your head to look in the mirror and Felix shoots back up straight.

“I need another drink,” he says, heading back to the kitchen.

Your ride picks you guys up in front of your building, and drops you off not 10 minutes later at the club you and your friends used to frequent a few years ago. Felix is not a big club guy, really only going when you invite him, but when you do go out together, it is always a night to remember. Tonight was will be no exception.

The club is packed and bumping. Music blaring, lights flashing, and the smell of sweat and perfume think in the air. While you’re surrounded by strangers, the atmosphere is familiar and welcoming. You immediately open a tab at the counter close to the main dancefloor as that is where you plan to spend most of your night. It’s not that you need to be drunk in order to dance, but it definitely helps the “get out of your head” thing that Felix prescribed. You and Felix are quick to find a corner of the dancefloor to lay claim to and start dancing separately for now, but that won’t last. Felix gets very touchy when he drinks, yet another thing you love about him. You are both quick to down your drinks in order to free up your hands to dance. Taking the empty cup from your hand, he leaves you to toss them in the garbage with intent to return quickly. You dance by yourself for a minute, feeling the rhythm flow through you and bass thumping in your chest, arms raised in the air and occasionally caressing down your body in the most stereotypical club dance fashion.

A song or two later, you realize Felix hasn’t returned. It doesn’t take long scanning the crowd to find him still by the trash can being held there by a stunning creature of a man chatting and lightly brushing Felix’s arm with his hand. Felix is giggling at the man's words flashing his perfect pearly smile. The beat leaves your body and your movements slow coming to a halt for you to stare. Felix is such an angel in appearance and personality, it's surprising there isn’t a line forming to simply get a second of his time. While you feel that's what he deserves, you’re so glad it's just the one guy, but still, Felix is yours your best friend. This is your night with him.

When Felix’s eyes meet yours from across the room, his feet move without thinking carrying him to you while a genuine, playful grin spreads across his face biting his bottom lip. As he approaches, his steps become more rhythmic and he holds his hands out to you. Instead of remaining hand in hand to dance, he uses his grasp to spin you around, back to him. His hands grip your hips, and he helps you once again find the rhythm. Together, you start slow, rolling side to side on every other beat. Felix allows his hands to roam up and down your sides every now and again squeezing or sliding to your stomach to hold you back against him. When a faster tempo song comes on next, one of his hands slides up you back to rest on your shoulder, and he pulls you back into his chest and his lips graze the shell of your ear. You only get a few seconds to listen to his heavy breathing before you feel slight pressure pushing you to lean forward creating more direct contact of your ass on his front. Again his hands find your hips, this time less to guide you and more just to hold on as you grind back into him. You could’ve sworn you heard a groan that sounded a lot like Felix, but in the noisy environment, there's no way to be sure, and you sure as hell aren’t going to turn around to ask him.

This continues for a few songs, until the DJ turns plays a song neither of you are vibing to. You let Felix know you're going to run to the bathroom. Typically he would accompany you, but neither of you want to lose your spot. The line to the ladies room is surprisingly short, but the bathroom itself is unsurprisingly filthy. Two clogged toilets, a soapless hand rinse, and an obligatory drunk mirror selfie later you are ready to head back to Felix. Luckily you were prepared and brought your hand sanitizer with you. Trudging across the sticky floor and pushing through the building crowd, you finally make it back to the dance floor, but to your chagrin, someone is in your spot. An actual sex siren of a person is dancing next to Felix as they go back and forth speaking into each other ears behind cupped hands. Yet another party interested in your man. You're done being mad about it; you are ready to be sad about it, but instead of letting the rain clouds drown your fun, you decide its time for another drink. You find an empty spot to lean against the bar and wait for the bartender’s attention. When they finally approach, you graciously request another cocktail, but when they ask for the name on the tab the person next to you speaks up.

“Whatever she’s getting, put it on mine” The woman hands her card to the tender before turning to you.

“Are you sure?” you question, was your gloom written all over your face? She must’ve pitied you. She had been standing there the whole time, but you are just now noticing how handsome she is. She says nothing in response but holds eye contact and nods. Even if it was out of pity, you’ll always take a free drink. You thank her with a big grin.

“You have such a beautiful smile,” she says with a pleasant and sincere look. Oh. This isn't pity. She asks for your number; you maintain flirty banter waiting for your drinks, but once they arrive, you have to get back to Felix. This night is about spending time with your best friend not finding a rebound.

“You wanna dance?” She asks, gesturing back to the rolling crowd of bodies.

“Actually, I have to get ba…” You couldn’t finish refusing her offer as a hand grips the wrist of the hand not holding your new drink. Felix has his back to you dragging you back to the dancefloor. He forfeited your spot in order to steal you back. While you get pulled around, you chug your drink and toss the cup in a passing waste bin. When he finds an empty area, he stops and turns to you.

There is no playfulness left in his gaze, just a sultry glint as he drags his fingers across your collarbones and down your arm to your hand. Unlike the way he gripped your wrist, the way he intertwines your fingers can only be described as intimate. His touch is warm and bold as he spins around and raises your joined hands pulling you against his back. Just like he did to you earlier, you grip his waist and roll your hips with his. All inhibitions out the window. Your bodies moving as one, eyes closed, feeling his body on yours. The countless strangers fade away, and it's like it's just the two of you. Felix leans back into you dropping his head back onto your shoulder swaying his hips side to side. You think he’s saying something, but you can’t make out his words. You just let out a sound of agreement into his ear to appease him not wanting to stop dancing to try to figure it out. Despite your efforts to keep him grinding, Felix raises his head and turns to face you and throws his arms around your neck crossing his wrists in the back. You stand with your feet staggered with his to be as close as possible as you continue to dance together. Before you can really process, Felix is pressing his full and glossy lips to yours. His lips are salty from sweat but also sweet from his drink and lip oil and oh so rousing, causing your stomach to flip. Unlike other makeout sessions you’ve seen throughout the night, this one isn’t rough and needy, but passionate and sensual. The rhythm of the kiss matches the dance matches the song. You, again, are transported out of the club to somewhere just you and Felix can occupy made of your love and connection and desire. This isn’t the first time you’ve kissed Felix, but this kiss stands apart. It isn't the normal drunk kiss you share with your friends, it's so much more, fueled by fiery desire and years of longing. The kiss ends too soon as Felix leans his head on his upper arm that rests on your shoulder so his lips are inline with your ear. He whispers to you,

“Be mine y/n, please” He almost begs before placing a soft kiss to your earlobe and continuing,

“Be with me”

You don’t give a verbal answer but grab his flushed cheeks with both hands and peck his face with kisses before a final powerful one on the lips. Resting his forehead on yours, you’re both smiling so hard your cheek start to cramp. Thankfully, you both kept your drinking under control, perfectly walking the edge between tipsy and drunk, or you’d be scared this was an intoxicated dream or misremebrance. Felix already has his phone out ordering a ride to a nearby 24 hour diner to stave off your hangovers and chat about what the future has in store.

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A.n- thanks for reading :) I’m posting this on my lunch break lol.

-mo🪩

Masterlist

[jiinxswife]

Jinx x fem!reader - how would jinx react to your additions?

Trigger warnings: self harm, drinking, depression, smoking, jinx acting toxic because she doesn’t knows better. Self harm is the longest one for personal reasons

Autor note: I wrote and posted this yesterday, but apparently, due to a mistake, it got deleted, so I’m posting this again

Self harm

•oh your girl is pissed and worried when she finds out about your addiction

•100% chased down everyone who ever made/influenced you to hurt yourself

•tries to help you, but ends up guilt tripping you. “You’re hurting yourself? You know how badly I had it? And even so I didn’t hurt myself”

•”if you cut yourself again, I will cut myself too” she says once she starts to get desperate

•”you drew stars around my scars” yeah, but it isn’t stars but random doodles and phrases that comes into jinx’s mind

•always caress your scars, always having a thumb gently caressing/tracing over them

•if you’re insecure about your scars, she will kiss them while whispering that she loves you how you are, if even so you still feel really insecure about them, she will offer to get you a tattoo would definitely be a matching one or her name

•if your depression/self harm addiction gets worse, her hideout is becoming child-proof, guns, grenades and everything dangerous is hidden and safety nets are installed everywhere you could jump off

•keeps an eye on you for every new cut

•Will try everything she can to help you, even buy some self help books, even if she finds most of them to be bullshit

•praises you a hell lot when you’re clean, makes sure to tell you how proud she is

•if you have a kink like knife play, she won’t accomplish to it, she doesn’t wants you to get mental health and pleasure mixed

•called you her “fruit ninja champion” at least once-

Drinking/alcoholism

•the addiction that most annoys her

•when you come home wasted, on the first times at least, she takes care of you, once it becomes an habit, she starts to get annoyed

•jinx is really clingy and possessive, and it annoys her that you’re prioritizing alcohol over her

•tries to go to bars with you, if you won’t stop drinking, maybe you could drink together? But you get drunk way too soon

•starts to make your drinks, but changes the alcohol for water or something, in an attempt to detoxify with the placebo effect

•if you persist in your addiction, she will start to saying things like “it’s me or the alcohol”

•Will try to get you addicted to something else so you leave the drinks addicted to her

•if you get clean, she’s praising you a lot. And also threatening every single bar owner to never sell you anything alcoholic

Smoking

•the addiction that she’s most used to

•grew up seeing Sevika and Silco smoking

•shows you the best brands of cigarettes her princess deserves the best

•doesn’t really tries to stop your addiction, at the start at least

•if you start to get sick due to the smoking, she will definitely make you stop. There ain’t hospitals in zaun; and due to her reputation, none of you could ever enter piltover

•if you’re trying to stop, she starts to always walk with popsicles on her pockets

•Lollipops that leave the tongue blue, do I have to say anything more?

Ahhhh this was my second time writing it, first post got deleted for some reason. I’m sorry it’s short, I just don’t know what else to write , anyways, I’m posting this before I hate it way too much

[shabbytigers]

literally not trying to fight here, to be clear.

i don’t use siri or alexa or voice controlled remotes either but that’s mostly because i intensely dislike doing anything via voice. i don’t listen to podcasts, avoid videos where a text alternative exists. idk about robovacuums, are those voice controlled too? but in any case i never really saw the point of those one way or another. i am however considering using claude (at some point when i get it together to formulate a question and figure out how prompts work); you can have conversations with claude via typing, and its sophistication is starting to be interesting to me in a way earlier robots like siri haven’t been. i don’t have some deep fundamental rage or fear about robots. idk.

the real-feeling-to-me fears around data are two things

1. classic identity theft, credit card spoofing or whatever. at this point that feels a lot like major weather events: basic weatherproofing makes sense but i’m not structuring my day to day life around precautions. worst case, there’s a situation and i deal with it. i’ve had two incidents in this last year plus, they didn’t actually get any of my money, there were some unpleasant nuisance phone calls etc but worse things happen in war.

i don’t think that google or facebook or apple or even x is running a literal identity theft mob at scale. so for me this doesn’t connect directly to the question of turning off the ai setting on the iphone photos app y/n. the issue is, will they have a data leak that allows a third party mob to do the thing. but at that point we’re back to ambient systemic risk: yeah, weather events are gonna happen, somewhere

2. hostile government surveillance, as @thatiswhy pointed out, is the other concern.

not sure how much to worry about this irl. if i were trans in texas or florida, lots. in new york or berlin … meh, but with one twitchy eye open? normal [sic] governments, not in the throes of full-blown theocratic fascism, have neither the inclination nor the capacity for this shit. given the state of the u.s. it may become a federal level risk imminently, but granular surveillance at scale in a country of 330 million people is a lot and state capacity has been, is, and will continue to be in the toilet. overcoming the sludge in the way of getting anything done isn’t just a question of tech. it will require extraordinarily motivated, focused, willful villainy and a paucity or dereliction of opposition.

once more, however, i have a lot of just very fundamental difficulty causally connecting the toggle on my photos app to the state coming after me to deliberately and malevolently fuck me up. are there plausible scenarios where the state would actually do that? unfortunately yes. will my photo app toggle make any difference? they don’t need my data in particular, they need tons and tons of aggregate data. clearly they’re going to get tons and tons of aggregate data. furthermore, they’re going to get my data. because there are obviously uncountable other things on a well functioning current-day smartphone and in any ordinary human being’s digital life just generally that can be mined in this manner.

again, we’re now talking about something highly pervasive, systematic and infrastructural. the risk is baked into the system. like, i am not going to kill my online presence everywhere, go full black bloc, take myself right tf off the digital grid, due to this vast nebulous inchoate concern. that would be like spending every hour of every day weatherproofing, never going outside, etc, etc. i’m sure it’s worth it to a person with a highly specific and confirmed reason to worry. i do not think it makes sense for everyone or should be recommended on general principles.

also … see, i actually really like the internet? i don’t think phones or social media are a society-destroying plague? i don’t think it’s terrible or unhealthy or whatever to spend a lot of time on the phone, assuming you do also have other shit going on, etc? i feel like there are pervasive and rising anti-phone attitudes that foster a preexisting inclination to point to the phone as the fons et origo of all evil futures, and it’s maybe coloring risk assessment around this. it’s got that dubious-public-health virtue-and-moral panic feel

also also, it’s all a bit beyond my pay grade, but if you’re looking for something to worry about wrt AI, i gather there’s more interesting/concerning issues available than the question of immediate-term data mining inputs and use cases. vaguely offensive, nuisancey shit like this is just the scurf of capitalism, don’t let it get you down, save some reserves for like real problems imho

Oh _lovely_. Everyone go turn this off:

Enhanced Visual Search in Photos allows you to search for photos using landmarks or points of interest. Your device privately matches places in your photos to a global index Apple maintains on our servers. We apply homomorphic encryption and differential privacy, and use an OHTTP relay that hides [your] IP address. This prevents Apple from learning about the information in your photos. You can turn off Enhanced Visual Search at any time on your iOS or iPadOS device by going to Settings > Apps > Photos. On Mac, open Photos and go to Settings > General.

[shyamanuensis]

Boyfriend Benefits - Ominis Gaunt

Here's Ominis' play out of events following this little scenario. Sebastian's coming soon xo - MDNI + 3000ish words of slow burn smut.

There was a clear level of blatant animosity suffocating the air of your dorm as you sat sheepishly with your ankles crossed at your vanity; shoulders slumped. The mirrors reflection in front of you only managing to  cast an ounce of the uncomfortable tension you felt etching like needles across your sweat-dampened skin as Ominis paced the room in silence. He’d been doing so for quite some time now. Minutes, hours, who knew - but you were able to do little more than watch agonizingly as it seemed his internal thoughts argued with themselves. The way his boots hit the floor with each step, the way his fists clenched with every attempt at reasoning - you knew this was your fault. Or well… not only your fault. Sebastian was the one to blame for bringing your behind-closed-door secret to light after he let out the worlds worst compliment to Ominis after one too many whiskey shots behind the quidditch pitch earlier this evening.

“Your girlfriend tastes fucking delicious Ominis…”

The six words had consumed you since you were dragged away from your friends and tossed into the now awkward familiarity of the room where all that had happened just a few nights before. You hadn’t even had time yet to change the bed sheets. Eyes flickering to anything and everything in the room, your gaze ran across a photograph strip of Ominis and yourself taken on the first date you’d had together in Hogsmeade well over a year ago now; happy, in love, loyal.

“How could you?” It was the first thing he’d said all night since the quidditch pitch.

His tone was lower than usual as Ominis addressed you. Solemn. Dry. There was absolutely no feeling, no emotion, no melancholy. You shifted in your seat in an attempt to get comfortable if possible but it was no use; any move you made stung with self-regarded selfishness.

“Ominis… I…”, you had little more to defend yourself with than half-attempted apologies you’d already cycled through a half dozen times tonight already; in an attempt to fill the void and silence you’d been sitting through.

“And with Sebastian of all blood people.”

“It was a mistake. Honestly. It - it was a one-time thing.”

Oh no it wasn’t. That was a total fucking lie. Sallow and you had been getting up close and personal behind Ominis’ back for months now. Not that you’d admit it. You’d rather be flogged, tortured, forced to swear black and blue before you let that secret slip. A clandestine covert you’d take to the grave.

“Let… let me make it up to you Omi”, you tried to reason as he clearly wasn’t having any of your apologies. “ …I’ll, I’ll let you punish me. As you see fit.”

“Punish you?”

Ominis’ voice echoed throughout the dorm; a harsh, humourless laugh spilling from the back of his throat as the words escaped from his lips.

“You think you deserve a punishment? To be punished? Oh no sweetheart…”, he shook his head, fist tightening around his wand as he dropped it slightly, no longer aiding his mindless wandering; a wave of bitter conflict and disappointment washing over him instantaneously. “You deserve so much worse than that. You deserve to be cast out. You deserve to be shunned by everyone you know and everyone you love. You deserve to be left with nothing but the bitter taste of betrayal and the knowledge that you threw away the one good thing you had in your life.”

It was clear Ominis was angry, hurt — and something else. Each drawn-out breath he now took proved that he was wrestling with a conflict of emotions that ate him up from the inside. But there was something else; something lingering across his expression, across his skin, across his eyes which Ominis forced himself not to acknowledge.

“However”, his voice softened only slightly back to his usual tone as he approached you, “You want me to punish you… chastise you… seek payback for what you’ve done…”

Ominis reached out towards you with his free hand; soft fingers brushing against your dampened hair and tear-stained cheek as he pursed his lips; fighting himself on whether the path to retribution he was about to take was worth his time, his hassle, his energy.

“Fine. Consider this punishment your last and final warning. I’ll make you remember why you belong to me. I’ll remind you why you’ll never be able to betray me again.”

Fingers knotting into your hair roughly; Ominis yanked you up from where you were seated and forced you to stumble across the carpeted floor; onto the bed.

“Strip”, he scoffed, “Now.” The command in his voice was dangerously low. “I want to see every inch of that body which dared to be touched by another. Slattern tramp. I’m going to remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Robes, vest, tie, shirt, skirt - each item stripped and tossed to the floor as instructed without a question. Ominis listened intently to each garment fall and pool at your feet; counting them one by one as he crossed off the list in his head.

“I said strip. Strip.”

Your breath caught to knot in the back of your throat as you reached around the unclasp and step out of the lace undergarments you’d worn and were hoping to show off rather than despoil to the floor. Hearing the last two garments hit the floor; Ominis took a tight grip on your wrist and forced you down; back now against the bed.

“And maybe dear… just maybe… if you please me well enough, I’ll consider giving you a second chance you clearly don’t deserve. Don’t expect it to be easy though. I’m going to make you work for every scrap of forgiveness.”

Leaning down over you; his breath hovered hot against the sensitive skin of your ear. “Now be a good little harlot and do exactly as I say before I lose what little patience I still have left for you.”

Pushing onto the bed to kneel between your legs, you felt his fingers dance along the sweat-slicken skin of your thighs as his thumb found its way to your clit; pushing roughly against it. He scoffed at the barely there whimper you eluded, the minor shift of your hips that rocked beneath him. He drank in the feel; the heat radiating off your skin.

“Good girl…”, he murmured into your ear with an approving rumble. “I bet you look like a proper little slut laying there. Beneath me. My pretty little plaything.”

My - ugh; you had for a moment forgotten how possessive he could be.

“You thought you could forget that, couldn’t you? Thought you could get away with letting another boy touch you, taste you, without consequence?” As Ominis’ voice roughened so did his thumb at your clit. “You thought wrong my dear - oh so very fucking wrong.”

Lifting himself up to take both your wrists and pin them above your head, Ominis let the tip of his wand dig into the hollow of your throat and drag with a hot sting down the valley of your breasts.

“Keep your hands above your head”, he ordered, sitting up to shuffle back down the bed. “Don’t you dare move them or touch yourself without my permission.  This is about punishing you; not pleasuring you. Understood?”

Your semi-restrained form he ran his hands along, to paint the perfect image in his head of what he was dealing with tonight was absolutely perfect, even if he couldn’t see it. His wand snapping with a flick between your knees, you grit your teeth at the stinging infliction and mewl out a culpable groan.

“Spread your legs. Now.” The command was simple. “Show me everything. Give me access to those pretty pink folds that dared to be touched by Sebastian.”

You did as you were told. Knees falling; thighs opening; slit already wet. The mention of that name - ugh that name you just wanted to delete from your minds browser history. Feeling Ominis’ lips at your knees, you let your head fall back; each kiss tantalizing in this game of punishment and pleasure you were now definitely sure you wanted to be playing.

“You’re going to pay for your betrayal dear. You’re going to pay for hours, days, weeks, months years. Going to pay in ways that you can’t even begin to fathom or imagine; but first — first I’m going to remind you of exactly who you belong to and I’m going to make sure you never forget it again.”

Twirling his wand around with a schooled flick of his wrists; Ominis held the blade and brushed the hardwood aspen handle lightly over your folds. His fingers followed suit, feeling just how wet you already where as he pressed a kiss soft to your clit.

“Tsk, tsk. Look at how wet you are. Insatiable little harlot. Always hungry for more it seems; always craving something to fill that empty little void inside you.” Pressing the wands handle harder against your slick heat; the woods cool, stark contrast was teasingly delectable against your scorching heat. “I bet you forgot about that though… didn’t you? This is mine; all mine. To pleasure, to please, to control.”

Whirling his wand around; it was a short, sharp, slap of the tip against your clit that caused you to grip at the headboard; the handle finding its way swiftly to your entrance. Each word Ominis spoke was punctuated with a sharp thrust of his wand. You couldn’t hold back. Biting your lip only did so much to suppress the moans that choked in your throat and knotted off the tip of your tongue.

“Tell me dear; did Sebastian make you feel this good? Did his touch set your body on fire the way mine does? Always has?” He shifted the wand handle inside you to cradle up against that sensitive spot he knew would have you seeing stars. “Or am I still the only one to - let’s not say, satisfy you; but give you what you need?”

Ominis could feel your body clench and quiver around the wand as he thrust the handle in at an excruciating rate. He made note of the way the hitch of your breath changed, the way you gasped and moaned, rollong your eyes with each touch, back arching off the bed; chest rising and falling just the way he had intended. You stayed silent though - knowing the question was a trap. Knowing that it was something Ominis was hoping you’d just walk straight into. Chuckling against your skin; he kissed at your hip and let a cruel, wicked smile tug at the corners of his lips.

“He doesn’t - does he?”

You murmured a soft no in response not being able to keep the answer to yourself.

“Doesn’t what my love? Make you feel good? Fill you? Fuck you? Give you the attention like the desperate little slut you are.” Each word brought on a rougher thrust of the wand, it smacking against your swollen core. He could feel beneath him your lower body trembling; hear your hands grip at the headboard so lightly he was sure your knuckles were turning white. Ominis could hear the desperate, needy sounds falling from your lips and each clung to him; to the promise of pleasure, pain, and retribution.

“Remember this… remember the feeling of my wand inside you; claiming you, punishing you, pleasing you. Remember the way it makes your body sing. The way I play your body like the instrument that it is. You belong to me - you’re mine; now and forever. No matter what you do, who you do, how far you run, where you slink off to between the shadows… you’ll always belong to me.”

Gripping at your hip, Ominis pulled you down onto the wand, impaling you as he forced you to ride the wood with savage intensity as his mouth found your sensitive bundle of nerves and murmured against it.

“This is the start of your punishment - your penance.” He nipped at your skin; feeling your back arch off the bed again in a perfect curve of pleasure and ecstasy.

“Now scream for me. Scream my name. Let the whole fucking castle know who’s causing you to feel this way. Who you belong to. Let them know you’re mine and mine alone.”

The sweet sound of his name coursing through the dungeons was like the first songbirds cry to a new spring. He could feel the way your body tensed; hear the desperation as you repeated his name like a broken record again and again and again. Panting and gasping. The way your body clenched around his wand as if trying to pull it in deeper, needier; hold it inside of you with greed.

“P-pl-please Omi..”

“Please?”, he hocked with a cruel laugh as his lips continued to assault your clit. “Please what? Please stop? Please give you more?” He kept up the pace of his wands thrusts driving it deeper, harder, and faster into your dripping heat.

“You want to come, don’t you dear?”, he growled the question between your folds and brushed his tongue against your already occupied entrance. “You want to beg for it? Bed for me to let you find your release?”

Although he could feel his own desires climbing; Ominis remained stoic to how you were making him feel; your hips rocking in agony chasing a pleasure you knew he wasn’t going to so easily give up and in.

“Go on then; but this is all you get. The wand and nothing else. Come for me; like the helpless little slut that you are. Come on my wand; show me that you remember who you belong to.”

Ominis could feel your body starting to convulse beneath him; your walls grip at his wand like a vice as your high approached. The exiguity echoing from your voice against every wall in the room, testament to the desire and need you craved reward for. Hot breath against your slit, your hips bucked up towards Ominis - wanting to be teased, wanting to be fucked, wanting to be released.

“That’s it…”, he growled, “Come for me.”

A final brutal thrust of his wand pressed in as deep as the handle could go ground against your sensitive spots and walls forcing you to see stars as your hot, dripping arousal coated Ominis’ fingertips. For a moment; he was torn between that dark satisfaction of finally pushing you over the edge and giving into his own desires in the most primal way possible. He knew you wanted him, needed him, Merlin – help him; just as much as he needed you. Catching your breath, you closed your eyes and felt Ominis remove his wand from between your folds, the parting feeling causing you to whimper at the lost friction you so desperately needed.

With a guttural groan; Ominis lifted himself off the bed just enough to fight with his belt and trousers; revealing his aching cock which throbbed with a mind of its own as it strained towards your heat.

“Fuckk..”

As the head of his cock nudged your slick entrance; Ominis positioning himself between your thighs you begged for the chance to touch him.

“Permission to move my hands…”

“Granted love.”

They fell from the bedhead to grip at his hips; grasping through the thick trouser fabric.

“Please Omi… please, please, please, please, please.”

Ominis rocked his hips lightly forward; head of his cock catching on your entrance with a tease. A torment. Pushing you to the brink of madness. You tried to rock yourself onto him; feel him, need him; but Ominis didn’t give in. Through his shirt you could see his heart pounding. The short and sharp gasps he made, making it obvious that he wanted this as much as you needed it.

“I… I…”

Enough with the begging. Ominis reached up to wrap a hand around your throat as he sunk himself in with a groan so deep it caused the dorm room to vibrate.

“You don’t get to come until I say you can.”

He snarled as his hips started to move slowly but no less demanding than what you expected.

“You don’t get to find your pleasure until I’ve had my way with you. Used you for my own fucking satisfaction.”

Hearing you whimper and plead; feeling your body wither and tremble; this only fuelled Ominis furhter. His desire, need to dominate, to control, to reclaim what was his ignited.

“You’re mine. Mine to punish. Mine to pleasure. Mine to do with what I please and right now…”, Ominis ground his hips against yours, cock buried as deep as it could go, “…I please myself.”

As Ominis began to move again, his thrusts were slow; deep, deliberate. Each one planned and executed to stroke the desire you needed fulfilled. To keep you teetering on the knifes edge of release but not allowing you to fall over it.

“You’re going to take it all my little fucking whore; take every inch, every drop, every thrust and fucking thank me for it, because this…”, he explained with a particularly hard thrust which pushed you to the edge - length pulsating, “is what you were fucking made for.”

Hands sliding up Ominis’ chest to his shoulders, you gripped like it was a lifeline you couldn’t make it without and stumbled over your own confession.

“Y-you… you feel different… different to Sebastian.”

For a split second; Ominis felt his heart be pierced through the haze of lust and desire which clouded him. He was struck by a pang of jealousy; a searing rage at the thought of his best friend touching his girl. Sebastian’s hands against your skin. His tongue relishing the sweetness of your tight cunt. Ominis wanted to rage, to scream, to destroy everything that dared come between him and what was his, but he pushed that thought to the side as he felt your walls grip at his cock like a velvet vice. The way you engulfed him; consumed him, dragged him deeper and deeper in.

“Different?”, he groaned into your ear; his voice laced with both disgust and distaste.”Of course I’m different, you little witch. Sebastian’s just a pale imitation of what someone like I can do for you. A watered-down version of what you’re used to.”

You opened your eyes to look up at him; drinking in the words he said like a sinner being told their death sentence.

“I’m not some timid little boy pretending - I’m a Gaunt. I was born to dominate, to conquer, to take what I want and make it mine”, his thrusts became more erratic, “and what I want is to ruin you for anyone else.”

Ominis could feel his release approaching; the heat and pressure building up where he knew you wanted it most but he held back, determined to make you come first. To feel your pleasure before he found his own.

“So go on my little slut”, he coaxed; a hand dropping down to play your clit like a fiddle and throw you over the edge. “Take it. Take every fucking inch and remember that you belong to me.”

As you screamed his name and stopped thinking; body taking over, your cries of pleasure anguished and echoing off the dungeon walls, Ominis slammed his hips forward; driving his cock deep inside forcing you to feel the first spurts of his release, painting you inside out with greed. Collapsing on top of your sweat-slicken body; Ominis felt the last of a shockwave of pleasure tense through his body, a dark ecstasy that utterly consumed him. Heart still pounding; he could feel your breath, the way your body trembled, your ragged moans as you hesitatently came down from a high of your own.

“Mine…”, he whispered against your lips; catching them with his own for a deep, long awaited kiss, “…and don’t you fucking forget it.”

[reigns-devotee]

The Twisted Series Masterlist

Chapter 1: Igniting the Flame

Summary: As they clash over their undeniable attraction, Raven struggles with the consequences of giving in to her growing desire, while Roman pushes her to confront what she truly wants. Their charged interaction escalates, leaving Raven torn between the professional world she's built and the magnetic pull Roman has on her.

Warnings: Language, 18+

WC: 5k

As soon as I step into WWE headquarters, the vibe’s already giving me “you don’t belong here” energy, but I push through. I barely have time to adjust to the chaos around me before my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, half expecting a random meme from Selena or some crazy inside joke from Cassidy, but nah. It’s Triple H.

I tap the message, heart racing for no reason, and the moment I see his name, my stomach drops.

“You’re going to be interviewing Roman Reigns today.”

My mind? Blank. My stomach? Twisted in a knot, like it just took a nosedive off a cliff. Roman fucking Reigns? As in theRoman Reigns, the Tribal Chief, the face of WWE? On my first day as a reporter? This is either some kind of sick joke or a test to see if I can handle the chaos that comes with being part of this universe. But honestly, I don’t know what’s worse—the fact that I have to interview him, or the fact that my brain is spiraling out of control at the thought of it. My nerves are doing their own thing, and I can already feel the sweat creeping in. I’m way too new for this.

“Youre fucking joking.” I whisper to myself, glaring at the message like it’s gonna magically change. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.

My heels click on the floor with each step, echoing down the hallway like a reminder that I’m actually here. WWE Headquarters. This place is like a damn circus, and I’m just trying not to get lost in the chaos. As I walk past reception, a thought crosses my mind, and I can’t shake it: Should’ve been a damn stripper like Tia. I mean, seriously, what’s stopping me? I’ve got the ass, I’ve got the tits, why not use what I’ve got? The wrestling world is full of bigger-than-life personalities, but let’s be real—I’ve got the body, so I’m not exactly out of place in a different kind of world.

But before I can spiral too deep into my self-doubt, I round the corner, and bam. There it is. The wrestling chaos I’ve been hearing about in stories but never actually seen. Wrestlers in their gear, muscles bulging, faces intense as they prep to head out to the ring. It’s like being dropped into a real-life action movie, and I feel like a fish out of water. I don’t duck my head, though, I’m not some shy rookie who’s gonna blend in. Nah, I’m better than that.

I force myself to keep my head up, standing tall, shoulders back like I belong here—like I’m already part of this world. “Keep your head up, ma,” I whisper to myself, mentally slapping some confidence back into my chest. I wave as I pass by, flashing my best smile like I’ve been here a hundred times, even if my heart is about to beat out of my chest.

Everyone’s doing their thing, too focused on their own routines to pay attention to me. But I catch a few glances, some nods, a couple of smiles in return, which does wonders for my ego. It’s small, but hey, I’ll take it.

Finally, I reach the door. The one that makes my stomach drop all over again. “Roman Reigns,” it says, in bold letters. Like his name is written in gold or something.

For a second, I hesitate. Do I knock? Do I just barge in like I belong here? But before I can second-guess myself again

I reach for the door handle, expecting it to open like every other damn door I’ve walked through today. But, of course, it doesn’t. It’s stuck. I push harder, but nothing. I can feel the heat creeping up my neck as I strain against the door. Seriously? I roll my eyes at myself. This is the most rookie move I could possibly pull, but I can’t stop now. With another push, I lean my shoulder into it, almost ready to just kick the damn thing in when— whoosh—the door swings open faster than I can prepare for.

And, naturally, I go flying forward, landing flat on my ass. My heart goes into overdrive as I catch myself, bracing for the embarrassment that’s already washing over me. But it doesn’t last long. My gaze shoots up, and there he is—Roman fucking Reigns, standing right in front of me.

I freeze for a moment, my heart pounding harder than it ever has in my life. I can’t even form words, just staring up at him as my mind scrambles. My eyes scan his frame from the ground up—his muscular legs in those cargo pants, his bare chest still glistening with sweat from his match. I can’t even think straight, too caught up in how… otherworldly he looks. Like he belongs on some sort of throne.

It’s then that I realize I’m not alone. Three other guys stand behind him, glancing down at me like I’m just another speed bump in their day. They don’t even bat an eye, stepping over me without hesitation. Just a casual wave of their hands like I’m not even there.

Roman, though? He stands still, looking down at me like I’m some kind of puzzle he’s trying to figure out. My stomach flips as I quickly scramble to sit up, my hands trying to steady myself on the floor as I stare up at him. I want to say something, anything, but the words feel stuck in my throat.

I finally glance up to find his eyes locking with mine. There’s this intensity there, like he’s not just seeing me but seeing right through me. His face is unreadable—stone cold, like he’s seen it all before. But then he does something that completely messes with my head.

He flicks his finger.

It’s barely a movement, but suddenly, the other guys behind him know it’s time to leave. They move without question, the door closing softly behind them, leaving Roman and me alone in this awkward, charged silence.

I try to stand up but end up just sitting there like an idiot, like I can’t move. Roman doesn’t even flinch. He just keeps his gaze on me, his eyes dark and calculating. I must look like a damn puppy, lost and confused, because I swear I can feel myself shrinking under that look.

“Easy there, sweetheart,” he says, his voice low but dripping with that alpha energy. “You okay?”

I nod quickly, finally finding my voice. “Yeah… just, uh, just a little… wow.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by my reaction, but doesn’t break the silence. I can’t tell if it’s teasing or curiosity.

Roman’s hand extends towards me, an unexpected gesture that makes me freeze for just a second. The roughness of his skin and the veins snaking up his forearm are visible, yet the warmth in his grip is surprisingly soft, almost gentle. It doesn’t make sense. His hands should feel like they belong to someone who could tear down a wall with ease, but they feel… human.

I quickly shake the thoughts away, forcing myself to pull away as I stand up, brushing myself off. I clear my throat. “I… I’m um… I have to interview you today. Triple H said so,” I say, feeling like a total dork as the words tumble out of my mouth. My voice sounds small compared to the magnitude of the man standing before me.

Roman lets out a low chuckle, deep and rich, the kind of sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “Man, he already got you running around, huh?” His tone is teasing, but there’s something more behind it. A knowing. He doesn’t say it outright, but I can tell he’s aware of the impact he’s having on me.

Now that I’m on my feet, I take a moment to steady myself. The chaos of just a minute ago seems to dissipate, but the electricity between us? That’s still lingering. He doesn’t say a word, just turns and walks toward his table. He leans against the wall, sipping from a cup of coffee like it’s just another casual Tuesday. His posture, the way he holds himself, makes my stomach flip. His cargos hang perfectly on his hips, just right, and I can’t help but notice the way the muscles in his chest flex as he takes a sip.

I force myself to focus. I pull out my notepad and pen, trying to keep my cool as I take a seat on the couch opposite him. I can’t help but notice the way he’s so effortlessly commanding the space around him, his presence almost overwhelming. His body is all strength, but there’s something about the way he leans against the wall that’s so relaxed. Too relaxed. Like he knows exactly the effect he has on me.

I try to shake it off, but when I glance up, I catch him looking at me. I swear, I’m not staring at him on purpose, but somehow, my gaze locks onto him like he’s the only thing in the room. And before I can look away, he speaks, his voice low, gravelly.

“You gonna stare, or are you gonna do something about it, sweetheart?” His words hang in the air, thick with intention, and I freeze. My heart skips a beat, my face flushing as I scramble to respond.

“I-... it’s not like that,” I stammer, my words a jumbled mess. I’m definitely not used to being spoken to like that, especially not by someone as intimidating as Roman.

But before I can finish my sentence, he cuts me off with a soft, firm chuckle. “Just ask your questions, Raven.”

My name on his lips. It’s not just a name anymore. It’s like he’s claiming it, making it his own. The way he says it, smooth and demanding, makes something inside me stir. I can’t deny the effect he’s having on me.

“How’d you know my n-”

“I know everything…” he interrupts, his voice sharp but calm, as if the answer was obvious. Then, just when I think I might lose my grip on this whole interview, he takes a step closer to me.

My pulse quickens as he moves, his presence suddenly even more intense as he stands directly in front of me. “Now, let’s get this over with,” he says, his voice low, calm, but with an edge to it that sends a shiver down my spine.

I can’t even speak, let alone respond. His proximity, his words, everything about him is too much. But somehow, I manage to pull myself together, ready to face whatever this interview—and Roman—throws at me next.

Roman

I didn’t need this shit today.

Hell, I didn’t need this shit any day. Between holding the Bloodline together and keeping myself at the top of this business, the last thing I wanted was to be babysitting some rookie reporter with wide eyes and shaky hands. But here I am, standing in my locker room, staring down at her.

“Now let’s get this over with,” I say, stepping closer, trying to keep my voice steady and professional.

She doesn’t move at first. Just sits there on the edge of the couch like a deer caught in headlights. For a moment, I wonder if she’s even breathing.

Damn it, Triple H. This is exactly the kind of thing he loves to throw at me. He probably thinks it’s funny—put the Tribal Chief in a room with a newbie and watch the chaos unfold. But there’s something different about this one. Raven.

I don’t know why, but she’s been under my skin from the moment I first saw her name pop up in the roster. Maybe it’s the way she carries herself—like she’s got something to prove. Or maybe it’s how she’s trying so damn hard not to let her nerves show, even though I can see right through her.

Her voice pulls me back to the present. “Okay, um… let’s start,” she says, fumbling with her notepad.

I watch as she clicks her pen a few times, her fingers trembling slightly. It’s almost… endearing. I shouldn’t be paying attention to details like that. But I can’t seem to help myself.

“Ask your questions,” I say, leaning back against the wall again. I take another sip of coffee, trying to act like this is just another interview. Like she’s just another reporter.

She glances up at me, her eyes meeting mine for a split second before darting away. “Right. Um… so, Roman, what does being the Tribal Chief mean to you?”

It’s such a standard question, and I could give her the usual rehearsed answer. The one I’ve given a hundred times before. But something about the way she’s looking at me—like she’s waiting for something real—makes me pause.

“What does it mean to me?” I repeat, my voice slow, deliberate. I tilt my head slightly, watching her reaction. “It means everything. My family. My legacy. My power. It’s not just a title—it’s who I am.”

Her pen scratches against the notepad as she scribbles down my words. I notice how she bites her lip in concentration, her brow furrowed.

“And how do you balance that?” she asks, her voice a little steadier now. “Your family, your career, the pressure—it’s a lot to carry.”

She doesn’t even realize how close she’s getting to the real question. The one I’ve been asking myself for months now.

I cross my arms over my chest, considering her words. “You don’t balance it,” I say finally. “You sacrifice. You fight. You do whatever it takes to stay on top.”

Her eyes meet mine again, and this time, she doesn’t look away. There’s something in her gaze—curiosity, maybe. Or understanding. Like she’s starting to see the man behind the title.

The silence stretches between us, and for a moment, I wonder if she’s going to ask anything else. But then she shifts in her seat, her pen hovering over the page.

“You’ve been on top for so long,” she says softly. “Do you ever think about what comes next?”

The question hits me harder than it should. I straighten up, the coffee cup forgotten in my hand. “Next?” I echo, my tone sharp. “There is no ‘next.’ This is it. This is who I am.”

Her eyes widen slightly, and I realize my voice came out harsher than I intended. I sigh, running a hand through my hair.

“Look,” I say, my tone softer now, “you’re new here. You don’t understand how this business works yet. But you will. And when you do, you’ll see that there’s no room for ‘what comes next.’ You either stay on top, or you don’t.”

She nods slowly, her pen moving again. But I can tell she’s not writing down my answer. She’s thinking, processing. And for some reason, I don’t want her to leave this room thinking I’m just some cold, calculated machine.

Before I can stop myself, I speak again. “What about you?”

Her head snaps up, her eyes wide with surprise. “Me?”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice steady. “Why are you here, Raven? Why WWE? What are you chasing?”

For a moment, she looks like she doesn’t know how to answer. But then, she straightens her shoulders, her expression determined.

“I’m here because I love this business,” she says firmly. “Because I want to tell the stories that matter. The ones people remember.”

Her words catch me off guard. I didn’t expect that kind of conviction from someone so new. But there it is, clear as day.

I nod, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Fair enough,” I say.

The tension in the room shifts slightly, the air feeling a little lighter. But there’s still something unspoken between us. Something I can’t quite put into words.

“Alright,” I say finally, pushing off the wall. “Let’s wrap this up.”

As she gathers her things, I can’t help but watch her. There’s something about Raven that I can’t shake. Something that makes me feel like this interview is just the beginning.

Raven

After the interview, I was completely breathless. I ain’t never been that nervous around a man in my life. Never. They’re usually the ones tripping over their words, not me. But Roman? Oh no, he wasn’t. He was calm, cool, and in control—and I was the one fumbling like I just got caught sneaking out past curfew.

The audacity.

I tried to shake it off as the day went on, burying myself in work. I had interviews lined up back-to-back: Seth Rollins with his cocky smirk, Bianca Belair with her endless energy, and a few up-and-coming stars trying to prove themselves. But even with all that, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he looked at me, the way he said my name like he already owned it.

By the time my shift ended, I was mentally done. WWE HQ is intense on a normal day, but with Roman lingering in the back of my mind? It felt like I had been running a marathon in heels.

I didn’t waste any time changing my clothes and heading to Brickell City Centre to meet up with my girls. The second I pulled into the parking garage, I already felt a little lighter.

Selena was waiting by the entrance, her notepad clutched to her chest. She’s been killing it as an upcoming writer for WWE, already pitching storylines and character arcs like she’s been here forever. Then there was Tia, strutting out of a high-end store with a designer bag in one hand and a coffee in the other. She chose the lavish stripper life instead of joining WWE, and honestly? She made it look good. And last but not least, Cassidy, fresh off her SmackDown debut, walking up with that “don’t mess with me” energy she’s always had.

We’ve been tight since middle school. Through bad haircuts, first crushes, and every ridiculous thing in between, we stuck together. Now here we were, all chasing our dreams—just in different ways.

“Girl, you look fucked,” Tia said, raising an eyebrow as I walked up.

“Damn, thanks,” I shot back, rolling my eyes.

“Rough day at the office?” Selena teased, nudging me with her elbow.

“Literally,” I muttered, the image of Roman flashing in my mind.

Cassidy smirked, crossing her arms. “Let me guess. Big Dog got you simping?”

I froze for a second too long, and they all pounced.

“Oh my God, it was him!” Selena gasped, her eyes lighting up.

Tia let out a dramatic laugh. “Raven, I swear, if you don’t spill every single detail, we’re disowning you as our bitch.”

I sighed, shaking my head as we walked into the mall together. “Fine, but y’all better buy me a drink first.”

They laughed, and just like that, the tension of the day melted away. Whatever Roman Reigns did to my head, my girls were here to remind me who I was.

And I’d be damned if I let one man—no matter how fine—throw me off my game.

As I strolled past one of the oversized mirrors lining the hallway, my reflection caught my eye. I slowed down, smirking at the sight of myself. The outfit? Clocked. Hair? Laid. And the way my ass poked against the green Nike shorts added that little extra something.  

One more glance at the picture, and I hit post, smiling as the likes started rolling in almost instantly. Sometimes, you just gotta remind the world—and yourself—exactly how much of a bad bitch you are.

Roman

The arena was finally silent. The roar of the crowd had faded, leaving behind the hum of fluorescent lights and the faint echo of footsteps in the distance. Most of the crew had packed up and left, the wrestlers were either at the hotel or out blowing off steam, and I was still here.  

The locker room smelled of sweat, leather, and the sharp tang of cologne. I sat on the edge of the bench, elbows resting on my knees, staring blankly at my phone. Paul’s text from earlier glared back at me:  

“Good work tonight, my Tribal Chief. Tomorrow, see you at 10.”

I tossed the phone onto my duffel bag, exhaling sharply. My head wasn’t on tomorrow, or the Bloodline’s next big move. It wasn’t even on tonight’s match. It was stuck on her.  

Raven.  

That interview.  

Her nervous energy. The way her voice trembled at first, like she wasn’t sure she belonged there, but quickly found its rhythm. The way her eyes darted around the room, only meeting mine when she thought I wasn’t looking. I could feel her trying to hold her ground, trying to match my presence, but her nervous tells gave her away—biting her lip, tapping her pen.  

For most people, I’d brush it off, let them fade into the background like they always do. But with her? Nah, she lingered.  

I leaned back, dragging a hand over my face, groaning softly. What the hell was it about her? Maybe it was the way she tried so hard to stay professional while her body language screamed the opposite. Or maybe it was the way she looked at me—like she wanted to run but also wanted to stay and figure me out.  

I started to feel something rise on me. And it wasn’t a brow. My gaze dropped to my lap, and I rolled my eye in frustration.  

“There’s no fucking way,” I muttered under my breath, shifting uncomfortably.  

I stood abruptly, grabbing my duffel bag and slinging it over my shoulder. The weight felt heavier than usual, or maybe that was just me. I needed to clear my head, and staying here wasn’t helping.  

A knock at the door interrupted my spiral.  

“Come in,” I said, my voice sharp.  

Jimmy poked his head in, grinning like always. “Yo, we’re heading out. You coming?”  

I shook my head. “Nah, not tonight.”  

He chuckled, stepping further in. “You good, Uce? You seem... off.”  

I raised a brow, my expression hardening. “I’m fine. Just tired.”  

Jimmy shrugged, his smirk widening. “Sure, tired. Don’t stay here all night, though. Whatever’s got you in your head, it’ll still be there tomorrow.”  

“Go,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument.  

He raised his hands in mock surrender and backed out of the room. His laughter faded as he joined the others down the hall.  

I stood there for a moment, staring at the open door before finally stepping out into the quiet hallways of the arena. My reflection caught my eye in the glass doors—broad shoulders, hard eyes, the Tribal Chief. The Head of the Table.  

But underneath the title, the power, the expectation, I could feel something else bubbling—something I hadn’t let myself feel in a long time.  

Need.  

And as much as I wanted to fight it, I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was the reason for it.

Raven

The next 2 day felt like a fresh start—or at least I told myself it would be. I woke up early, got my coffee, and pulled out one of my best outfits for another round of interviews. A fitted black dress with a sleek blazer, heels that clicked with authority. Professional, but still me.  

By the time I got to the arena, my nerves from the other day were almost forgotten. Almost.  

I was in the middle of interviewing Cody Rhodes, who was all charm and confidence, answering my questions with ease. The camera crew stood nearby, adjusting their angles while Cody leaned casually against the backdrop.  

“So, Cody,” I said, holding my notepad tightly, “what’s the mindset heading into your next match? Any specific strategy?”  

He grinned, tilting his head as if the question amused him. “You know, Raven, it’s all about staying focused. The goal is simple—prove why I’m at the top of my game.”  

I nodded, scribbling down notes while trying not to be distracted by the growing heat in the room. But it wasn’t Cody that had me on edge.  

It was him.  

Roman.  

I could feel his presence before I even saw him. The heavy weight of his gaze pressed against my back, making the hairs on my neck stand on end. Cody noticed my shift in focus and raised a brow, his grin turning curious.  

“You good?” Cody asked, his voice low enough that the camera wouldn’t catch it.  

“Yeah,” I replied quickly, forcing a smile. “Let’s keep going.”  

But before I could ask the next question, a shadow loomed over us. I turned slightly, and there he was. Roman Reigns.  

His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw and the fire in his eyes were unmistakable. Without a word, he grabbed my wrist—not harshly, but firmly—and started walking away, pulling me with him.  

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I exclaimed, trying to keep up with his long strides. “Roman, what the fuck? I’m in the middle of an interview!”  

He didn’t respond, didn’t even look at me. The camera crew and Cody stood frozen, their eyes wide with confusion.  

“Roman, I swear to God, let me go!” I hissed, struggling against his grip.  

We rounded the corner, and I realized where he was taking me—his locker room. The door slammed shut behind us, and he finally let go of my wrist. I stumbled back a step, glaring at him.  

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snapped, my chest heaving with a mix of anger and adrenaline. “You can’t just drag me away like that! I could get fired for this!”  

He crossed his arms, leaning back against the door, his towering frame blocking my only exit. “You won’t get fired,” he said calmly, his voice low and steady.  

“Oh, really? And how do you know that?” I shot back, my hands on my hips.  

“Because no one would dare question me,” he replied, his tone dripping with authority.  

I scoffed, throwing my hands up. “Bullshit. Do you even hear yourself? This is my job, Roman. My career. You don’t get to just—”  

He cut me off, stepping closer. “And you think I don’t know that? You think I don’t see how hard you’re working, trying to prove yourself in a place that’ll eat you alive if you let it?”  

I froze, caught off guard by the intensity in his voice.  

“This isn’t about your interview,” he continued, his gaze locking onto mine. “This is about the way you’re in my head, Raven. The way I can’t focus because all I can think about is you.”  

My breath hitched, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. The air between us was thick, charged with something I couldn’t quite name.  

“Roman...” I started, my voice softer now.  

But he shook his head. “Don’t try to deny it. I see the way you look at me. You feel it too.”  

I wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but the words wouldn’t come. Because deep down, I knew he was right.

The silence hung heavy between us, thick with tension. Roman's words echoed in my mind, colliding with the protests I wanted to voice but couldn’t bring myself to say. My heart raced as I looked up at him, his dark eyes boring into mine like he could see straight through me.

I swallowed hard, trying to gather myself. “Roman, this... whatever you’re thinking, it’s not possible,” I said, though my voice wavered. “You’re—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. “Don’t finish that sentence. I know exactly what you’re about to say, and I don’t care.”

“You should care,” I shot back, finding some of my fire again. “This isn’t just about us. There are people watching, consequences, reputations. I can’t afford to—”

“Do you think I care about reputations?” he asked, cutting me off again. He pushed off the door and closed the space between us in two deliberate steps. “I’ve built mine by doing whatever the hell I wanted, and it’s worked out just fine.”

I took a step back, bumping into the edge of the table behind me. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re Roman Reigns. I’m just... me.”

His brow furrowed, and he tilted his head slightly, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You think you’re just ‘you’?” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “Raven, you walked into this place and turned heads without even trying. You think I’m the only one who’s noticed? You’ve got fire in you, and everyone can see it. But you’re so busy worrying about stepping out of line that you don’t even realize the power you have.”

His words hit me harder than I expected, leaving me speechless for a moment. My throat felt tight as I looked up at him, trying to process the mix of frustration and admiration in his gaze.

“But I see it,” he continued, his voice softer now. “I see you, Raven. And I’m done pretending I don’t.”

The air between us was suffocating, charged with an intensity that made my skin tingle. I tried to find something to say, something to diffuse the situation or at least create some distance, but nothing came to mind.

“Roman, this isn’t fair,” I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just trying to do my job. You’re making it... impossible to focus.”

He smirked, but it wasn’t smug. It was something softer, almost amused. “Good,” he said simply.

“Good?” I echoed, my brows knitting together.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning down just enough to bring his face closer to mine. “Because maybe it’s time you stop hiding behind that job and start focusing on what you really want.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I hated how much they affected me. My pulse thundered in my ears as I stared up at him, caught between wanting to push him away and wanting to pull him closer.

“This... this can’t happen,” I managed to say, though even I didn’t sound convinced.

“Why not?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“Because it’s dangerous,” I said, my breath hitching as he moved even closer.

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a ripple of heat through me. “Raven, I’ve built my life on danger. What’s one more risk?”

🏷️ @mrsfatu @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @jstarr86 @partypoison00

[alyslittlehaven]

" Love You Like A Bad Habit "

PROLOGUE -- ‘Turf War’

Whenever faced with a civil war inside of Velaris, Azriel is forced to tell his family about the connections he has in circles he wouldn’t dare normally bring to light. In an attempt to get a better understanding of the problem and how to stop it before it becomes too much, Rhysand accompanies his brother to a meeting with one of the infamous drug lords of the city. Does Azriel keep his true hobbies and private life in the dark? Or does his family finally see what his shadows do in the darkest parts of Velaris?

TW: Drugs, violence, death, talks of gangs, NSFW, prostitution (Only mentions of it), Smut, Angst, FWB to lovers, slight slow burn???, mentions of a drug lord, alcohol, addiction, arcane feels fr.

I DO NOT OWN ACOTAR, All rights and characters except for Rahlia and a few others are owned and made by Sarah J Maas.

"Excuse me?" Azriel's jaw tightened as Rhysand finally looked up from his desk, his brows furrowed as his violet eyes scanned over every feature he could find on the shadowsinger.

"Rhys, the shadows are telling me of an upcoming civil issue within the red light district of Velaris. I've heard whispers of fights between pleasure houses and even worse of people." Rhysand blinked, leaning back in his seat as he ran a hand through his hair.

There wasn't much that the red light district asked for or needed, meaning that during some times of peace, the high lord even forgot it existed. It didn't do anything outside of the district, and if anything having something like it lowered the crime rate inside of Velaris. So as long as everyone was happy with what they were given? Everything was fine-- but hearing that it wasn't fine anymore was worrisome.

"Are you suggesting that there might be something of a turf war in Velaris because of the pleasure halls that are being created?" Azriel slowly nodded. His eyes remain glued to the bottom of Rhysands desk. His mind racing. "An informant of mine in the district has also made me aware that some drugs have been leaked onto the streets due to the higher population in the area. More people are moving out of the district and into places such as the Rainbow. or just regular towns." Rhysand let out a hum, his chin resting on his hand as he looked at the papers sprawled out on the surface of his desk.

"-and why are we just now hearing about this? If a possible turf war is about to break out it must have been simmering for quite some time. I am aware I let the district be but you would think that they would come to their highlord for help, don't you think Azriel?" The shadowsinger carefully shook his head. His eyes locked with his brothers as a cup of tea appeared in front of Rhys.

"Speak, Azriel. You know you are allowed to do so brother."

Azriel's feet shifted, his wings tightening behind his back as he stood up straight, his hands clasped behind his back as he spoke.

"With all due respect Rhysand, the red district isn't the same as the rest of Velaris. You haven't attempted to reach out and create bonds with the lords in high places there due to our...reputation with the people. If it had been simmering we wouldn't have heard it's because the inner circle and the government of Velaris haven't been fully trusted by those in the red court." Rhysand nodded slowly.

Azriel had told him nothing but the truth, no matter how offended he was by the reasoning he understood where the spymaster was coming from. His brother's rigid posture caught him off guard as he looked back up. A brow raised as he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. "I see, but might I ask why you seem so tense, brother?" Azriel clicked his tongue, looking at the ground for a moment as he thought of how to word the next thing that came out of his mouth.

Azriel had spent hundreds of years in his position, making sure he knew every crack and crevice of the night court to make his job easier. Rhysand and the inner circle were aware he had informants in the nastiest of places just to make sure the wellbeing of the people and his family was secure. They would understand it, it was only his job after all.

"I have scheduled a meeting with one of the local drug lords in the red district. She runs the pleasure hall of Otaria where the refuge is. I believe you are aware of her reputation." Rhysand blinked, staring at Azriel in curiosity as he continued on.

Azriel took a deep breath, walked up to the desk in the middle of the room, and pointed at the small map of Velaris. "I think it would be a good idea for you to join me, show the people of the court's shadows that you care about their wellbeing as well and not just the people of the rainbow. Form a relationship with the lords and people....no matter how horrible they are." Rhysand's eyes watched Azriels hand carefully as he pointed to the Otaria hall. The pit of anxiety in his stomach only got worse as he thought about traveling to that part of the court. A small huff left the high lord's figure as his thoughts raced. The lord of those halls was said the be a disgusting male who had come from riches to fulfill his worst desires, putting the women in the hall through absolute hell just for some cash. To show the people he cared- he needed to throw all of his morals away to meet one of the worst men in Velaris? How could he do that? How could Azriel live with doing that?

"You wish for me to see an old, vile drug lord to prove a point to the people? Do you know what you are asking of me Azriel?" Rhysands tone was sharp, his words dripping with disgust as he watched his brother pull his hand back. His brows furrowed together.

"I'll have you know, they aren't as bad as you think." Rhysand tilted his head, confusion seeping into his bones as Azriel stared down at him. "Sometimes you need to realize that being High Lord isn't all about reputation, Rhysand. There should be no reason to keep you away from fixing the inner workings of your court." He was taken aback by Azriels harsh words, uncertainty filling his thoughts as his brother motioned for him to get up. "Are you coming?"

Rhysand nodded, standing up and brushing off his pants.

----

Disgusting.

That was the only word Rhysand could think of as he looked around the red district, people sitting on the sides of the street drinking ale out of the bottles, so many homeless people that his stomach turned just thinking about how selfish it was to own technically three houses. Everything he hated knowing about his city right there, was bare before him as if it was it's first day in the world as a babe.

Feyre would hate that he was here, that this place existed. She hated everything about this as well, her people dying of starvation- indulging in bad habits such as drugs that kept fathers away and crippled. The children playing in the road were happy, but a certain thinness to them that he couldn't bear to look at. The kind of bare that reminded him of his mate when he first met her.

Rhysand brought his sleep up to his nose as a man blew some sort f smoke in their direction, his lungs quickly filled with the burning sensation and the skunk-like smell that invaded his personal bubble. Luckily as they continued walking the smell dispersed, Rhysands brows furrowed as he looked at how comfortable Azriel was. He quickened his pace for a moment so he was now walking beside his brother. His violet eyes scanned their surroundings.

"These are the things you are made unaware of as a high lord when you look at the whole court and not just pieces at a time." Azriels voice was low, his words carefully calculated as he spoke to Rhysand. His hazel eyes finding his brothers with a certain kind of pity he hasn't seen in awhile.

Rhysands eyes darted around to the multitude of different things around them, his eyes finally landing on the large building a minute or two away with women and men alike walking in and out. The closer he got to the building the more of that odd stench he could smell. He knew what it was. he was a teen once- rebelling by smoking occasionally with the mirth root they had found in Illyria- but that strong of a smell must have meant something bad right? "How much has the population gone up by?" Azriel raised a brow, smirking slightly as he side-eyed Rhysand.

"Isn't the high lord supposed to know that information?" Rhysand rolled his eyes, a small smile on his face as he gently hit his brother's arm. Chuckling lightly. It wasn't his fault that he had no clue, the red light district worked on its own without any help from him or the inner circle. So many different things happened here that were illegal but were somehow unchecked and working well. He didn't like to admit it, but a good amount of the economy was working solely off of the money the pleasure halls and drug lords in this section of Velaris made from their stores. Hell- even most of the apothecaries and medicinal shops got their stock from the red light district, so as harmful as it was it worked well for all parties.

Azriel whistled slightly as he stepped over a pothole, the door of the Otaria opened up for him. The bell boy curtsying in the presence of Azriel and Rhysand. A smile on his face.

It wasn't like anything Rhysand imagined.

When he thought about the pleasure halls he was expecting cheap hotel rooms and the smell to be unbearable. That it was going to be unsanitary- disgusting- but what he just walked into was the exact opposite.

Booths were lined up on both ends of the hall, a large desk sitting in the middle of the room surrounded by men and women alike who were paying for pleasure. Their hands were in little baggies that carried their coin. Azriel barreled on, his footing never easing as he approached the desk. Rhysand on the other hand, slowed down to admire everything around him, the intricate carvings in what seemed to be the marble pillars were something only he could imagine. The man and women in the booths sitting beside each other flirting away with scandalous outfits on- most blue. Azriel looked back, smiling at his brother with an amused glint in his eye.

"How long has it been since you last visited the Otaria?" Rhysand shrugged, slowly catching up to his brother as he finally remembered why they were there.

"Hundreds of years I'm sure. I wasn't a big fan of the owner Tarly...It seems he has stepped up his game." Azriel let out a hum, stopping in front of the desk as he watched the woman behind it freeze as she stared at Rhysand. Her bright red eyes widened as she took in his form. Azriel slipped her a red coin before the woman cautiously picked it up and examined it. Dropping It back in Azriels hand when she was done and closing her fist.

"Ser Azriel. It's a pleasure to see you but...you are aware of the Masters rules on high lords, yes?" Azriel gently smiled at the woman, patting her hand with his other and pulling away. "She is aware of his presence I assure you. Just a small meeting." Rhysand lifted a brow, looking at the two with pure confusion.

She?

Azriel turned back to the high lord, his smile falling into a thin line as he spoke. "It's probably a good thing Tarly doesn't run this place anymore then. C'mon, we have places to be. Thank you Kashir." The woman nodded, bowing slightly as they walked around the desk and toward the door at the end of the hall.

"She doesn't?" Azriel laughed at Rhysands incredulous tone, shaking his head. "Mother no, he died long ago. One of his employees got tired of his treatment." Rhysand nodded slowly. Carefully eyeing his friend.

"The Otaria is under the ownership of Lady Rahlia. She was the one who killed him but it gave her the respect for her fellows to push her to take the building. Now it's high-end- or something like that." Azriel furrowed his brows, looking away from his brother before clearing his throat.

Soon enough they reached the door, their steps in sync as they stepped in. The smell of smoke instantly hitting Rhysands nose and making him flinch. He could barely see- the dizzying smell coming almost over powering as he covered his nose. Azriel took a moment to get used to it, the smoke filling the room and leaving it in a foggy mess. As the smoke cleared Rhysand blinked quickly. His senses over powered as the large, black hound growled at them. He took a step back, staring wide-eyed at this huge beast who stalked toward them slowly, the hair on its neck standing up in alert. As soon as the hound was about to bark a loud whistle rang through the room. The dog immediately sitting down with it's head tilted at them.

"Down girl,"

Rhysands eyes followed the voice, a woman around his height walking into the room from what seemed to be a bathroom. Cigarette in hand as she made her way toward them. Her blood-red dress clung to her features yet hung loosely, looking like something Mor would wear.

"Forgive her, she's trained to bite." A smirk lay on her face as she took in Rhysand, her brown eyes raking over every part of him as she ignored Azriel. Rhysand swallowed hard, his usual roughness gone due to the new surroundings he was in. His own violet eyes sought out Azriel to help him silently. Azriel crossed the room and sat down in one of the chairs, the woman's eyes following the shadowsinger with a familiar gaze. "I was told you needed my assistance and absolutely wonderful knowledge...when you said your precious high lord would be joining I was quite rushed to clean my halls." The woman walked behind the desk, sitting down in the comfortable-looking chair.

"Yes, we have heard some very disturbing whispers about a possible turf war happening. I thought you might have something to say about it." Azriel crossed his arms as Rhysand sat down. The poor high lord was taken off guard by the variety of pillows and tapestries that decorated the office.

"I might have," She slowly inhaled the contents of her cigarette, maintaining eye contact with the two of them as she laid back in her seat and blew the smoke out. "Depends which kind of turf war you are speaking of. It's not unusual for drug lords to get territorial around these parts but it dies quick like a man meeting a maid- but if you're talking about the turf war going on between the Junes and Crasters..." She smirked, holding out a box of cigs to the both of them.

"The Crasters?" Rhysand finally spoke up, gently shaking his head no at the offer and crossing his ankle at his knee. "Haven't they been passive for years though? What could possibly start them going into a turf war?" The woman eyed him, her usual smirk falling for a quick moment.

"Ah yes- forgive me, high lord. My name is Lady Rahlia. I am not a history book." Rahlia rolled her eyes, setting down the box and sighing. "You are wrong, they are the most aggressive people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. They have been banned from this establishment since the moment I got it in my wallet." Rhysand stared at the desk. His brows furrowed.

"Is he pouting?" She snickered, looking toward Azriel. A soft clicking noise came from her as she stood back up and rounded the table.

"Oh...big bad Spymaster can't say what he wants because he is in the company of his brother and high lord." She rolled her eyes, her smirk falling into a look of distaste.

"I hate two-faced royals." The corner of azriels mouth twitched, his wings shifting behind him so he got comfortable.

"I'm aware." Rahlia leaned down, grabbing Azriels face roughly in between her thumb and pointer finger. Scowling at the man.

"Then speak, boy." Azriel glared at her. Rolling his eyes as she tore her hand away from him.

Rhysand watched carefully, a hand on the dagger hidden in his belt. He looked at Azriel to confirm if he was okay- his brother just sat there. Staring at her for a moment before sighing and speaking.

"Just a bit, he pouts when he doesn't turn out as smart as he thinks."

Rahlia smiled, mouthing thank you to Azriel before moving to her bookcase to grab a bundle of papers. Throwing them on the Shadowsingers lap before sitting down once more. Azriel carefully looked through them. Brows raised as he looked up at her from the bundle. "What are these?" Rahlia propped her chin up against her fist like a bored child, looking at him through reddish eyes.

"Intercepted letters via bird...news...reports. You name it. everything you need to know about the most recent events. I had a feeling you'd be visiting." Azriel nodded tensely, standing up with the 'gift' and looking at Rhysand. "We are leaving."

Rahlia chuckled, the hound rounding the table to sit next to her. Rahlias nails gently scratched at the animal's head, listening to the huff she gave when Rahlia hit just the right spot. Rhysand stood up, walking to the door with Azriel as dread filled his stomach. A gut feeling that he was missing so much of what was truly happening in the room around him. As Azriel opened the door the woman's voice spoke up once more, a sickly sweet tone hidden behind each word she uttered.

"Come visit again soon, spymaster. Your talents are wasted at a council table."

[buckets-and-trees]

Stella.

Stella.

This response is such an incredible gift! I can hardly begin to express how much it affected me to relive this chapter with you, and with such thought and insight! 🥹

Are we harboring perhaps a little crush here? + she’s not just starstruck or someone easily swooned by celebrity status.

Right on both counts! How could one not harbor a bit of a crush on America's golden "boy" but who is so clearly grown into being a man?! Especially after his nomad period and aging up like fine wine after. BUT she also has a level head on her shoulders.

I immensely enjoy writers working with all the things that the Blip would cause...

I would say that while it wasn't the first thing I knew about the Reader, it was in the first ten percent of things that I mapped out. There are a couple of major plot points that it will tie into later in the story, so I won't say anything about those, but one of the reasons it really felt like something I wanted for this Reader's backstory is that it gave a balance to Steve's other half if HE stayed and SHE blipped. As a unit, they could carry both persepctives and experiences together.

I love how competent we see Pepper be here, how she’s been so good at putting this team together.

...I forgot I put Maria Hill on this team.🧍🏻‍♀️ This chapter was written when I was verrrry deep into my rewatch of The West Wing and the presidential candidates were getting security/military briefings. At least I was thorough then! But I also didn't have any major plot points planned for international/military things to be affecting the candidates during the campaign, I just wanted to be thorough. AND I also remember when I wrote her onto this campaign team, I felt a very strong YEAH, BECAUSE WE DO NOT ACCEPT HALF OF WHAT HAPPENED IN SECRET INVASION!!! It just felt right hahaha.

After all, he is from a world where marriage wasn’t so focused on romantic love. But since he is a romantic, I’m definitely looking forward to them falling in love.

The reasoning Pepper lays out also has some elements of my own views of marriage - in that it HAS TO BE more than only romantic love, because marriage is hard work (as is anything worthwhile/that you invest in/that can grow). AND ALSO that married women should never be relegated to being only a trophy wife or a house wife (and I say that very specifically in that if those are roles that women want to have, then they should, but they should hopefully not be boxed into a corner).

I'M SO GLAD YOU LOVE HER! And not just this moment, but the other moments you mentioned that I was stitching little bits of character into her. Partly for Steve to fall in love with, but ... partly because in a lot of my Readers, I want it to feel like clothes that the person reading it can put on and wear for a while. Sometimes a costume, sometimes to deal with a complex issue, sometimes to have a wild time/experience something we otherwise never would... But when I write confident and driven readers or readers who are direct, I put a lot of what I would aspirationally hope that I could be into those characters, if that makes sense? I don't want them to be perfect, but I want them to have backbones and dreams and ambitions and reason and logic and real feelings that motivate them. For me, it's empowering - and if fiction gets to be an escape, sometimes I want to escape into healthy leading lady energy, and hope that that's what others reading this story can feel, too. 🥹

Oh, I’m intrigued by this. Is she a widow too?

🤐😏

This isn’t even a thirst trap, it’s a heart trap, and that’s worse.

this has the delightful found family vibes – which are definitely highlighting some major loss in First Lady’s background, I mean, she has to have a hint of craziness and not a lot to lose to jump into this headfirst – that I always enjoy in fic.

BINGO! Part of Reader's wiliingness to agree is the nature of being untethered to the life she was living.

But oh! Sam just! Sam is such a fantastic character/figure in the MCU, and I wanted to give him some good moments + parts to be part of this story, because Steve has strong ties to the important people in his life, you know? And so this story ending up having a strong inclusion of side characters started in this chapter, and although it's Steve x Reader, they couldn't be in a bubble - especially not given the campaign story shell, so I wanted to make everyone around them count/have significant roles to play.

"He might look like an all-American boy scout, but there's a lot more going on under the surface." + this is definitely hinting towards how he’s not just the perfect soldier or the good man but human and I am always here here for it. And we love Sam for recognizing all this in his friend.

It's so important to me to have characters that feel real, and I think... well, I think there can be this tendency around SOME people in MCU fandom (not all, but some), who hate and dismiss Steve's character for just being this perfect paragon boy scout idea of Captain America, and he's so much more. If we go to the Cap v. Iron Man, I think we see the same dismissal over Tony is just selfish but these are both only ASPECTS that they present, pieces that they struggle with, and when they're further and further explored, we see the complex layers. The complex Steve is the one I love to read and strive to write. And Sam giving a briefing here to our Reader about his character gave me the chance to put the marker in the sand and say it's the kind of Steve I was hoping to put in here, too.

And....also....

Sam - to be frank - is doing some damage control.

Because it sucks that Steve didn't come to this breakfast. THIS BREAKFAST WHERE HE WAS SUPPOSED TO MEET HIS WIFE FOR THE FIRST TIME BECAUSE THEY ARE GETTING MARRIED TOMORROW.

Reader is being very optimistic still, not letting it get to her, and definitely GENUINELY enjoying this time with Sam, but.... it still is what it is. Sam: not lying about anything, but definitely hyping his boy up so you don't resent Steve or feel defeated or insecure.

I know it's the delicious sort of slow burn when they don't even lay an eye on each other in the first two chapters.

BURN, BABY, BURNNNNN! IT'S GONNA BE SUCH A BURN, STELLA!

And, as I said in the very beginning of my response, this was such. a. gift. Doing basically a close re-read of this with you/through your comments also comes at SUCH an opportune/unique time because I just posted chapter 11 last Friday and I think I now have it tied down to just four more chapters, and it's reminding me of some of the key things that I had planted seeds for in the beginning, and some of them I know I've got strong threads that have already wrapped up, some I still need to wrap up but are on track, and some that I can circle back to that I forgot (like, oH HEY, WE'RE PROBABLY GONNA SEE MARIA HILL NOW because I did forget her 😩).

You are a goddess.

I'm sorry to hear that 2024 ended in such a drain and strain on your energy, and so I hope that 2025 can be a gentler and kinder year for you! Sending you so much 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 both for spending so much time on this commentary and just for you in general.

Red, White & True: Manhattan & Brooklyn (1/?)

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers (future x curvy Millennial Female!Reader), Pepper Potts, Sam Wilson Word Count: 4k Summary: "There was an idea..." Words at the heart of what brought the Avengers together. Pepper Potts has persuaded Steve Rogers to step up and help again - but this time in a battle to The White House. She invites you to consider a key position.

Content/Warnings: none

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Prologue | Series

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[MAY 15 - Manhattan, New York]

You try not to hold still while you wait in the lobby, but you’re nervous and the longer you sit, the more difficult it is to resist drumming your fingers, tapping your foot, jiggling your right leg as it’s crossed over your left, or even just chewing on your bottom lip.

You’re not anxious at all over meeting with Pepper, but what has you on alert is the possibility that you could theoretically meet Steve Rogers, former Captain America, today.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. The lobby of Stark Industries is immaculate, all sleek lines and modern design. The large windows let in plenty of natural light, making the space feel open and inviting despite its corporate purpose.

Your mind wanders back to your college days when you’d walked into a different Stark Industries lobby for the first time, a hopeful intern wanting to make a difference at the then-new Stark Foundation office. Pepper had been very involved in building the Foundation at the time, and had become a key mentor and - as the years passed and you left Stark Industries - a dear friend. She had helped fuel some of your late-night study sessions through grad school. Living in a new state, she had shown up and seen you through breakups, family drama, and the stress of putting together your thesis. Even when your paths diverged, you'd managed to stay in touch.

Back then, she’d become like the older sister you never had, seeing you through some of the difficult years figuring out how to be a real adult. Now, here you are, waiting to potentially join a presidential campaign she’s orchestrating for none other than Steve Rogers.

The receptionist's voice startles you out of your reverie. "Ms. Potts will see you now."

You stand, smoothing down your carefully chosen outfit - professional, but not stuffy. As you follow the receptionist down the hallway, your mind races with possibilities. What position could Pepper have in mind for you? Your background in political science and your years working in non-profit management seem like they could be useful, but you can't help feeling a little out of your depth.

As you approach Pepper's office, you take a deep breath to steady yourself. The door opens, and there she is - Pepper Potts, looking as poised and confident as ever in a crisp white blouse and tailored navy suit. Her strawberry blonde hair is pulled back in a neat ponytail, and her smile is warm and welcoming.

"It's so good to see you," she says, embracing you in a quick hug. "Come in, please."

You step into her spacious office, taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows with a breathtaking view of the city skyline. Pepper gestures to a comfortable-looking chair across from her desk, and you sit, trying to keep your nerves in check.

"I appreciate you coming on such short notice," Pepper begins. "I know it's been a few years since we’ve been able to catch up - even before the Blip.”

You were among the half who disappeared - still such a strange concept to grasp though you were supposedly settled back in. “I was happy to come! And of course I don’t mind a trip on the Stark Industries dime,” you say with a grin.

"Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?"

You shake your head. "I'm fine, thanks."

Pepper settles into her chair, folding her hands on the desk. "So, I know I told you we’re putting together the campaign team for Rogers for America, but I'm sure you're wondering more specifically why I called you here."

You nod, leaning forward in your chair, eager to hear Pepper’s vision.

"We're putting together an incredible team," she begins, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I've been reaching out to some of the brightest minds in politics, economics, and social justice. We have former White House staffers, grassroots organizers, and even a few unexpected faces from the private sector who are eager to contribute their expertise."

You are instantly intrigued, trying to imagine the caliber of people she's describing. Your mind races with possibilities - perhaps that brilliant campaign manager who orchestrated the upset victory in the last Senate race, or the economist whose revolutionary ideas about sustainable development have been making waves in academic circles.

"We've got strategists who are anticipating every move our opponents might make," Pepper continues, "and communications experts who can craft messages that will resonate with voters across the political spectrum.”

You listen intently, trying to pinpoint where you might fit into this powerhouse group.

"There's Maria Hill," Pepper continues, "who's handling security and intelligence briefings. She's got connections that'll be invaluable. Then there's Peter Parker - you might know him as Spider-Man - he's officially our youth outreach coordinator, but he's also got a brilliant scientific mind that we're tapping into for policy development."

Your eyebrows raise at the mention of Spider-Man.

Pepper leans forward, her eyes locking with yours. "But here's the thing - we're not just assembling a team of political operatives and policy experts. We need people who understand the heart of what we're trying to do, who can see the bigger picture and help keep us grounded in our core values."

Your heart begins to race as you start to realize where this might be going.

"That's where you come in," Pepper says, a warm smile spreading across her face. "I've watched your career over the years, how you've navigated the non-profit world, building coalitions and making real change happen. You have a gift for bringing people together, for seeing connections that others miss. Your experience gives you a unique perspective that we desperately need."

Your heart races as you process her words. You had assumed you might be offered some kind of advisory role, perhaps in fundraising or event planning. Maybe even appearance management or offering occasional input on strategy. But from Pepper's tone, it sounds like she has something more substantial in mind.

"Where do you see me on this team?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I've been putting a lot of thought into this," Pepper continues, her voice filled with conviction. “You know we’re doing something unconventional. Did you read the presidential plan?”

You nod. Steve’s bid for President of the United States was still technically not public knowledge. You had signed an NDA - being told only that you were receiving a proposal Pepper wanted your input and consultation on, with potential to join the team if you supported the initiative, and just silence if you didn’t.

“It’s bold, idealistic, aspirational; but it’s also unapologetic, has clear plans of action, and could be transformational in ways we haven’t seen in living memory,” you give your assessment.

“And it’s something you could see yourself being a part of?”

You take a deep breath, but smile genuinely. “I couldn’t sleep the first night after you sent it over. I couldn’t stop reading, hoping, re-reading, imagining possibilities!”

“Good,” Pepper responds. “Perfect.”

“Put me to work wherever you need me!”

“I was hoping you would say that because I have a very specific position I need to get filled, and you’re my first - and only - pick for the job.”

“Pepper, stop holding out!” A nervous and eager laugh escapes you. “Tell me!”

Her response slams into you like a freight train, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Future First Lady.”

You feel your jaw drop in shock, almost hitting the ground as your mind races with disbelief and anger. The room feels like it's spinning as you struggle to process the weight of her words.

"What?" you gasp, your voice barely above a whisper. "Pepper, I... I don't understand. First Lady? But that would mean..."

Pepper holds up a hand, her expression serious. "We're not just running a campaign here. We're trying to redefine what leadership looks like in this country. Steve is an incredible man, and he needs a partner who understands the complexities of modern America, not just a trophy wife, someone who can connect with people from all walks of life."

You shake your head, still reeling. "But I'm not - I mean, Steve and I aren't even - we've never even met!"

"I know," Pepper says softly. "That's part of the plan. We want to show that leadership isn't about who you're married to or what your last name is. It's about vision, compassion, and the ability to bring people together."

Pepper leans back in her chair, her expression at least revealing some concern over your reaction. "I know it's a lot to take in."

"A lot to take in?" you interrupt, your voice rising. "Pepper, it's insane! It’s May, and the election is in November. How could I possibly be the First Lady?"

Pepper holds up a hand, trying to calm you. "I know, I know. Let me explain."

But you're on a roll now, your initial shock giving way to indignation. "Explain what? How you thought it was okay to offer me a position that requires me to be married to a stranger? Use me to score points?”

"I understand your reaction," Pepper says calmly, "but please, hear me out. This isn't about scoring political points or creating some sham marriage. We're trying to redefine what leadership looks like in this country."

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. "Go on," you say, your voice tight, “because you’re still trotting out marriage.”

"We can’t outright ignore traditional expectations and polling numbers. If Steve were running as the nominee for either of the major parties, we could probably win without him being married, but since he’s running as an independent, he needs a wife. That being said, we want to move away from the traditional concept of the First Lady as just the President's wife," Pepper explains. "The vision is a First Partnership. Two people who work together. There’ve been a few First Ladies who have done more with their platform and position, and that’s what we would want for you, too.”

You chew on your lip, not persuaded yet, but a little less angry.

“We have an opportunity to show what a healthy partnership in marriage could look like to new generations. You’re my first and only choice because of your skills, experience, and the vision I know you would bring to the table. But you’re also my first and only choice because I think you two are well-suited for each other.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Pepper raises her hand to stop you.

“You and Steve don’t have to put on a show and be madly in love - that’s not what I want, that’s not what he wants or expects either.”

You frown. “What does he expect?” you ask. And then you perk up even more. “Has he agreed to this? Shouldn’t he at least be here to make the offer himself?”

Pepper sighs. “It was easier for me to convince him to run in the first place than to agree that he needed a wife.”

“But you’re telling me he did agree?”

Pepper nods. “He did.”

You unconsciously rub the empty space on your left ring finger. “Couldn’t we just get engaged and leave the question of a marriage for whether or not he wins?”

A soft laugh falls from Pepper’s mouth. “He actually asked the same thing.”

“And…?” You raise your eyes expectantly.

“The public would rake us over the coals and accuse us of only doing it as a publicity stunt. The campaign would become a gossip column on your relationship status and nothing more.”

“But isn’t it a publicity stunt?”

“We can spin a marriage that seems to appear out of nowhere. Steve’s always been a private person when it comes to his personal life. We will tell people you met through me - which is true. I thought you were well-suited for each other - which I do. When people asked why the wedding just before announcing his bid for the presidency, we tell them you two didn’t want your relationship status to become the big question on everyone’s minds so they can focus on the platforms and policies instead and that every marriage takes work regardless of the length of the courtship.”

You sit in stunned silence for a moment, trying to process everything Pepper has said. The idea of marrying someone you've never met, let alone becoming the First Lady of the United States, seems utterly surreal. And yet, there's a part of you that's intrigued by the challenge, by the opportunity to make a real difference on such a grand scale.

"I need some time to think about this," you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Pepper nods understandingly. "Of course. It's a lot to take in. But I want you to know that I wouldn't have asked you if I didn't think you were perfect for this role. Not just as a political partner, but as someone who could genuinely connect with Steve."

You raise an eyebrow. "You really think we'd be well-suited?"

"I do," Pepper says with confidence and warmth.

You rub your ring finger again, but this time you see Pepper’s eyes drop to watch your unconscious action, and you quickly stop. Her eyes, when you meet them again, are full of sympathy. You both lost husbands, but you don’t want to talk about it, yet again, and you don’t want to bring up a painful subject for her either.

She can read that in your tight-lipped smile.

So instead she says, “I can give you three days to think it over.”

You sigh and rise from your seat to go. “I don’t know if that’s long enough, but if you give me three days or three weeks, I don’t think it will change my decision I’ll land on. Give me the night to sleep on it. I think I’ll know by tomorrow morning.”

[JUNE 4 - Brooklyn, New York]

Three weeks later, your life has been packed up and put in a truck on its way to the new brownstone in Brooklyn that’s been acquired for you and Steve to move into, and you’re sitting at a table in a café a few blocks away, waiting to meet your future husband for the first time over breakfast. Every time the bell rings over the door, you dart your head to see if it’s him, but he’s evidently running late.

As you wait, checking to see if you have any messages on your phone, the bell over the door chimes once more. This time, when you look up, your breath catches in your throat. A tall, athletic man with dark skin and an easy smile has entered the café. You recognize him immediately as Sam Wilson, the new Captain America. Your heart sinks a little as you realize Steve isn't with him.

Sam spots you and makes his way over, his stride confident but casual. As he approaches, you notice the way his eyes scan the room, a habit born from years of military training and superhero work. He's dressed in civilian clothes - a leather jacket over a simple t-shirt and jeans - but there's no mistaking the aura of strength and capability that surrounds him.

"You must be the future Mrs. Rogers," Sam says with a warm smile, extending his hand. "I'm Sam Wilson. Steve asked me to come apologize and explain - and to have breakfast with you, if you’ll have me.”

You nod, forcing a smile, and shake his hand. "Of course. I understand.” You motion toward the chair across the table from you, inviting him to sit. “I know campaign prep must keep him incredibly busy."

Ever since you’d accepted the proposition to marry Steve Rogers and join him on the campaign trail to the White House, your own life had turned upside down, giving you hardly any time to breathe, and you’d been told this was only a mild version of what your own schedule was going to look like once Steve formally announced.

“Former President Bartlet agreed to meet with him, and the schedules ended up aligning this morning for Steve to go up to New Hampshire for a sit down,” Sam explains.

“President Bartlet?” you can’t help the awe in your voice. “I’d skip out on breakfast with me, too.”

“I hope I’m not a disappointment of a substitute,” Sam teases. “Since we’ll be working together as part of the senior staff, I volunteered because I was eager to finally meet you.”

His smile is genuine, and you feel the absolute truth of his sentiment. It melts away some of your disappointment and worry.

In return, your smile becomes a little warmer and easier. “I can’t help being a little disappointed - since I was hoping to finally meet my future husband - but he’s unemployed and you’re technically Captain America, so I guess it’s really an upgrade.”

Sam laughs. “Oh, I’m going to love you, I can tell.”

“Just promise me he’ll actually be at the ceremony tomorrow?” you ask. Your tone is light, but Sam calls your bluff.

His laughter fades, replaced by a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, he'll be there. Wild horses couldn't keep him away. Or androids. Or aliens. Or wizards. Or..." He trails off, realizing he might be overdoing it. "You get the idea."

You nod, appreciating Sam's attempt at humor. "I hope so. It would be pretty awkward to explain to the press why the groom was a no-show at his own wedding."

"Trust me, Steve takes this very seriously," Sam says, his tone becoming more earnest. "He may not know you yet, but he respects you and the commitment you're making. He's not the type to back out or let you down."

You nod, feeling a mix of relief and nervousness. "I suppose I should get used to schedule changes and last-minute adjustments," you say, trying to keep your tone light.

"It's part of the package," Sam agrees. "But so is having a team of people who have your back, no matter what." He leans forward, his eyes meeting yours intently. "I want you to know that includes me. We're not just colleagues in this; we're family."

His words touch you deeply, and you feel a bloom of warmth in your chest, the firs time you’ve felt grounded since you agreed to do this. "Thank you, Sam," you manage to say. "That means a lot."

The waitress approaches, he orders coffee, and you both order breakfast.

As she walks away, you take a sip of the drink you’d ordered while you were waiting before, mulling over Sam's words. "Can I ask you something, Sam? You know Steve better than almost anyone. Do you think...?”

You hesitate, uncertain if you should voice your doubts to Sam. But his open, friendly demeanor encourages you to continue, and you’re going to need to learn to trust this new circle of people you’ll be surrounded with.

"Do you think this is crazy?" you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "Marrying someone I've never even met, maybe becoming First Lady... it all feels so surreal."

Sam leans back in his chair, considering your question carefully. "Crazy? Maybe," he admits with a small smile. "But then again, I've seen a lot of crazy things in my time with the Avengers. This? This actually feels like one of the more normal things I've been part of."

You can't help but chuckle at that, some of the tension easing from your shoulders.

"Look," Sam continues, his tone becoming more serious. "I won't lie to you. It's not going to be easy. The scrutiny, the pressure, the constant demands on your time and energy - it's going to be a lot. But if anyone can handle it, it's Steve. And from what I've heard about you, I think you're up for the challenge, too."

Sam pauses as the waitress returns with your breakfasts and his coffee. Once she's gone, he continues, "Steve doesn't do anything halfway. When he commits to something, he's all in. And he's committed to this - to you, to this campaign, to trying to make a real difference."

You nod, appreciating his honesty. "And what about... us? Steve and me, I mean. Do you think we can make this work? Not just for the campaign, but as a real partnership?"

Sam's eyes soften. "Steve's one of the best men I know. He's loyal, compassionate, and has a moral compass that doesn't quit. But he's also been through a lot, and he can be... guarded. It might take some time for him to open up fully."

You absorb this information, feeling a mix of apprehension and curiosity about your future husband. "I appreciate your honesty, Sam," you say softly. "I guess we'll both be navigating uncharted waters."

Sam nods, taking a sip of his coffee before responding. "True, but you won't be doing it alone. Not only do you have the support of the team, but I think you and Steve might surprise yourselves. You both have a strong sense of purpose, a desire to help others. That's a solid foundation to build on."

You pick at your breakfast, mulling over Sam's words. "I just hope we can find some common ground beyond the campaign," you admit.

Sam leans in, his expression earnest. "Like I said, when Steve commits to something, he gives it his all. That includes relationships. He may be reserved at first, but once he lets you in, you'll have his unwavering loyalty and support."

You nod, feeling a bit more reassured. "I appreciate that. I’m not some hopeless romantic, I’m not looking to be swept off my feet, but I just hope we can find some chemistry, some spark beyond just being political partners."

Sam chuckles. "Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about that. Steve might be from the 1940s, but he's still a red-blooded man. And you," he gestures at you with his fork, "are definitely his type."

You feel your cheeks flush slightly. "His type?"

"Smart, independent, passionate about making a difference," Sam lists off. “

Your work in non-profits, your passion for social justice - that's right up Steve's alley. Plus, you've got that whole 'take no crap' vibe that he needs. I have a sense about these things, and you have it.”

You laugh, feeling some of the tension dissipate. "Well, I'll take your word for it. Though I have to admit, the idea of being Steve Rogers' 'type' is a bit surreal."

Sam grins. "Trust me, once you two actually meet, you'll see what I mean. Just don't let that 'aw shucks' routine fool you. He might look like an all-American boy scout, but there's a lot more going on under the surface."

You raise an eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell."

Sam shakes his head, still smiling. "Nah, I'll let you discover that for yourself. Where's the fun if I spoil all the surprises?"

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. "Fine, keep your secrets. But seriously, Sam, thank you. For breakfast, for the pep talk, for everything. I'm really glad I got to meet you before tomorrow."

"Me too," Sam says, raising his coffee mug in a mock toast. "To new beginnings and unexpected partnerships."

You clink your own mug against his, feeling a surge of warmth and camaraderie. As you finish your breakfast, the conversation flows easily between you and Sam. He regales you with stories of his adventures with Steve, carefully omitting any classified details but painting a vivid picture of the man you're about to marry.

You learn about Steve's dry sense of humor, his unwavering loyalty to his friends, and his surprising skill at sketching. Sam describes missions where Steve's quick thinking saved the day, but also quieter moments - movie nights with the team, intense debates over board games, and Steve's ongoing struggle to catch up on pop culture.

As Sam talks, you find yourself leaning in, captivated by these glimpses of reality, getting to know more about the man behind the myth. And even if the next twenty-four hours will be a whirlwind of you choosing and getting fitted for your wedding dress; interviewing candidates that have been vetted for your personal staff - assistant, pr strategist, stylist, initiative director; and a bachelorette party; you feel like you’ll be able to face it all with the bit of reassurance you’ve gained by spending this time with Sam.

next part: LAS VEGAS & CLEVELAND

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

This story will have 3-4 chapters, depending on where I split up the narrative. I anticipate about a chapter a week, usually posted on Fridays.

[jellyfishinsideajar]

Dating [Tfp] Ratchet Headcanons

( This old man was the biggest crush Highschool! Me had and he deserves all the love and he doesn’t get enough of it )

The reason you’re with Ratchet is beyond him, whether you’re a human or fellow Autobot, you’re much younger than him. You could do so much better and yet you’ve chosen to love on the old man of Team Prime

He’s very reserved and prefers to keep your relationship private, on the down-low so to speak.

Things like PDA and nicknames aren’t really something he feels comfortable with expressing in front of everybody, especially the kids. He already endures enough of Miko’s teasing about his soft spot for you and yes, it did get worse when you two officially got together. She’s your biggest supporter, deal with it.

At the very most, he’ll rest a servo on the small of your back and gently pat the top of your head.

He’s extremely gentle! Whether you’re a human or Cybertronian, his touch is always so loving and comforting.

While he may voice his disdain for organics, he isn’t entirely despondent of Homo Sapians. He just holds concern for involving humans in their affairs in the first place. In truth, he holds some respect for the human race for coming such a long way. Ratchet would be devestated to see them fall down the same path as the Cybertronians.

If you are a human, it takes a real long time before you two end up dating and even then, Ratchet’s circuits are in disarray struggling to rationalize why someone like you would want to be with someone like him.

If you’re a fellow Autobot, Ratchet is mainly worried how his personal relationship with you might affect his work.

He already worries so much for the others, but you- Ratchet is constantly worried, always checking you for injuries when you return from missions and making sure your Energon levels are properly balanced.

For as much as he cares and fusses over you, you already know he doesn’t even spare himself a moments rest.

You are constantly having to fight him on taking a break, recharging, and just taking care of himself in general. He sacrifices a lot for his team and still strives to do more.

While an honorable endeavor on his part, it’s obvious how much burning the candle on both ends begins to take a toll on him.

Ratchet doesn’t exactly considering himself the most romantic bot, but he makes attempts to indulge you.

Do NOT expect cheesy things from him though, he’s an old mech and he isn’t going to waste time on ‘silly’ grand gestures when he can have an honest conversation with you face-to-face.

As a fellow Autobot, you hardly get downtime. Ratchet spares himself even less time to relax- Yet, in the middle of the night, when the world is quiet and the base is still- You can coax his servos into your own, pulling him back to your shared habsuite and into the metal slab of your berth. Lying close together where your chassis is pressed against his and the thrum of your sparks sync together as one.

It’s considerably harder though if you’re human- While you may spend a lot of time at base with him and the others, you have a life outside of him. Family, friends, work, and college- Somedays, he wishes you to do better than him, to find a partner who can truly and fully commit to you in all aspects of life.

You make him forget those worries of his every chance you get, reassuring him that you know what you signed up for and are more than happy to be with him.

Nicknames like “Sweetspark” “Hummingbird” are his favorite to use and while he isn’t too keen on nicknames for himself, he won’t get after you for calling him “Dear”. He rather enjoys it actually, but don’t tell Bumblebee or Smokescreen- or Primus forbid, Miko. He won’t ever hear the end of it.

Overall, Ratchet is a fine mech who, while may not always have or make the time for you, makes it clear that you are special to him. Regardless of metal or flesh.