#i had way more trouble with this one than i expected to

[mallory524]

going out

bob x reader

pictures from pinterest

summary- You and Bob finally spend some time together one morning, but you find yourself rushing to defend him when he gets overwhelmed and people aren’t kind to him.

word count- 1,691

warnings- THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS, fluff, pining, just a little language, hand holding, stranger being rude to bob :(

notes- the thunderbolts live in the watchtower (previously the avengers towers) because that’s what the post credit scene made it seem like and if I’m wrong I don’t care because I love the idea of them all being roomies :)

Although things hadn’t gone as expected, they are plenty of perks that come with being the New Avengers. The group hangs out together in the Watchtower all the time, none of you have to hide in the shadows anymore, and all the other accompanying “hero” perks. Helping the city by reversing the Void damage thrust the Thunderbolts into the spotlight, which typically just meant being waved to on the streets, and a lot of being told “your money’s no good here” with a big smile when you go out to eat.

Although the group fights a lot, there’s an unspoken understanding that you’re a real team now. More and more often the bickering is playful rather than actually malicious. At risk of sounding sentimental, real bonds are being made. Of course none of you would ever admit that out loud. Except maybe Alexei.

Bob’s enjoying his new life, too. Probably. You assume. He’s still a quiet guy, and sometimes he opts to stay in and read when you all go out for lunch or something. He’s still working through a lot, but everyone else is too, so you know to give him space. It’s clear to all of you that he’s slowly getting a bit more comfortable here with every passing day.

One cold morning, while everyone is sleeping in, you hear rustling and muttering in the other room. You throw on a robe and silently walk into the other room to investigate. Bob’s on the ground picking a bunch of papers up, and he whips his head around when he hears your footsteps.

“Sorry, I accidentally knocked all of Bucky’s things over. I’ve got it”, he says as you sit down next to him and help anyway. For a split second your fingers brush, but he pulls away, almost instinctively. You’d noticed that physical touch in general didn’t seem to bother him that much, but little soft moments like that make him nervous.

He’s gotten a bit of a handle on accidentally showing people memories they didn’t want to see, but maybe he’s nervous that he’d do it again without meaning to.

“Hey, have you had anything to eat yet?”, you say quietly, trying not to wake anyone else up. He shakes his head.

“Do you want to get something? There’s a coffee place I go to a lot. They have little pastries and stuff, too, if any of that sounds appetizing...”

He thinks about it for a second, and then smiles and nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

Inside the coffee shop, it’s cozy and warm. You take off your large sweater, and your phone falls out of the pocket and onto the floor, and both you and Bob reach down for it at the same time. Your hands brush again and he nervously pulls away again. You lean in a little closer and speak quietly. “Bob if you’re worried about-���

“No no, I’m not- it’s not that. That’s under control. I’m just… it’s nothing”. He’s clearly having trouble expressing himself, and he doesn’t seem to want to, so you shake your head and smile politely.

“Hey man, don’t worry about it.” You get a smile in return, which is always nice to see. Bob has a nice smile. It’s so sweet and warm… you can’t deny it any longer. Bob is really cute.

He felt the same way about you, but he’s way too scared to tell you something like that. He’s already jittery enough every time your hands touch…

He really likes being around you. He’s just too shy to ask you to spend time with him, so he’s thrilled that you asked him.

You start to order your usual drink, and Bob gets in the line next to you. The girl taking your order remembers you from the last time you were there, so you talk to her for a little. She’s really sweet! The guy taking Bob’s order is not.

You go to the station with the straws and napkins, and you quietly watch Bob try to order. You realize you didn’t really ask him if he was ready to order, and now he’s at the front of this line trying to figure out what he wants. Bob’s starting to stammer a little and this barista guy is cutting him no slack.

“I’m sorry I don’t know what I’m going to get, I’m thinking…”

“Sounds like something you should’ve figured out before you got to the front of the line”, he says, scoffing a little.

“Yeah you’re right, it was just really fast and-” Bob looks down and shuffles his feet a bit.

“You know there’s people behind you.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m just… um…” Bob trails off, and you can tell that the idea of holding up the line and making all these people wait for him is only making this worse. He’s nervously laughing to try to keep it light, but you can also see him fiddling with the ends of his sleeves while squinting to read the small writing on the menu. You feel your heart break a little just watching him.

“Dude if you seriously can’t figure it out maybe you could get out of line”

Just as Bob is about to step away, you decide you’re not going to watch this anymore and you step up next to him.

“Hey do you know who the hell you’re talking to?”, you say in a hushed, almost professional tone with your arms crossed. “You’re talking to someone who helped save everyone here like a month ago.”

The guy’s eyes widen with realization. “I am so sorry, I forgot, you’re those guys. I was out of town but I saw you on the news-”

“Yeah that’s us. But that doesn’t even matter, you shouldn’t be treating any of your customers like this. Do you do this to everyone? Does your manager know that? Sorry not everyone can read that crazy small print on your menu-”

You continue for a little while, and Bob takes a tiny step backwards so he can be out of your way. This is a side to you that Bob hadn’t really seen. Sure, you bicker with Walker and Ava all the time, and he’s seen how well you can fight of course, (you even had to briefly fight him that one time), but in your everyday lives, you’re always so kind and patient with him. You’re nice to people who come up to you on the street and ask for a picture, and you’re nice to strangers who are rude to you, and you’re nice to the Thunderbolts most of the time, so it’s weird for Bob to see you actually go off on someone like that… and it’s all to defend him?? Strangely, it’s one of the sweetest things someone’s done for him in a while.

“- and you’re lucky I’m speaking quietly. I could be a whole lot louder and I could make a big scene but for your sake I’ll-” but you stop talking when you hear Bob clear his throat.

“I think I know what I want to order now”

“Go ahead”, you say with a little smile as you step out of the way. Bob tells his order to the terrified young man who keeps looking at you like he’s expecting you to lunge at him.

Another barista, who doesn’t realize what just happened, recognizes the two of you and walks up to let you know that it’s all on the house. It’s hard for you and Bob to keep from giggling just a little bit.

After you get your drinks and the muffin Bob ordered, you step back outside and start walking down the street together, enjoying your food and drinks.

“Thanks. You really didn’t have to do all that. I wasn’t ready, I should’ve been ready before I got up there.”

“No, no don’t worry about that. That’s my fault, I didn’t give you any time to read the menu and figure out what you wanted. Besides, that guy was just rude. That’ll teach him to mess with the New Avengers, am I right?” and Bob chuckles quietly.

“Yeah, I don’t really know if I deserve any credit for helping save everyone when I kinda caused all of that in the first place…”

“Hey, you know that’s not your fault”, you say in a softer tone. “You didn’t do any of that on purpose”

“Yeah I know.”

A car then loudly backfires, startling both of you. Bob stops walking and grabs your hand. When he sees that it’s fine and nothing’s wrong, he’s a little embarrassed.

“Sorry I didn’t…” Bob smiles at you awkwardly and trails off. He’s about to let go when you shake your head and gently squeeze his hand. “I’m always a bit jumpy, too, don’t worry about it.”

The two of you continue walking, and you notice that he’s not letting go of your hand, now that he knows you’re fine with it. Maybe he would’ve done that a while ago if he knew you wouldn’t mind…

You walk in very comfortable silence all the way back to the tower, refusing to let go of one another’s hands. Bob feels like he can’t. Like if he let go it might never happen again. He does decide to break the silence, though.

“Y/n, I had a good time” he says as he takes another big sip of his iced coffee. “Thanks for asking me to go out with you. Well, not like go out with you but you know like, coffee and this walk and stuff”.

“Well thank you for joining me. We should do this more”, you say, smiling warmly at him. Just then, you reach the tower. Walker’s heading out, and Bucky’s right behind him. The two of you immediately let go of each other’s hands, but Walker looks at you both a little funny. “Hey guys…”

“Hey”, you say in unison, acting natural as you walk into the elevator and start to laugh a little once the doors close.

“No Bucky I swear they were holding hands. It was so weird”

“I think you’re seeing things, John”

[22ayla21]

There's this video I saw awhile ago whenever the mom interacts with their baby(talking or singing to them) the baby is all smiles and laughter but whenever the dad interacts with the baby the dad receives a side eye and poker face. Can I please request this scenario with Phainon wherein when his kids were still babies they didn't like him that much and would prefer their mother. It could be one of his sons but it would really be funny if it was his daughter. Thank you, hope you have a wonderful day!

The Choice of a Heart

Phainon had always dreamed of a daughter, but his little princess turned out to be too serious for fatherly cuddles.

With the birth of his daughter, Phainon felt as though he held a treasure of unseen value in his hands. Before her, the house was already bustling with two mischievous sons, who brought plenty of trouble but also boundless joy. And now – a daughter… His little princess, the light of his eyes, a long-awaited dream. The first time he held her, he froze, afraid to move and disturb the peace of this tiny miracle.

He imagined her nestling trustingly against him, just like in books and old stories, babbling something in her own language, her tiny fingers clutching his hand. He expected her to understand immediately: here he is, your daddy. But reality turned out… funnier.

Her mother was her whole world. The moment Phainon's wife entered the room, the little girl blossomed: her arms reached out, her eyes sparkled, her cheeks flushed pink, and her lips formed a charming smile. Mama sang – the daughter fell asleep. Mama played peek-a-boo – the baby squealed with delight. Mama simply looked – and the child glowed with happiness.

But when Phainon, with reverence and boundless love, hesitantly took her in his arms, an impenetrable expression appeared on her little face. Absolutely. Mercilessly. The baby seemed to turn into a little statue: not a sound, not a smile, only a serious, sometimes even reproachful gaze from below, as if she wondered why she had been taken away from her mother.

He tried his best. What didn't he do! He hummed old lullabies that he used to sing to his sons. He made up stories about plush dragons. He even tried to do funny dances that made his older children roll on the floor laughing. But she just watched. Without emotion. Without judgment. Just… nothing.

Secretly, it bothered him. He didn't tell anyone about it, especially his wife, who was already tired but radiated happiness holding their daughter. But something ached inside. He had waited nine months for her, imagined rocking her, her falling asleep on his chest. And now it seemed he was just a piece of furniture next to her mother.

But he didn't give up. Every day he approached her. He picked her up, held her to his shoulder. He whispered that he loved her more than all the stars in the sky. And even if she didn't respond – he stayed close.

One night, when his daughter cried and her mother was busy with the older boys, he was the one who took her from the crib. And suddenly, on his shoulder, she quieted down. She nestled her little nose into his neck, gave a final sob, and… fell asleep.

He stood there, holding his breath, afraid to move. His heart was pounding like crazy.

And that night, putting her back down, she weakly squeezed his finger with her tiny hand.

From that moment on, everything began to change. She still adored her mother, but sometimes – just a little, in her own way – she looked at her father with that very gaze he had been waiting for.

A little stern. A little serious. But with warmth. And he understood – she was simply his girl. With her own character. With her own special look. With her silent affection. And even if she didn't laugh in response yet – she was already choosing whom to entrust her little heart to.

And in the end, she chose him.

[livinghalfway]

"For the last time Grayson this is not a 'playdate' as you call it. This is me investigating an obvious threat!" It seems no matter how much Damian insists that the Fenton wasn't his friend, no one in the family was going to believe him.

"Whatever you say Dami!" Grayson smiled brightly, clearly not believing a word he just said, "Would you like Allred to prepare some snacks for you and Danny for in between your fencing matches?"

"...Yes, that would be apprenticed. In the mean time I must prepare the battle ground for Fenton and I's fight." Damian stood quickly making his way hastily out of the room.

"I'll bring Danny to the gym when he gets here!" Grayson calls out after him.

No matter what the others say this is not a friendly visit. He is going to prove to them all that Fenton is a threat once and for all. The security cameras have been set up directly were Damian plans to face off against his foe.

With that everyone will finally see that Fenton has been trained to handle something far deadly than a fencing foil. His trap has been set; now he just needs the mouse to show his face.

-

Damian is standing in the middle of the mat when Fenton finally enters the room. A duffle bag, with his fencing gear most likely in it, is thrown over his shoulder. "Hey Damian! You ready to practice?"

"Actually Fenton, I was thinking of something a bit more...exciting." Damian doesn't hesitate after that to throw one of the katanas that he had been hiding behind his back towards Danny, and charging him immediately after the blade lands in his hands.

Fenton is seemingly not startled by this new development, and is starts to charge forward as well, his duffle bag now forgotten on the ground.

The two trade blow after blow, and for a moment Damian would say that he is having fun. That quickly ends though when Danny somehow manages to knock Damian's blade out of his hands, making it land far across the room. With no way to get his weapon back without Danny landing a winning blow Damian takes on a fighting stance. This is hardly the first time he's fought without his weapon.

What he doesn't expect though is for Fenton, upon seeing Damian with his fists up, discards his own weapon, and takes on a fighting stance similar to Damian's. Just as quickly as before the two are exchanging punches and kicks to one another. The worst part of all of this though is that Damian can tell that Fenton is going easy on him!

How is this possible? Who tried him? Is he here to cause trouble in Gotham? These are all questions Damian has as he lands hard on his back. He lost, again.

Damian demands a rematch as he smacks Danny's hand away from himself, refusing his offer to help him stand back up.

By the end of their battle Damian is left utterly exhausted and humiliated. Halfway through Fenton had started to try and teach him how to improve. He hated that the things he said were helpful.

Damian would beat Fenton next Saturday as that was when they planned their next battle, and no Grayson it was not another playdate!

Mini Prompt: Fight Me

Damian didn’t have high hopes when he saw that the new kid, Danny Fenton, at school would be joining fencing club.

Which is why it angered him so much when he lost three times in row to Danny. Worst of all he did it with a smile, and words of encouragement after each match.

At the same time though this was the most excitable moment he’s had while in this club. No one else has ever been near his skill level before, and he was frankly ready to get quit because of the boredom.

There was no way Damian could leave now though, not after such an embarrassing loss. He vowed then and there that Danny was his enemy, and he would defeat him.

It was when Damian was observing Danny during another fight that he noticed it. Danny wasn’t just a skilled fencing player, he was trained to fight with an actual blade.

Was Danny also trained to be an assassin from a young age? He had to know more.

[holyblonded]

untitled | something blue

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, Olga rios x teen!reader, barcelona femeni x teen!reader

summary: you can barely breath and for the first time in your life, people notice.

warnings: depersonalization, hate comments

notes: pls send requests!! i am running out of ideas

You weren’t even supposed to be on the app. You’d opened it to watch a highlight, just one clip someone tagged you in. The nutmeg, the assist, the way the crowd gasped. It had been a long week, flights, games, sore muscles, sleepless nights. You just wanted that thirty seconds of reassurance, something to make the grind feel like it mattered.

But you scrolled. You shouldn’t have. You knew better. Everyone always said not to. But your thumb moved on its own, and the comment popped up like it had been waiting for you.

“Alexia and Olga's charity case."

It didn’t even hit right away. You stared at it, blank, the words not quite sinking in. Then they did. And your whole chest went hollow.

It wasn’t that it was the worst thing anyone had said about you. You’d been called worse. You’d survived worse. But something about it… this one felt personal. Close. Too close. Like someone had peeled open your ribcage and found the one quiet place you never let anyone touch.

And then, you kept scrolling. You couldn’t stop.

"Why did Barça even pick her up?"

"She's a liability."

"Does she even start on merit or just 'cause of who she's living with?"

"Another case of talent wasted on a broken kid."

"She's gonna ruin that team."

"Nothing but trouble."

You stop breathing for a second.

You blink, but the comments don’t blur the way you wish they would. They just sit there, sharp and clear. And they echo. They get louder the more you read. Until they’re not just comments anymore, they’re truths. Ones you’d buried deep. Ones that have always hovered under the surface.

Because you know what? Maybe they’re right.

You don’t close the app. You lock your phone, but you don’t throw it away. You just sit with it. The silence in the room grows teeth. The hum of traffic outside doesn’t ground you like it used to. And for some reason, your bed, this soft, expensive mattress in this warm, clean home, feels like a place you don’t belong.

Isn’t that what they’re all saying? That you don’t belong here. That you never did.

You’re not crying. It’s worse than that. You’re stuck. Frozen. Like you’re watching yourself from outside your own body. You can feel your thoughts spiraling, dragging you down with them, and you just let it happen. Because what are you supposed to do? Argue with people who are only saying what you already fear?

You think about how you got here. Not the goals or the contract or the jerseys.

No.

You think about the cold nights sleeping with your hoodie tucked over your face. You think about sneaking into 24-hour diners just to sit and feel heat. You think about how you always wore your backpack while sleeping because it had everything you owned. You think about the jobs you worked, the lies you told, the way you learned to run before you learned to trust.

You think about how no one was there. Not your mom. Not your dad. No system. No safety net. You built yourself out of broken glass and concrete and the sound of police sirens in the distance.

And now? Now you’re in Barcelona, living in an house with two people who love you, who really love you, but you still flinch when you hear footsteps outside your door. You still expect it to all disappear.

Because somewhere inside, you believe you’re temporary. That no one knows who you truly are.

You open your phone again. Not to check the comments. Just to feel the weight of it in your hand.

Not the part of you that starts to believe all the things people say. Not the part that thinks Alexia and Olga are wasting their love. Not the part that thinks even football can’t save you if you’re already lost.

You lie down, eyes wide open. You can’t sleep. You don’t eat the next morning.

You’ve always been good at disappearing. It was survival.

But this time it feels like vanishing from a place you were finally starting to think might be home. And you hate that one stupid comment was all it took to make you doubt that. But here you are. Vanishing anyway.

You showed up to training fifteen minutes early. Not because you were feeling extra focused or anything motivational like that, but because you didn’t want anyone waiting on you. You didn’t want the questions.

You’d already dodged enough of those from Olga. You mumbled something about being tired and sore, then went into the bathroom and stayed there until she stopped hovering by the door. Alexia didn’t push, just met your silence with her own quiet kind, but you saw the way she looked at you over breakfast. The way she kept glancing up every few seconds, as if willing you to talk.

And nkw, training. You thought maybe you could just run it off. Breathe it out. Be the version of yourself that made everyone shut up when you stepped on the pitch. But from the first warm-up, everything felt wrong.

Your legs were heavy. Your timing was off. You couldn’t connect a pass to save your life. Every touch felt like it came a beat too late or too early, and it made your stomach twist. You knew everyone was watching. You knew.

Alexia tried to talk to you on the walk out to the pitch, something soft and careful like, “Maybe after training, we can go to the beach?”—but you just nodded, eyes forward, pretending you didn’t hear the weight behind her voice.

You saw Sydney waiting by the cones, laughing at something Vicky said. Normally, that would’ve made your chest unclench, would’ve pulled a smile out of you without effort. You waited for it to hit.

It didn’t.

Vicky nudged you during rondos, joking about how she was about to nutmeg you again, and you just gave her a tired, half-hearted smirk.

Sydney touched your back, low and comforting, asking quietly, “You okay?”

You just said, “Yeah,” without even meeting her eyes.

And they knew. Everyone knew.

Even Pere noticed. About halfway through drills, he blew the whistle and called you over. His tone wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t casual either.

“You good?” he asked, frowning. “Anything hurting? You look off.”

You shook your head quickly, too quickly. “Nah, I’m fine. Just… tired. Long week.”

He watched you for a second too long, then nodded and let it go. But you could feel his eyes on you even after you jogged back.

You messed up your next three passes. Lost your marker twice. You knew you were playing like shit, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Alexia pulled Frido aside during the water break.

“She’s been like this since last night,” she said, arms crossed tight. “Olga’s worried sick. She barely said a word this morning.”

Frido glanced toward where you were sitting on the grass, hunched over your cleats, barely touching your water bottle. “Want me to try?”

Alexia hesitated, then nodded.

So Fridolina came over, crouched beside you like she always did when she was about to say something kind. “Hey, flicka. You don’t seem like yourself. Want to talk?”

You didn’t even look at her. “I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

You tied your shoelaces slower, pretending it took all your focus. “I said I’m good.”

She didn’t push. Just gave you a small nod and walked back, but you felt it in your stomach, the disappointment. The quiet kind. The kind that made you feel guilty for not being able to be okay.

Then Sydney sat next to you, legs stretched out. She didn’t say anything at first. Just sat there, letting the silence build.

Eventually, she asked, “Is it me?”

That made you glance at her, finally.

“No,” you said. Quiet. Honest.

She nodded, biting her lip, then offered, “Do you want me to sit here, or leave you alone?”

You didn’t know the answer. You didn’t want to be alone, but you didn’t want anyone near you either. You just stared at the ground and said, “I don’t know.”

She stayed anyway.

Vicky tried too, after drills, when you were walking off, dragging your feet behind the group. She bumped her shoulder against yours and said, “Come on, you always yell at me when I mope.”

You gave her a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Maybe I’m tired of yelling.”

“You don’t have to be okay all the time,” she whispered.

You didn’t answer. Because the truth was, you weren’t okay. And you didn’t know how to say that out loud without breaking something inside you. So you stayed quiet.

Even when practice ended and Alexia’s arm brushed yours gently in the locker room. Even when Olga texted again:

Tell me if I need to come get you.

Even when you saw your name in another headline online later that night and your whole chest ached. You just kept spiraling. Quietly. Completely.

It had been days, but you still didn’t feel like yourself.

Everything you did, every step, every blink, every word, it all felt like watching someone else do it. Like you were floating behind your own eyes, watching your body move through the world on autopilot. You brushed your teeth because that’s what you did every morning. You got dressed because that’s what came next. You stood in front of the mirror, tied your hair back, stared into your reflection… and didn’t really see anything.

You weren’t tired. Or maybe you were, but it felt deeper than that. It wasn’t exhaustion, it was detachment. Like you were living your life underwater. People talked to you, the team, Olga, Alexia, but it felt like their voices came through layers of fog. You responded when you had to, short clipped answers. Enough to keep everyone from pushing harder.

Today felt no different. You stood by your closet, already in training gear, lacing your cleats when the door creaked open behind you.

“Don’t bother,” Olga said softly.

You turned to look at her.

She was already dressed. Not fancy, but normal. Jeans. A hoodie. No makeup.

“You’re not going to training today,” she said, stepping in further. “We’re going out instead.”

You didn’t say anything. You just sat on the bed and began taking your cleats off.

She didn’t explain where you were going. You didn’t ask. You just followed her, got into the car, and stared out the window. The city disappeared behind you, and the roads thinned, the traffic faded, the sky stretched wider.

Eventually, she turned down a dirt path and parked beside an open field.

It was beautiful.

Not the curated kind of beauty, like the manicured parks in the city or the postcard beaches. This was messy and real. Wildflowers grew in uneven patches. Cows roamed lazily through the tall grass, and there was a soft murmur of water in the distance.

“Come on,” she said.

You followed her down toward the stream, to a flat spot shaded by a few crooked trees. She sat down in the grass, patting the spot next to her.

“This is where I come when I feel like everything’s too much,” she said, voice quiet. “When the noise in my head gets loud. When I feel like I can’t breathe.”

You didn’t respond. Just looked out at the cows. One stared back, disinterested.

“I don’t come here to fix anything,” Olga continued. “Just to remember I’m still part of something. Nature doesn’t expect anything from me. It just lets me exist.”

There was a silence. Long. Heavy. Then you heard her sniffle. When you looked over, her eyes were wet.

“What’s going on with you?” she asked, voice shaking. “The way you’ve been acting… It’s scaring everyone. You’ve shut us all out. You don’t even look like you anymore.”

That’s what finally broke through the haze. That voice. That crack in it. The fear underneath. You blinked hard. The weight in your chest loosened just enough to let words out.

“There was this comment,” you said slowly, your voice sounding foreign in your own ears. “Someone called me ‘Alexia and Olga’s charity case.’”

Olga’s face hardened.

“And I know… I know it’s just a comment. But I kept scrolling. And there were more. People saying I don’t belong at Barça. That I’m a liability. That I shouldn’t have been taken in. And I just—” You swallowed, chest heaving. “I couldn’t stop reading. I couldn’t stop hearing it.” Your voice cracked. “I started wondering if they were right. If I’m just… a problem you two decided to fix. A project. I started thinking maybe you didn’t really want me. Maybe I was just—convenient. Like you took me in because you felt guilty.”

At that, Olga broke completely. “No,” she choked out. “Hell no.”

She reached for you, and before you could stop her, she was pulling you into her lap like you were a little kid. You were taller than her, but it didn’t matter. She held you like she used to when you had night terrors, when you’d cry yourself hoarse from fear and hunger, back in LA. Like she knew how to ground you even when you couldn’t find your own hands.

“Listen to me,” she said, holding the back of your head, her voice thick with tears. “You are not a charity case. Don’t you ever think that again. You are my little sister. You’re blood. I don’t care what anyone says. You’re mine. You’re ours.”

You felt your body sink into her. The first real thing you’d felt in days.

“I love you,” she whispered fiercely. “We love you. Alexia. Me. All of us. You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to earn it. Just be. That’s enough. That’s always been enough.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt the wetness soak into her hoodie.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “Thank you for not leaving.”

She kissed the top of your head.

“You’re stuck with me, kid.”

When you got home that night, the world still felt a little off. The colors weren’t quite sharp. The air still didn’t sit right in your lungs.

But when you sat on your bed with your notebook, you wrote something down.

THE PEOPLE WHO STAYED

- Olga

- Alexia

- Sydney

- Vicky

- Frido

- The Team

- Yourself (eventually)

You looked at that last one for a long time. And for the first time in a while, you believed it might be true.

[calebs-spouse]

Champagne Cool - Sylus

Summary: You meet a gorgeous stranger during your night bartending shift at the club. And well— things get more heated than you expected.

Tags: smut WITH PLOT! ✨ SoftDom!Sylus, fïngering, public s*x, dirty talking, finger sucking, riding, praise, light degrees, Afab reader, etc etc. Sylus finally has the capability of dancing. Honestly just filthy smut idk. MDNI.

Word Count: ~3K

A/N: Sylus girlies RISE UP!! Im well aware the most fictional part of this is the fact that Sylus can dance but let’s all pretend together. I hope you enjoy!! <3

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Saturday night and you were working your usual night shift as a bartender. The club you worked at wasn’t necessarily the most popular one in town, but it got quite a bit of patronage.

You’d put on your usual show for customers. Leaning over the bar, acting completely and utterly interested in everything they had to say. Just to ensure a decent tip was slid your way when they left for the night. As they got more affected by the drinks, sometimes they would share things that were way more personal than you had signed up for.

For example, one of your regulars had a couple too many and started telling you all about their family scandals. Like their sister dropping out of college to go run off to some foreign country with her rebel boyfriend that, apparently, nobody approved of. Or their aunt who ended up divorcing her husband because turns out— after all of those years of them together— she harbored a love for her best friend. So, needless to say, sometimes being a bartender was the equivalent of being thrown into a reality TV show.

On slower nights though, like tonight, you’d rest your elbows against the bar and people watch. You’d watch as they danced to the loud thumping of the club music, with the fancy multi-colored LED lights swirling around the room. In the back of your mind, you’d take note of the customers that you could certainly tell were drunk off of their minds, since it was illegal to serve them when they were hammered. To “prevent any more trouble than we need” your boss would always tell you.

Slower nights were honestly a hit or miss for you. It was either your shift was incredibly peaceful to you, seen as a recovery night from the Friday night rush you had the evening prior. Or, it would be entirely, completely boring. Giving watching paint dry a run for its money. With your night being most like the latter of the two options, you found yourself almost falling asleep at the bar. That was, until he showed up.

Just as your eyes began to droop closed, a man dressed in a white button down and some black leather pants —a stark contrast to the men that showed up in just a t-shirt and plain blue jeans— sat down at the counter. He immediately rattles off his drink request and you get to making it, throwing the concoction together into a shaker to give it a stir. Extending your hand out to give him the freshly poured beverage, his hand overlaps yours as he grasps onto the glass.

Looking up, you find yourself absolutely stunned by this man’s appearance. He has broad shoulders, a jawline that could cut a diamond, and his outfit does little to hide the fact that he is very physically fit. It was hard to tear your eyes away from his muscular chest sticking out of his half-unbuttoned dress shirt. And just when you thought he couldn’t get any more perfect from that alone, you observe his eyes.

Immediately, you find yourself lost in them, his beautiful, piercing red eyes seem to have the ability to see straight into your soul. It had been a good few seconds, maybe a minute, just analyzing the person in front of you while you could have sworn he was too occupied with his drink to notice. Realizing you’ve been holding eye contact for entirely too long for it to be normal in any sense of the word, a smirk finds its way onto his face.

“I would tell you that my eyes are up here, but it seems you’re already staring into them.” The man says, a confident tone taking over his voice. He leans onto the counter, inching himself closer to you. The smell of his cologne more noticeable than before.

Having been called out, your face flushes a bright shade of red. The man notices and adds another smug comment.

“What’s wrong? You’re getting shy now? You seemed so open to checking me out just a second ago.”

The man picks up his glass and presses it to his soft lips, remnants of his smirk still on his face as he takes a sip of his drink.

“Shut up. I’m not blushing.” You mumble in defense as you turn away from him, not allowing him to take any more pride in the pink that’s dusting your cheeks.

“Oh, don’t turn away. I’d like to see your pretty face longer.”

“I’ll turn around if you stop smirking. You’re having an ego trip and I don’t even know you.” you retort, sass filling your tone as you turn back around to face him. This earns a chuckle from the man, leaning back in his barstool.

“Sylus.” A quick and simple introduction.

You introduced yourself as well, one-worded like the other, and that was that.

Your Saturday night was mostly occupied by chatting with Sylus at the bar, entirely too flirty for a regular customer, interrupted by quick drink-making runs in between some parts of the conversation. You really couldn’t help it, something about him… You just couldn’t place a finger on it. Well, he was beautiful and charismatic as all hell, and the rings that decorated his fingers were wholly distracting. But that wasn’t quite it.

During the chatting, you had found yourself staring at his lips quite often. How they hugged the glass when he took a sip, the way they shaped to form words when he spoke, or the strategic placement of a few licks of them every now and then.

“My friends ditched me.”

You were brought back to attention by the pretty laugh the other let out after his words. You adjusted your elbows against the countertop and tilted your head.

“Ditched you? What do you mean?”

He could tell you had zoned out on him.

“No, not like that. They’re over there.” He pointed. Your eyes followed, met with the sight of two— twins…?— already dancing with partners out on the floor.

“Oh. That kind of ditch.” You laughed. “How does it feel to be replaced?” A tease directed towards Sylus.

You checked the clock, remembering that you were only scheduled for a half-shift today due to your coworker insisting on extra hours this weekend. Something about a baby shower coming up? You didn’t really care. But you were peeved that your time with Sylus was cut short.

“Looks like I’m going to have to ditch you too.” You frowned slightly, grabbing a rag to do a ‘between workers’ wipe down of the bar.

“Hold on—“ Your movements were halted, wrist now in Sylus’s grip as he looked up at you.

“Dance with me after.”

There was silence for a moment. Your breath caught in your throat at the contact. Not to mention the sight. Sylus’s plush lips you had found yourself daydreaming about most of your shift were parted, eyes shaped into a look you just couldn’t say no to.

“Uh.” You stuttered, not pulling your arm away. “Yeah. Sure. Just let me get more presentable than this after. I’ll be out.”

Sylus smirked, finally releasing your wrist as he leaned forward, voice like honey with a lower tone, spoken so only you could hear it.

“Then I’ll be waiting for you.”

———————

It was a few moments of internal panic, taking your hair down from that stupid claw clip everyone swears by but you can’t stand, and a couple sprays of perfume so you didn’t smell like Jack Daniels felt you up himself. Once you had yourself and your mind mostly together, you exited the staff room and made your way towards the dance floor. Sylus said he would be waiting, but didn’t say exactly where.

You sifted through the crowd, the floor lighting up beneath your feet, ears starting to ring from the loud thumping of the bass that was much clearer now up close. Even with your eyes squinted, you couldn’t find him. Maybe he ditched?

“Hey!—“ You yelled, being tugged by someone you couldn’t really see at first, bumping into a very firm chest. Props to them honestly.

“It’s me, Sweetie. Seems like you need glasses.” Sylus teased, gently taking your hand off of his chest and spinning you around smoothly, his chest pressed up against your back. “Oh shush.” You retorted. His hips met your ass, strong, ringed hands sliding down your figure to meet at your waist.

“How smooth of you.” You laughed, commenting on the spin as you finally found the beat, starting to sway to it. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you were nervous. Men didn’t typically intimidate you or make you anxious, but this one was different.

“Can I admit something?” You shouted behind yourself, feeling Sylus’s fingertips burning holes into your hip bones.

“Go for it.”

“I haven’t danced with anyone in a while.”

“It’s okay.” You heard him laugh behind you. “I’ll guide you.” He lowered his voice, much closer to your ear than before. You felt his breath fan against your neck and you shivered, attempting to put your heart rate back to a normal pace.

Your efforts were useless, Sylus’s hand sliding down from your waist to your inner thigh. You looked down, watching his fingers curl to a tighter grip on your leg, the club lights making multicolored reflections in his silver rings. One of them was a snake. Hot.

A gentle push by his hand had you turning in his arms, now face-to-face with him. He adjusted his leg, now bracketed between yours. And God, the friction. That combined with his piercing stare. It’s like he wanted you to melt in his arms.

“What’s the matter, Sweetheart?” A flirtatious tease, but you couldn’t help the way your body reacted to it. Your chest tightened, breath starting to stutter as his arm pulled you in closer. You couldn’t answer very well, nothing clever formed as a reply.

“Nothing. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Too close?” That one was a low purr. Your whole body was hot at this point, and it wasn’t the body heat of the crowd surrounding you.

“Not close enough.”

————————————

That was it, a few drinks later and it was a sealed deal. Sex at your workplace was the last way you expected your Saturday shift to go, but it definitely wasn’t the worst.

You’d been tugged across the club, the two of you found a dark booth in the corner, a wall-divider separating the dance floor from the seats. And at this point you weren’t very picky.

A shove to his chest had him falling back into the cushion, back meeting the wall as you chased his lips, those same pink, plush lips you were staring at earlier. You tasted alcohol and mint on his tongue, his teeth brushing against your bottom lip as his hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you forward and into his lap.

You felt his thighs flex underneath you, hips lifting up to grind against your core. A gasp fell from your mouth, the fabric of your panties underneath your skirt doing little to reduce the friction of his pants against you. Your lips parted, giving him enough time for a cocky laugh. In retaliation, you ground down harder, feeling him muffle a groan against your lips. *Ha.*

You pushed up his shirt, hands roaming underneath and along his abs. Your fingers worked at the buttons, hips meeting his in a steady rhythm.

“Eager, hmm?” He teased, his lips pulled up in a grin. You rolled your eyes, shoving the sleeves of his shirt down his arms. He complied, amused by what he was slowly turning you into. His white shirt hit the ground underneath the booth, goosebumps appearing on his arms from the air.

His hands slipped down past your waist, lips trailing down your jaw to your neck. He found purchase there, teeth brushing against the skin as he nipped at it, sucking and creating hickeys that would be a bitch to hide later.

Your cheeks felt hot as you tilted your head to the side, feeling Sylus’s hand make his way underneath your skirt, rings cold against the skin of your stomach and fingers toying with the top seam of your underwear.

“Stop teasing, you ass.” You sassed, your hands starting to work at the button of his pants. He gave a satisfied hum against your neck when you jolted, pulling your underwear aside to slide his fingers between your folds. “God you’re soaked, kitten.” He groaned, pulling his hand out, fingertips wet from your arousal.

“Taste.”

A simple command, his thumb dragging along your jawline to meet at your bottom lip. He toyed with it, tugging at it to part your lips before shoving his middle and ring finger past them. You could taste yourself on your tongue, a low moan sounding from you as you wrapped your lips around his fingers, sucking at them.

“That’s it. Clean them off all nice for me.”

When he was satisfied, he pulled them out, a string of saliva still connecting them to your lips.

You soon realized all of that was a simple tease, as his fingers found themselves back between your legs, circling at your entrance. You placed a hand on his shoulder, adjusting the angle so he had more room. When they entered, your breath hitched, feeling his fingers curl inside you as he started up a rhythm. It was becoming harder to keep your moans low and between the two of you, Sylus made note of that and picked up the pace.

“Look at you, taking my fingers like a good kitten. I wonder what your boss would think if he saw you like this, hmm?” His voice was smooth, low, and teasing the life out of you.

Your hands flew to his pants, tugging down the zipper and shoving at his waistband, trying to free his dick from his boxers. “Please, just fuck me already.”

“If you insist.” He replied, calm and collected as he pulled his fingers out, having gotten you to just before the edge when he decided to listen to you for once.

He was pretty. Every part of him was pretty. Even his dick. Your hand wrapped around it, stroking languidly until he shoved your hand away, grabbing your wrist and placing it behind your back. “You wanted me to fuck you, didn’t you?”

All you did was whine in response, thanking whatever it was you believed in that your skirt managed to hide most of what was going on from the public eye. Still, you felt dirty, about to ride Sylus in the corner of a dark club. Your face was red, breathing staggered as you felt him brush himself along your folds.

He pushed in, both of you moaning together. Your hands gripped at his shoulders as he let out a low “Fuck” when he bottomed out. His hands cupped your ass, lifting you up and encouraging you to start moving. And you did, eagerly so, cursing his name in a satisfied whine as he fucked up into you.

“Feel good, sweetie? You’re doing so well. Such a willing, shameless little thing.”

His words made you shudder, your thighs clenching as you took over, desperately fucking down onto his cock. You wanted to shut him up. You knew how smug he was about this, but honestly, he had every right to be. Even though it was in some stupid club, this was one of the best hookups you’ve ever had.

He lulled his head back, meeting the wall with his eyes closed as you tried to muffle your sounds against the skin of his neck. His fingers laced into your hair, tugging your head back with a sharp command.

“I want to hear you. Hide your moans from me and I stop. Understood?”

You nodded, gasping at the harsh grip he had on your hair. “Fuck.” You swore, body lurching forward when you felt his fingers find your clit again, circling it as you neared your high.

Your hands braced against the wall, leaning forward into his touch. Already starting to feel sore, you kept going, head feeling fuzzy and body wanting nothing more than release. “I’m close. Please. Can I—?”

You don’t know why you asked permission. Something about how he spoke made you feel compelled to. And that only served to fuel his ego even more.

“Go ahead, princess.”

It didn’t take long before your hips started to stutter, a loud moan left you as you rode out your high. Sylus pulled out, finishing onto the material of your skirt. Just because he could.

It was silent for a few moments, just the sound of the music and your breathing as you both caught your breath. You had bent over, reaching for his shirt under the table as you heard it. A stranger’s voice.

“Wow, Sylus. I see you had fun tonight.”

God, you were never going to show your face in this club ever again.

—————————————————

(I take requests. Submit in ask box.)

[lilachvn]

࿁ 𑄹 ˙ — ❝ 𝑩𝑬 𝑴𝒀 𝑽𝑰𝑿𝑬𝑵 ! ❞

͏⏝ི summary: forced to drinks with morgan and emily, spencers expectations were nowhere near meeting somebody as perfect as you.

warnings: smut, fem!reader x softdom!spencer, p in v sex :3, spencer’s a big boy, meet cute, awkward spencer, no y/n use, slow burn if u squint. — not proofread :(

wrd count: 2439

packed, loud, and dark. only three words reid could use to describe the environment he was currently in.

he wasn’t much of a drinker, being dragged along here by emily and morgan to try and “expand his horizons” and get him out of his shell.

frankly, his head was already hurting and he couldn’t even imagine how unsanitary it was for all these people to be so tightly packed together.

it made his headache expand to all the corners of his head. his arnold parmer was practically melting in his hand, making him wipe a hand onto his slacks.

spencer had quickly drifted away from the conversation, chewing on the inside of his lip every now and then.

“hey, pretty boy. twelve o’clock, at the bar.” morgan lifted up his glass to signal at you, sitting almost elegantly on the stool in your shiny purple maxi-dress, hugging every curve that met the eye.

you more than caught the brunettes attention, his eyes almost widening at the view.

prentiss chuckled, her mocking practically hitting every side of him. “hah! like i’ve said: IQ of 187 slashed to 60 just like that.”

somehow, in some way, after what felt like thirty minutes of mocking— the full 72 inches and all, was sauntering over to where you were.

his stride wasn’t one of confidence… more of like a ‘i’m forced to be here but i think you’re hot and it intimidates me.’

“um— hi.” it came out in a creaky scratch, causing him to clear his throat and his lips to shift into one tight line.

you perked up a tad, turning around on the stool— temporarily halting the conversation between you and your friend. she took a hint though, making her way into the crowd.

“hi?” you couldn’t help the smile of amusement that crept up on your glossed lips, manicured finger mindlessly circling the rim of your glass.

you could see his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed dryly, still managing to maintain the deep eye contact.

despite the harsh churning in his stomach.

“i— uh— you’re..— you’re beautiful.” spencer almost slipped up and called you perfect, unfortunately his ‘skills’ were far beyond his favor right now.

but to be fair, you were perfect. his exact type on paper.

and the way you were staring at him made him beyond nervous.

you knew it though, you could tell. it was very flattering but it also gave you a spike of confidence.

“thanks. you’re… oh? FBI?” you quickly noticed the tag hooked onto his vest, it explained the button up and tie. “am i in trouble?” you giggled, cocking your head to the side, staring up at him almost seductively through your lashes.

he swallowed whatever was left of saliva in his mouth again, chewing on the inside of his cheek. trying his hardest to maintain all control of himself.

“no. have you done anything to get yourself in trouble?” spencer’s voice dropped an octave or two, senselessly bringing himself closer to you.

you could read a room. you knew he was flirting and it surprised you how quickly his ‘innocent boy’ act disappeared.

at once, you slowly stepped off the stool; even in your heels, this stranger managed to tower over you completely.

“i dunno… wanna find out?” it slipped past your lips in a quiet murmur, your hand simultaneously sliding up his chest, toying with his dark tie.

but your eyes were hypnotizing him, every time they weren’t on his, it felt like a hit to his heart.

every rational mind melted out of his brain through his ears.

what was once a full six feet of boy wonder was sliced in half to what could only be explained as the mind of a hormonal teen.

╴⊹ꮺ˚

wherever he lived wasn’t too far from the bar, but the drive felt outrageously long and you couldn’t even explain how painful it was that you weren’t already touching each other.

it hadn’t been a long time since you had someone on top of you. but, your plan for going out tonight was to get on top or beneath somebody.

you excused it as a reward for passing your final exam.

it’s not like you were going to fail in the first place— but one never knows.

spencer never really had anyone over into his apartment, he never expected to. so it wasn’t in the tidiest condition.

he forgot what it had looked like, causing him to immediately apologize as he shoved his shoes off.

“sorry. i wasn’t expecting any company.” despite finally having you alone, he still managed to be as awkward as ever.

you giggled, the alcohol you’d been taking finally hitting you now that you were in a new environment. “hm. you have nice taste.” you almost whispered, running your fingers over the cover of a loose book on the edge of the couch.

he caught himself smiling sheepishly. to spencer, you looked perfect here in his space.

his eidetic memory was sure to never forget a sight like this.

spencer didn’t even know it, but he was following behind you, picturing your every move and noticing everything he could see.

from the way your hair fell, how he could see just above your thighs, and how you had a tattoo of a rosary wrapped around your left ankle.

he wanted to know what other tattoos you had that he couldn’t see.

your movements were slow and excruciatingly cautious as you explored his space. before you knew it, the majority of his chest was snuggled against your back.

as you ran a finger along the spines of the books, trying to ignore the way calloused fingers slowly ran up your arm, slowly slipping the strap of your dress down your shoulder.

he could feel the soft twitch of your body when he ducked his head down to kiss against the blade of your shoulder, moving his way to the side of your neck.

spencer knew that when your head was tilting to the side in approval, he had all the green lights.

“is this okay?” he murmured against the skin of your neck, his opposite hand grabbing at the flesh on your hip through your dress.

the moment was nowhere far from sensual and the way he was leaving open mouthed kisses on any exposed skin.

you were letting out quiet mewls, eyes shut to take in everything and feel it even more.

all you could do was nod slowly, embarrassed at how your knees were already growing weak from some neck kisses.

spencer pressed himself closer, causing your body to be flush against the bookshelf.

his kisses suddenly became more ravenous and almost hungry, with every peace of skin he tasted— the more noises he let out.

large hands were now grabbing at you through your dress, which was almost a second skin, and it made you dizzy.

“i— i don’t even know your name.” your voice was raspy, almost in a whine.

you thought you had gotten a read of his name tag, but the blinding lights of the bar made it impossible to see the smaller letters.

but you did clock an ‘s’… samuel? stephen?

“spencer. doctor spencer reid.” he huffed into your ear before running his tongue along the shell, the sensation was enough to make you drop onto your knees.

god, even his name was sexy.

you were quiet after that— well, not literally. you were still a whining mess.

and it wasn’t better that you couldn’t meet his face, despite not facing him, your eyes were practically glued shut.

his mouth seemed to never stop, kissing any kind of skin he could get his lips on.

it made your skin heat up, you were on fire and so turned on. by now, you’d be leaking through your panties.

it was like he could read your mind, in the blink of an eye, he was rolling up your dress and slowly rolling a digit over your clothed slit.

spencer was circling the bud in an agonizingly slow motion, his mouth still peppering kisses along where your neck and shoulder met.

“y— you’re really wet. that means you like it, right?” his voice was groggy and breathless in your ear, making you whine in response.

not just from his words, but from the way he was slowly slipping a finger inside of you.

the both of you let out a noise in response, yours a bit louder than his due to the pleasure.

he seemed almost impatient, as if he was ready to just give you his all; but he was trying to be a gentleman. literally.

you could tell he was growing impatient due to how quick everything was moving, as if he was trying to already prepare you.

it felt just as good, knees buckling, jaw dropped and all.

“i’m gonna put it inside you now, okay?” he muttered breathlessly against your ear lobe, biting the skin— earrings and all.

you whimpered to him in some sort of approval, trying to ignore how hard your legs were trembling just from two fingers.

in the span of seconds, you could hear a belt unbuckling, the sound echoing through the room. followed by a zipper, then as if something heavy had hit the ground.

suddenly, a hand was softly grabbing the back of your neck, pulling you back and turning your head.

unexpectedly, you were met with a sloppy yet stable kiss, it felt… safe. despite his constant need for reassurance, he knew what he was doing.

the brunette kept kissing you, holding your neck with one hand then simultaneously positioning his girth at your entrance.

he knew well to kiss you while pushing inside of you because if he didn’t, whatever yowl you’d let out would be embarrassing to explain to his neighbor.

while slowly bottoming out inside of you, your moan was muted by his kiss. you both reacted, your hands gripping the shelves and his hand tightening around your nape.

whatever the definition of a kiss was, this was not it. tongues just lapping at one another as he started to rut his hips.

your mouth was just left wide open, causing him to help himself and kiss along your jaw.

trying to occupy his mouth so he could subdue his whines. from how good you felt.

his hand was nothing compared to this feeling.

your walls were fluttering around him in a rhythm that made his brain turn into mush and every noise you let out in time with his thrust, didn’t make his self control any easier to maintain.

instead of grabbing your skin, he snugged a handful of your hair, keeping you in place as he fucked you sensually into his book case.

never in a million years would either of you believe your night would end up like this.

spencer, forced to a bar right out of a frustrating case across the country.

you, in a different situation, forcing your friends to come celebrate with you.

but you could say it worked out great in the end.

not only were you being fucked out of existence by a sexy FBI agent, but you still knew you looked so good.

not because you were vain, but because of all the mindless compliments he was spewing out.

“perfect. you’re— you feel so perfect.” spencer could only babble, his tongue swiping and biting along your shoulder. his thrusts never stopped.

you couldn’t help the way you rutted your body against him, eyes rolling into your skull and skin completely on fire.

by the way you were squeezing around him and the octave of your moans we’re growing, anyone in their right mind could tell you were close.

with a free hand, he dug through the front of your dress, access your breasts and slipping one of your nipples between his fingers.

bingo.

the more he played with your nipple and the quicker he thrusted, the better you were feeling.

and the closer you were getting.

the tighter you grew around him, the harder he was whining and grunting. spencer could feel everything and something in him was close to snapping.

every push inside was hypnotizing and every roll of your nipple was sending you into another universe.

“oh my g— god!” something about this thrust made all the difference, he hit a spot you were never expecting to exist.

it sent what was almost a shockwave through your body, back arching, eyes rolling and mouth agape to let out a string of pornographic noises.

you were grabbing on the shelves until your knuckles were white, thinking you could rip the shelves off the wall.

spencer wasn’t far behind. with a grip on your ass and its twin on your tit, he was thrusting at an unnatural pace.

you didn’t tell him to stop, so he took it as a green light and shot thick strings of his cum deep inside of you.

so deep you swore it was pooling somewhere into your stomach.

he finished with a whine, something along the lines of: “holy shit, angel.”

but you couldn’t quite make it out.

sweat was pooled up against his forehead, causing soft curls to stick against his skin. you recollected yourself— trying your best to ignore the pools of cum slipping out of you.

you rested your back against the shelves, breathing in soft gaps.

“hi, stranger.” you broke the silence after just staring at each other for what felt like ages.

your words brought what you thought was a soft smile to his chiseled face.

maybe it was the soft lighting of this apartment, or that you just never got a good look at him, but he was… beautiful.

“hi.” he hushed back at you, running a hand over the top of your head then placing a soft kiss onto your forehead.

his free hand slid its way to the small of your back, pulling you closer to him.

“let me clean you up. i’m not the type to share my space.

but it’s the least i could do.” he finished, sort of whispering to you, breathing in labored patterns.

“mmm. i’d like that.” you could feel his lips smiling again against your skin.

it was quiet for a moment, safe silence.

until he broke it this time. “oh, i never got your name.” spencer admitted it to you and by the look on your face, he knew he wasn’t going to win so easily.

“you don’t deserve that just yet.” you giggled. and as much as he hated defeat, he couldn’t help the growing, comfortable feeling in his chest.

[katyaromanoffpetrova]

Trojan Horse (crime boss AU: part I)

Natasha gets sent on her most dangerous mission yet: go undercover in the drug operation of the biggest crime empress in the world and take her down. But as they grow closer, she starts to forget about the mission more and more...

• Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC (Katya Petrova) • Wordcount: 2.9k • Warnings: mentions of crimes and drugs •A/N: ahhh I'm so excited for this series!! This part introduces the characters and sets up the story. More will happen in the next part :) Masterlist Do not repost my work as your own or translate my work!!

Muffled cries of agony and the roaring of engines filled the darkness. The open back truck raced through the thick forest, crashing through deep holes on the muddy road that flung Natasha's body around aggressively, throwing her into the women seated beside her, and their bodies into hers. It was a tight fit. They stuffed ten of them in a space for six people, and that was without counting two guards.

Pain slashed through her spine every time it smashed against the wall of the truck, her ass sore from bumping on the hard aluminum floor. But even if Natasha wanted to scream in pain, she couldn't. The cloth they gagged her with effectively stopped any sound from making its way out of her mouth. It also tasted disgusting, like dust and filth. Every time she swallowed, she had to bite back a gag. 

Her wrists were bound in front of her with the same fabric—thin, weak. A rush job. She could easily slip out of it without ever having to dislocate her thumb. It would be all too easy to escape—kick the guards out of the truck and run away. But unlike the terrified women around her, she was right where she wanted to be. So she kept her head down and played the part of the victim as they drove further and further away from civilization.

The two guards in the back spoke rapidly with each other, hands tightly wrapped around the machine guns in their hands. Natasha couldn't make out any words, and couldn't stare at them too long without giving herself away, but it was clear to her that they were tense, on edge, their eyes continuously sweeping the trees like they were expecting a monster to jump out. Another truck, filled with more women of every race and age, followed hers, but its headlights were off. 

They were shadows moving through the darkness, doing everything to be as stealthy as possible. It made sense. Human trafficking was illegal in any country in the world, but this felt like overkill. There wasn't anything but forest for miles, let alone police or military. This was more than caution. They were afraid. And they should be. 

A drop of sweat rolled down Natasha's neck. The truck was stuffy, the night humid and warm. The arm of the woman next to her—tan skinned, dark hair, Latina-looking; the last thing Natasha saw before the flashlights were turned off—pressed against her bicep, clammy. Her sobs mingled with those of the other captives. 

They were terrified, pleading and begging for their lives until they were silenced by a slap across their face, then thrown into the trucks. Far away from home, powerless, alone, taken advantage of by people with cruel intentions and power in the form of violence. 

Natasha briefly squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the traumatic flashbacks from her youth and the panic bubbling in her chest. A truck, a train. Her own begging echoing in her ears.

A panicked yell from one of the guards snapped her back to the present. 

Then, everything happened fast.

The machine guns started firing. Bullet casings flew everywhere. The women around her screamed, toppling over each other as the truck picked up speed. Bright headlights emerged from the darkness of the forest out of nowhere. 

Natasha heard more engines than before. Way more.

She tried to look past the guards, but it was too chaotic to see anything. The headlights blinded her every time they swept across her face. There were lots of them. Several motorcycles. They had less trouble navigating the rough terrain and had the three trucks surrounded quickly.

The guards fired at everything that moved, shouting at each other and the driver in the front. It was loud. The truck moved way too fast. It was going to crash into the one in front, or into a tree. Natasha was stuck in a maze of limbs, her cheek pressed against the Latina's shoulder.

One of the guards went limp and fell off the truck. The other followed quickly after, his pained scream following him out until his body was driven over by the truck behind them. 

A door slammed. A gunshot, closer and precise. For a second, the truck swerved dangerously to the left. Natasha's stomach lurched, her muscles bracing for impact. But the truck corrected its course and started to slow down. 

Until finally, it stopped.

The silence was immense. For a moment, nobody dared to move. The women held their breaths, slowly scrambling upright as they looked around. Dazed, disoriented, confused. Their guards were still up, unsure if their abductors were gone, and if the people who had taken them out were a better or worse evil. 

Some of them cowered back when a woman appeared at the back of the truck. She was dressed in all black, her toned arms accentuated by a simple tank top, the strap of a machine gun crossed over her chest. Her black braid swung when she took off her bike helmet. Not the type of person you wanted to mess with. 

But despite her off-putting looks, the expression on her face was almost kind, sympathetic, as she scanned the scared faces in the truck. "Stay calm," she spoke with a heavy accent. "Don't be afraid. You're safe now. We got you." 

She repeated the message in a few other languages, her tone reassuring and calm as she climbed in the back of the truck. Her movements were slow as she reached to untie the first woman, like approaching a wild animal in its cage. Her lips never stopped muttering assurances. 

Her way of acting was confident. Not rushed or nervous. Calm in the way that only came with experience. Calm that Natasha felt in missions. 

This wasn't the first time this woman was doing this. It hadn't taken the new crew a lot of time to take out the gang of human traffickers either. Their ambush had been efficient and swift. They were practiced. Like a gang of Robin Hoods. 

As soon as the kidnapped woman's hands were free, the gag came out too, and she was guided towards the exit, where another woman—dressed in all black—helped her out of the truck. She stumbled a little on her feet, her face pale and scared, but she was safe. 

One done, nine left to go.

Once the others realized they were truly safe, the cries of relief started. Endless thank yous were thrown around, tears of gratitude pouring down cheeks, as the woman in black freed them one by one. They poured out of the truck like sheep, gathering in a messy circle of lost individuals. 

Natasha pretended to shake as she jumped down to the forest floor, giving the woman who supported her a cautious nod and a weak smile. Her hunched shoulders and restless eyes were interpreted as fear, her arms wrapped around herself to protect her.

"Don't be scared. You're going to be okay. You're safe now," the woman reassured her. Natasha just nodded again, joining the others at the end of the circle, keeping her head down as she tried to make out their faces now that there was some light.

The majority, by far, was colored. Both Asian and South American. One woman was black. The others were very pale white. Eastern European, like she herself was. She recognized the facial features that characterized ex-Soviet countries. But they all had the same thing in common; they were broken.

Bruises littered their faces and arms, chunks of hair were missing from their head, the gags had left burn marks in the corners of their mouth. And then that look in their eyes… dull, hopeless. Even now that they were saved, they had seen and experienced too much to have faith.

"Listen up!" A different woman, with short blonde hair, addressed the group. Everyone must be out of the trucks. Natasha counted seventeen kidnapped girls. "I know you're all scared, and hungry, and very confused. We will explain everything once we get to the compound. It is not safe to stay in these woods. Please, get into our trucks, so we can drive you to a safe place. There's food, showers, beds, medicine if you need it. But we have to go now."

The women hesitated getting into another vehicle, but they literally had nowhere else to go. Natasha moved as one with the group, blended in as she sidestepped the dead bodies of her "kidnappers", and moved towards the bigger army trucks waiting for them.

The trip wasn't long. Half an hour, tops. In these woods, with the speed of the truck, that was around twelve miles. Twelve miles deeper into the forest. There was no way for Natasha to look outside, but she knew she'd only have seen trees. Thousands of them. 

From research, she knew the "compound" was remote. No airports closeby, only one road in and out, no hills or other noticeable elevation. A perfect fortress. Easily defendable. The safety perimeter must go out for miles. Guards posted, cameras set up—infra red, probably—trigger devices, electrified fencing. 

Natasha could only guess the full extent of the safety measures, because nobody ever came close enough to see them and live to tell the tale. The FBI, CIA, SHIELD, Interpol, they barely knew anything about her target's base of operations. Agents were killed if they came looking, exploratory airplanes and spy drones shot down. 

Yet the file on the target itself was detailed and extensive. She wasn't hiding. Her past was out in the open for all to see, and her reputation preceded her. Armed robbery, arson, embezzlement, murder, drug trafficking and distribution, assault, fraud, theft; the full bingo card. 

But the way she operated, the exact numbers of her crew, and the depths of her criminal activities were unknown. It all came down to loyalty and bribery. So many policemen and politicians were on her payroll. Nobody snitched, because that meant death. And no intelligence agency could touch her because she was protected in every way.  

There were lots of blind spots. So many unknown entities that Fury barely approved the mission. If Natasha screwed up, nobody would come to save her. She was completely on her own, in enemy territory. But that's where she worked best. 

When the truck finally came to a stop, Natasha forced her thoughts away and straightened her spine. 

This was it. Time to focus.

She had some idea of what to expect when she got out of the vehicle, but her breath still caught when she set foot on the target's land. 

Calling the sight before her eyes the "compound" was too ungenerous. "Estate" came closer. Influenced by Spanish architecture, the white buildings went on beyond Natasha's field of vision, curving with archways and large windows.

Two one-story outbuildings lined up with the main home to make a large square with a round fountain in the middle. Palm trees framed the whole thing in, making it feel even grander while also more secluded. 

Gravel crunched beneath Natasha's feet as she turned subtly to note as many details as she could. 

Perfectly maintained lawns, a long driveway, a steeled guarded gate, cameras everywhere. Even in the middle of the night, the place was well lit—soft, romantic lighting that suited the characteristics of the buildings, but didn't leave a corner dark. A subtle way of security.

And then there was the main house. It was… Let's just say it was so intimidating that anybody who came here with the intention of screwing the owner over, would abruptly change their mind.

It was two stories high—though it felt much taller—with wide steps leading up to the huge wooden front door, framed by four tall columns. A large balcony protruded in the center, typical orange-red roof tiles gleaming in the moonlight at the very top of the building. From one end to the other, it had to be eighty feet. 

It screamed status, money, even with minimal decorations, but Natasha had an inkling suspicion that the inside was even grander. Anything to intimidate guests. 

Trust didn't exist in the criminal world, so fear was the next best thing. 

All those hours of research, of planning, of prepping her background story, and now she was standing in the belly of the beast.

All the kidnapped women had gathered into a group, lost, their wide eyes flickering around anxiously as they waited for someone to tell them what to do next. Nothing happened for a while. The women dressed in black just stood around them, watching.

Just as Natasha started to wonder what they were waiting for, the front doors of the house swung open. Nobody told them to look that way, but all the women turned, pulled in by some force that tapped into their subconscious.

Natasha held her breath. A figure slowly emerged from the house, stopping at the top of the steps with a final click of her heels.

It was her.

Katariina Petrova. Her target.

Natasha's first instinct was to cower back. Several women around her did, shrinking into themselves.

Even from a distance, Katariina—Katya, as she preferred to be called—radiated authority, power. 

A wide stance, her hands slid into the pockets of her pants, a confident look in her eyes—giving off a kind of calmness that could only come from a woman who knew that nothing and nobody could touch her.

She was remarkably striking. Beautiful in a classic way. Long hair flowed down her back in a tight ponytail. Dark brown, or even black. She was petite but lean. Fit. Despite the humidity, she was dressed in wide leg navy suit pants and a pristine white button up that looked like it was made from the finest silk. 

As she stared at her, Natasha felt a pang of admiration. Katya came from nothing. An orphan who built an empire from scratch, with only her intelligence and resolution to fuel her.

She made a name for herself in a man's world, demanded respect from people who laughed at her when she first started out. Her drug operation was one of—if not the—biggest in the world. Billions and billions of dollars made every year. And her résumé didn't end there. 

Katya dealt in anything that brought her those dollar bills. Weapons, medicine, real estate, art, stolen ancient artifacts. But never humans. Never.

For a reason that no intelligence agency could figure out, Katya hated human trafficking. So much so, that she actually went out of her way to stop it, ambushing every transport in the area and freeing the prisoners. Like tonight. 

It didn't fit her MO as a ruthless crime boss, which was why it bothered Natasha so much. That part of Katya showed her humanity. Humanity everybody expected her not to have. A weak spot.

"First of all, I want to say that I'm sorry for what happened to you."

Natasha was completely taken aback. An apology was the last thing she ever expected to come out of Katya's mouth first thing, spoken with a true Russian accent.

"I'm sorry your trust was abused by men who felt they had a right to take away your integrity, your power." Her calm, confident voice captivated everyone on the driveway below. "It wasn't your fault."

She pulled her shoulders back, and Natasha saw more of the businesswoman she expected to see.

"But I'm offering you a choice. You can go back to the life you had…" Her pause was intentional. These women didn't have a life to go back to. They fell for false promises of money and safety for a reason. "Or you can work for me."

The group around Natasha shifted restlessly, glancing at each other. 

"You are safe here, protected. You'll have a home, a job, money. We take care of each other." 

Natasha glanced at one of Katya's employees. Her back seemed to straighten with pride at her boss's words, a faint smile on her lips as she watched her speak. They were proud to work for her. Katya must treat them right. 

"In exchange, you do some…risky work for me. If that is not something you want, I understand. If you'd like to leave right now, get back into the truck and Stefania will take you to the nearest airport. I'll take care of your flight back home. There is no judgement."

Only a lifetime of fear, knowing if they said so much as a single word about this whole experience, they would end up very dead. Her offer seemed genuine, though.

"If you choose to stay, you are welcomed with open arms. But make no mistake; it'll be a life contact. Leaving is not an option."

Right then, her eyes caught Natasha's. 

Natasha didn't waver, but her heart jumped into her throat. Her beauty fooled people, but Katya was one of the smartest, sharpest women in the world. Her empire wouldn't have survived this long without her watchful eye and general mistrust in people. Natasha felt like she stared straight into her soul and saw all her lies. 

But after lingering for a moment, a spark of curiosity in her eyes, they moved onto the next person.

Natasha exhaled in relief, but she wasn't safe. She would never be safe as long as she worked this mission. She could never let her guard down, not even in her sleep. The tiniest slip up would earn her a bullet to the head.

Everything she said, everything she did, had to be perfect. It had to fit the cover she created for herself perfectly. 

This mission was going to test her like she'd never been tested before. And that scared her, but it was also thrilling. 

Stage one was complete. She got in. Now, it was completely up to her to do the rest. On her own. Starting tomorrow.

~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! Let me know what you thought, and please consider reblogging if you liked it. It really helps me :)

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"IT'S JUST YOU AND ME HERE, DOLL"

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH BUCKY

I hope you like it! 💚😊☝

WARNING: THIS FIC CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM THUNDERBOLTS*

Bucky couldn't forget you.

Ever since he saw you at one of Valentina's galas, his mind hadn't stopped reminiscing about how good you looked in that red cocktail dress, and how your eyes sparkled in the dim yellow light from the ballroom lamps.

All of that was until he realized you were Valentina's secretary, and he was… well, Congressman James Buchanan Barnes, whom no one was betting on.

From what he'd heard, people said he wouldn't last a week in office.

He'd been a congressman for a year now, and so far, no one had tried to kill him, so Bucky took that as a victory.

He'd heard that several of Valentina's thugs were conducting some supposedly confidential investigations at various strategic points in the city that only his team knew about.

His duty as a congressman was to stay abreast of the goings-on among his close associates, so he reviewed in his mind the people who made up Valentina's closest circle.

De Fontaine spoke to many people throughout the day, but in the end, the one he always turned to was you.

So, one way or another, he had to talk to you and try to convince you to join him in his fight to uncover what your boss was up to.

No one could deny that Barnes had plenty of weapons at his fingertips that he could use to make you see reason.

And no, we're not talking about his metal arm.

It was a fact that Bucky hated attending those kinds of events.

He'd rather stay home with a bottle of beer in his hands watching a black and white silent movie than be there in that tuxedo that was also tight in places he wasn't about to mention out loud, surrounded by people whose clothes cost so much money that if they were sold, the proceeds could feed an entire country for a year.

He leaned distractedly against one of the columns, his eyes scanning the crowd for you.

He didn't have to do much, as he found you right away. That night, you were wearing a champagne-colored dress paired with low-heeled black pumps.

You were chatting animatedly with a couple of older women, whom he recognized as one of Valentina's main benefactors.

The women moved away with a friendly wave, and you were left alone, accompanied only by the glass of champagne in your hands.

Barnes leaned a little further against the column, his gaze resting on your back and the way your chocolate-colored hair fell in soft waves behind you.

He couldn't help but smile when your gaze met his, causing you to choke. He moved to a spot a little further away from the rest of the crowd, and you followed at a safe distance.

You had to be very discreet, because if Valentina caught you talking behind her back, you could get into serious trouble, and the last thing Bucky wanted was for you to have any unwanted mishaps because of her, so this was the only way.

When you stood beside him, the soft scent of leather and shaving foam that always accompanied him wafted into your nostrils. He turned to you with a friendly smile on his face.

"Y/N"

"Congressman Barnes," you nodded politely. "I didn't expect to see you today. I thought you'd have more important things to do."

"I can't think of anything better to do than sit here talking to you." He smiled, causing you to roll your eyes and shake your head.

"Don't even try it," you warned. "Other people might lose their minds whenever you say that kind of thing, but it doesn't work with me."

"Then I'll have to find another tactic," he murmured more to himself than to you, his gaze gently running down your dress before looking into yours again. "That dress is new." It wasn't a question; somehow he knew it was.

"It is," you stated, raising an eyebrow. "Have you been watching me?" "I'm not the only one, doll. More than one person has stopped to give you a good once-over."

"Including yourself, I imagine," you blurted out casually, making him smile again.

"We're supposed to be political enemies. They can't catch me looking at you like that," he murmured, "although I'd be lying if I said I hadn't."

"How?" you whispered, dreading the answer.

Bucky's blue eyes slowly darkened before he answered you.

"Like he wants to take your dress off with his teeth," he almost growled, making you gasp softly.

"And you want to?" "You pointed out, feeling your cheeks redden.

"With every fiber of my being," he assured you, "I haven't been able to get you out of my mind since the first time I saw you in that red dress."

He murmured, walking toward you. You took several steps back.

"Bucky… we can't… not here…" You stammered as he continued to approach. "Am I not 'Congressman Barnes' anymore?" He laughed. "Am I 'Bucky' now?"

"You've always been Bucky, I just called you Congressman to keep up appearances."

"You don't have to do that with me, doll," he smiled. "It's just you and me here."

He gently took your hand and led you to an empty room.

He let you go in first and closed the door behind you before approaching again, pressing you against it.

You didn't need to say anything; the look you gave him next was enough of an answer for him.

He placed his lips on yours with need, as if he'd wanted this to happen for a long time.

You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck as he lifted you by your hips and leaned you against the wall.

“We… can’t… take… a long time… to get back,” he panted between kisses, “so… it has to… be… quick.”

“Whatever you want, Bucky, but please…” you moaned as he quickly began to unbutton his pants.

“Doll, you’re going to drive me crazy,” he growled, dropping his underwear, which tumbled haphazardly down his legs along with his pants. “This is what you want, right?”

“Yes, Bucky… please,” you panted, bucking your hips toward him.

As much as he wanted it to happen, he was forced to pull away, earning a curse from you.

“First, tell me what Valentina’s planning,” he ordered, his gaze boring into yours.

“That’s blackmail, Barnes,” you complained, your breath hitching.

“You know whatever she’s doing isn’t right,” he explained, “and I can help you stop her,” he whispered. “You just have to tell me what it is.”

“If I tell you, will you fuck me?”

"If you tell me, I'll do more than just fuck you," he growled, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "I'll personally take care of presenting your resignation to Valentina." He winked at you. "You'll work for me, so you'll never have to live in fear again," he whispered, holding your face in his hands. "I'll protect you."

"That's more than Valentina has done for me in the three years I've been her secretary." You took a deep breath. "Okay, here's what I know."

You told him everything: about the labs, the human experiments, how most of the subjects had died but they believed there was one who had. EVERYTHING.

When you finished your explanation, he kept his end of the deal.

When you returned to the gala, no one had noticed your absence, and if it weren't for the subtle trace of your lipstick on Bucky's cheek, anyone would say that Bucky and you were still bitter enemies.

[starlightsearches]

Just a Matter of Time

Armitage Hux x wife! reader

AN: We've got even more marriage AU, my friends!! We're going a bit out of order now—I'm working on a different piece about Hux's first time with his wife, but it's giving me a little bit of trouble. I wrote this one for funsies because I'm obsessed with the idea of these two exploring sex and intimacy together. Let me know what you think, please! Comments, likes and reblogs are my favorites!!

Warnings: 18+ only (no minors), piv sex, unprotected sex (raw. next question), brief discussion of protection, partially-clothed sex, pulling out, cum, semi-public sex, titty sucking, language, and I think that's it. Let me know if I missed anything!

Armitage checks his reflection in the gleaming surface of a tie fighter and cringes internally. Just as he suspected. The shame is clear on his face.

Luckily there’s not many around to see it. It’s late in the night cycle, and this hangar receives less traffic than the others—usually reserved for small ships on diplomatic missions, or officers choosing to take their leave planet-side.

That’s why Armitage is here now.

Hux can’t imagine what would possess someone to willingly attend any of those noxious nightclubs on Canto Bight, and yet you had been endlessly thrilled when you received the invitation from a group of officers you had tentatively befriended. The prospect was exciting to you, and, regardless of his own opinions, Armitage was grateful for anything that allowed him to bask in the warmth of your delight.

Even if the thought of your going had his stomach tied in knots.

You had spent the evening getting ready, and Armitage had hung around in your shared quarters, making poor attempts to look busy: tapping away stupidly on his data pad as you rushed from your closet to the refresher, slipping in and out of every pair of shoes you own, covering yourself with glitters and fine-smelling perfumes.

He should have expected it, of course. The dresses you wear daily, while beautiful and elegant, would look out of place where you were going. And still, his mouth had gone dry at the sight of so much skin—your legs stretching long from the hem of a very short skirt, hugging tight to the curve of your hips, the neckline that dipped low over the center of your breasts, held up by the flimsiest of straps.

Oh, fuck.

“How do I look?” you had asked, and it was clear to Armitage that you were in need of reassurance, shifting from foot to foot, fingers twisting together. 

His dry-mouthed response to your question had left much to be desired, and yet you had hardly noticed, so preoccupied with your own nerves that you couldn’t see the ways your husband had lost himself—about to drop to his knees in desperation and bury his face against your thighs.

Armitage caught you by the arm, instead, your skin bare and warm beneath his hand. Despite all the ways he’s held and felt you, touching you like this—so casually—still had his heart beating at a strenuous pace. 

“Per- perhaps,”Armitage had stuttered out the word, and regretted it, starting again, “perhaps I should accompany you, as well.”

That had made you laugh, which at least made his idiocy worth it. Your nose had wrinkled pleasantly, your feet carrying you a step closer, bringing him nearer to the magnetic field of you as you looked up at him with soft eyes.

“Why?”

A fair question—and one Armitage had no answer for. It would cause all kinds of discomfort and embarrassment, and yet the need was there, the desire. Armitage wanted to be there with you, not only so he could deal with anyone who glanced in your direction with less-than-chaste intentions, but so they could see him beside you. Could watch the way you wanted him, reached for him over anyone else. 

“For your . . . protection.”

You had rolled your eyes, pressing your fingers playfully against his chest. “It’s not an active war zone, general. Besides, Phasma will be there.”

Ah, yes. That had been his one concession, although he never mentioned it to you, letting her presence on your little excursion appear as natural as possible. Phasma would certainly keep you safe, and his reasonable ground was slipping. If it had continued, he would have ended up begging you to stay with him with the hopes you might call him general like that again.

And now he’s puttering around an empty hangar, making more work for himself and waiting for your return like a love-sick pup. 

Armitage’s patience, or desperation, is rewarded, though. His mental pacing is interrupted before too long by the whir of an approaching ship.

He watches the landing from a distance, straightening his posture and keeping his brow stern as the others unload from the transport, waiting for you to emerge.

His eyes catch on a glimmer of rich fabric, and a breath punches from his lungs when he sees the rest of you. How is it possible you look even lovelier now than you did in his feeble memory?

Armitage’s heart crumples in his chest when you meet his eyes and smile.

There’s a few slurred goodbyes as you part from the group—and a cloud of noise following the officers as they stumble down the hallway in pairs or groups of three, arms slung around each other to keep the most inebriated from falling. 

You seem clear-eyed, though, as you approach Armitage, and steady on your feet. The even tempo of your heels against the floor echoes through the hangar, and his chest.

“Hello, general,” you greet him, meeting his eyes through your lashes, “were you waiting for me?”

Of course he had been, but it seems shameful to admit it, and so he stumbles into a lie, instead. 

“Only to make sure you arrived back safely,” Armitage claims, “are you feeling . . . well?”

Your laugh is quiet, but the melody of it rings in his ears when you press a hand against his chest. Armitage resists the urge to glance around, to check for some disapproving glare or whispered conversation outside his line of sight. There’s no one around, really—a few technicians working on a busted tie-fighter on the other side of the hangar out of sight, some mouse droids zipping past, but no audience to this contact that seems wholly inappropriate in public.

And still you’re smiling that same secret smile. “I haven’t been drinking, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Ah,” Armitage replies, rather stupidly, but it can’t be helped with the way your fingers shift, circling around his bicep, stroking over the fabric of his greatcoat, “that’s—why?”

There’s a gentle frown on your lips. Armitage resists the urge to brush it away with a kiss. 

“Because you won’t touch me if I’ve been drinking.”

Oh. 

There’s so much in that statement that Armitage will need to parse through later—the pouty tone in your voice and the way it stokes the fire in his chest, your strange exasperation with his concern for your unhindered consent.

But in this moment, there’s only one realization on your husband’s mind: you want him to touch you. 

Fuck. If only he had known. Armitage would have used his time more wisely, wouldn’t have spent so much of it pining for your return, dreaming of the sight of your legs in that skirt again, hoping you might cling to his arm as he walked you back to your quarters. He would have used it to his greatest advantage: fulfilling deadlines, creating plans, responding to missives, and he would have done the work happily—all with the motivation of your weight in his lap and your lips at his neck for as long as he could convince you to stay.

Armitage mentally tabulates the time it would take to return with you to his quarters, to lay you down on his bed and touch you the way you had asked, the way he craves. And there’s simply not enough for that and for the tasks he was supposed to already have completed before he must return to the bridge. 

“I— I don’t think,” Armitage begins, even with all the ways you make his refusal difficult—the sensual warmth of you through his uniform, your teeth absentmindedly gnawing on your plush lower lip, “there’s so much to— it’s . . . unavoidable.” 

He finishes the smattering of words with a pathetic little gasp as you bring your body even closer, his blood thrumming through his veins at the contact, cock growing stiff in his trousers. 

There are no words at your lips, no hit of a frown. Armitage watches as your gaze shifts, landing deliberately on the transport you had just vacated. 

Your eyes meet his again. The message is clear. 

Oh. No. 

“We couldn’t.”

That’s what Armitage tells you, but the voice in his head speaks much louder. He could. He wants to. He’s not sure if he can resist. 

“No one will know,” you whisper through a smile.

Technically true—but Armitage is aware of the security cams, positioned around the large hangar and monitored at all hours. He had watched the footage himself only a few hours ago as you left, and so he knows exactly what would be seen: his hand in yours, the look of incredulous panic on his face as you led him into the mouth of the transport before you both disappeared from view. That is, if the heat of his blush didn’t scramble the feeds. 

Maybe no one would know, but someone might assume. And given the number of incorrigible gossips on this ship, they would certainly tell, and that message would spread, uncontained.

But Armitage finds he is not as opposed to the idea as he thought he would be.

“Yes, but . . .” it’s so like Armitage, arguing against his own interests, denying himself something he wants so desperately for reasons even he can’t understand, “what if someone were to . . .”

You interrupt before he can finish the thought, your other hand sneaking it’s way up to the back of his neck, your warm skin pressed to his. “The entrances all lock.”

How long had you been considering something like this? That alone could break down his resolve. Armitage might be able to keep himself from those distant pleasures, but not you. Never you.

And yet his hesitation has sent a different message. There’s an almost imperceptible shift in your demeanor—a half step you take away from him, the uncertain tremor in all those points of contact he had been enjoying only moments ago.

“But you have work to do, of course,” you concede, “if you don’t want—”

Fear strikes Armitage in the chest at the way you turn from him. He’s disappointed you, and worse, he’s made you feel unwanted. The shame floods through him, momentarily overwhelming his desire.

He might be too eager when he reaches for your hand, fingers circling around your wrist to keep you in place.

 “I do,” he tells you. Armitage wants. He hopes you can feel it, past all his failures and idiosyncrasies. You must know how desperately he wants you, in every moment. Always. 

His thumb traces over the veins in the back of your hand, relishes the way you tremble. Your lips part with a pop, expression unsure, and your eyes search his face the same way Armitage watches yours. 

“Really?” 

Against any better judgement, your husband nods. 

And it’s all a blur for the next few moments—just your hushed laughter and the blood flooding his cheeks taking up all his thoughts. He imagines the scene from someone else’s perspective: an onlooker, brimming with skepticism as you pull him eagerly across the hangar. He’s sure they would find the situation as unbelievable as Armitage does.

Once you are alone—the mechanical whir of the locks assuring it—Armitage regains some command of himself, pulling into you. Your body is soft against his, your touch eager as you push the heavy fabric of his greatcoat off his shoulders. Armitage lets it fall to the ground with a thud, then reaches for you as soon as it's gone—tracing the slope of your hips, pressing you further against the durasteel until your spine bows and the only thing he can feel between the two of you is your heartbeat. 

You kiss him, messily, eager, little giggles slipping out with each breath you take at this moment of rebellion and Armitage drinks your laughter in heavy gulps, kissing you back with fervor. Each encounter has brought him additional confidence, and seems to have given you more of the same—no longer hesitant in asking for what you want.  

One of your hands snakes down the length of his chest; Armitage burns in its wake, unable to take any air in when your fingers trace over the outline of his aching cock.

“Fuck.”

The expletive slips out before Hux can stop it. He shouldn’t speak so coarsely in front of you—in front of his wife—and yet you don’t pull away, your hand cupping his length more fully as you slip your tongue between his lips. 

Armitage will finish right now if he’s not careful. It takes so little from you—your hot breath and curious touches—to have him right on the edge, ready to spill into his trousers. He can’t have that.

And so, with one swift movement, he pins your hands out of the way, pressing his knuckles against the wall as he grips at your wrists like a vise.

He doesn’t have any time to waste. Not if he wants to feel you coming around him in the next few minutes. 

Armitage takes in the heady scent of you as he traces the length of your jaw with his nose, parts his lips around the stretched expanse of your neck. His tongue follows, picking up the taste of your skin. There’s the tang of salt and the chemical flavor of perfume, and beneath that, something lighter, more refined.

He travels lower, kissing at the juncture just above your collarbone, feels your pulse jump against his tongue, and sinks his teeth into your plush skin until he hears you whine, your hot breath feathering through his hair. 

Perfect. 

Armitage continues to taste you as he shifts his grip, trapping both of your wrists in the grasp of one hand. He lets the other explore as it traverses over the dips and curves of your body before brushing the strap from off your shoulder, slipping the neckline down until he can cup at your exposed breast. 

Your nipple pebbles pleasantly in the cool air of the transport. Armitage watches, transfixed for a moment, and then takes the bud into the warmth of his mouth.

The transport echoes with the sound of your high-pitched breaths, a few moans when Hux lets the flat of his tongue travel over the stiff peak while his hand slips up between your thighs, petting at the swollen ridge of your clit.

You gasp his name, pulling at his hold on you with desperation that still surprises him, despite everything. 

There’s a part of him—a little cruel, incredibly curious—that wants to keep you like this. Wants to see how close he can bring you to the edge when you have no chance to retaliate. The thought ignites something in him. Armitage would like to hear you, tear-soaked, begging for him until his resolve finally broke. 

Pity there’s so little time.

So he relents, loosening his grip, and you’re on him again before he can recover his bearings—your nails carding through his hair and your mouth fierce against his own and the press of your warm, soft body. Armitage lets his weight cage you in, holding you tighter against the wall behind you, his hands cupping at the swell of your ass until your body is flush with his, the hot press of his cock jutting against your stomach. 

You groan, needy, and you once again drop one of your hands, slipping the fastening of his trousers out of the way, fingers just barely dipping past the band at his waist, nails dragging against his skin. 

Armitage feels his desire in the backs of his thighs, coiling at the base of his spine, flooding his lungs—that strange singing sting that has his teeth bared, chest shuddering with rapid breaths. He wants to give into it, to fuck into you with rabid strokes, wants to feel you unravel around him as you spill moan after moan into his gloved palm.

Just as your fingertips meet the head of his dick, he’s interrupted by a frustrating oversight.

“I don’t,” he grunts out the words, pulling away from you, despite the pain it causes, “I don’t have any . . . protection.”

Armitage digs his knuckles into the durasteel behind you, lets his irritation manifest itself in the ache that blooms through his hand. He never would have assumed something like this would happen, but he should have been prepared, regardless. He’d been so careful elsewhere—quietly maintaining the stock in his quarters and his office, although the need for it had felt like a distant fantasy at the time. 

You meet his eyes, and he knows that the full meaning of what he’s said is beyond your understanding—something he, once again, is to blame for. Conversations around his insistence on protection had been limited, and Armitage considered it his sole responsibility for moments like these.

“Oh,” you respond, and there’s a tinge of heartbreak in your voice, “should we . . .”

Stop? Armitage knows what you’re going to say, and can’t bear to hear it. He won’t even let the word broach your lips, kissing you deeper, more fully than he had previously allowed. You accept this answer without question, like you had accepted so many others—things about Armitage you had never even considered could be denied. 

He lets rationality take over for just a moment, lets it ground him. Armitage pulls away slightly, breathing deeply and doing his best to ignore the wet shine of your lips, the strings of your spit that tremble and break in the space between you.

He won’t last long, not if he’s looking at you. Watching your eyes roll back, feeling your lips tremble against his with unrestrained moans—it would have him spilling inside you before the moment had truly begun. So Armitage takes your hips in both his hands, guides you gently to face away from him.

Armitage can’t remember a time where he’s felt like this—so desperate for gratification, his vision blurry and lungs heaving, on the edge of tears for the need of it. Your head lolls back against his shoulder as he takes the hem of your skirt in both hands, pulling it up over the swell of your ass. There’s a soft sound, like seams popping, but it’s barely audible over the groan that escapes him at the sight of your soft skin, the way it indents against the harsh press of his hips. 

He frees his cock, gives his length a preliminary stroke. It’s not necessary—he’s more than hard enough for you, blood throbbing at the feeling of your wet folds against his leather-covered fingers as his other hand peels back the sticky lace.

Your husband breathes, steeling himself as he slips his cock between your thighs, wetting his length as it brushes against your sticky folds. A moan breaks through your lips when the head of him nudges against your clit, and he repeats the movement again just to soak in the sound.

“Are you ready for me?”  Armitage asks, his whispered breath hot against the shell of your ear. You nod in response, and he feels your lips against his neck, forming the word yes.

He slips the tip of his cock back toward your entrance, presses gently until your body opens for him, head slipping inside the inviting heat. The grip of your walls tightens around him, and Armitage grunts, pressing forward—slowly as he can manage before wrapping one arm around your waist, holding you. He braces the other against the durasteel to mitigate the press of his weight as he begins to thrust. 

Your body welcomes him, as it always has, taking him so perfectly for every inch he gives you. It feels different, without the thin barrier Armitage had become accustomed to. The already intense sensation is multiplied to a dangerous degree—the warmth, the soft grip of your cunt. He pauses once he’s fully seated, breathing in the scent of your hair and perfume, soaking in the feeling of you, of your presence, of your want.

Wants he’s not fulfilling. Your hips press back against his in desperation, breathing out his name. 

“Armitage, please.”

The movements are automatic—Armitage is so adverse to denying you anything in this moment that his body responds without thought, his hips shifting against yours immediately. He starts slowly, but that tempo only lasts so long, and the transport fills with the measured beat of his hips against yours, and the wet squelch of your cunt and those soft, alluring moans. 

One of your hands reaches back, cupping at his neck, fingers grazing through the soft hairs there. Armitage feels your head tip back, feels your damp breath against his flushed skin. 

And under normal circumstances, your husband would hate to rush you, would let you find your release gently and on your own terms. But Armitage is too close, and has to be careful his end doesn’t sneak up on him. So he drops his grip from your waist, slipping two fingers against your clit. The pressure of his hand has you shaking in his grasp, but he doesn’t relent, circling the little bud with an even tempo, matching the pace of his thrusts until he feels the tell-tale clench of your cunt around his length, the flood of heat and the weakness in your legs that has your husband supporting most of your weight as you let the pleasure take you.

Armitage barely has the sense about him to slip out of you before the shocks find him, his cock throbbing and his mind a dizzying mess as he spills his seed . . . right onto the magnificent skirt bunched up around your waist.

Your gaze finds his over your shoulder before you’ve even caught your breath, slipping the garment back down over your hips, assessing the damage before leveling him with an accusatory stare.

“This was new.”

Your admonishment only serves to make him laugh, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a prideful smirk as he admires the slow drip of his cum down the fabric. Armitage presses his forehead to yours, and your demeanor changes, brows pleading, your lips searching for his.

“I’ll get you another,” he promises. Armitage would buy you a thousand just like it, if he could mar some of them in the same way. He hears no protest from you when he presses a kiss to your waiting mouth. 

There’s a gentle shuffle as Armitage rights his uniform, erases any trace of this little dalliance from his appearance. There’s no such ease for you though. 

“I can’t make it back to our quarters like this,” you whisper against his mouth, a hint of a smile at the corners. 

That is certainly true. If he had thought people would talk before—with only the security footage of your path to the transport—the sight of you now would cause a riot.

But the transport is frustratingly low on supplies that might help in this situation. Armitage searches the space with an analytical eye, and finds only one solution: his greatcoat, in a heap on the floor.

Armitage lifts the heavy garment, holds it out for you, and finds his cheeks heating with a blush when you slide your arms inside the sleeves.

Oh. It doesn’t fit you well—the coat was made for him, and it shows in the gaps at the shoulders, the way the hem rests a little too close to the ground. And still, Armitage’s heart races when you pull the front of it closed around your body like a blanket, finding comfort in something that is so ostensibly his.

“How do I look?” you ask the question for the second time that night, and once again, Armitage is at a loss for words. There’s no need for it, though, not when he can hold you in his arms, assure you with a few gentle kisses. 

Your goodbyes are short, but no less full of longing. Armitage watches your form as it disappears into the distance and feels his heart as it thuds heavily in his chest with each sway of your hips.

Well. At least he has plenty of motivation to finish his work now.

[sootnoshenie]

can u pls talk abt ur au plspslpsls i need to know NOW NOW NOWNOW 👹👹👹👹👹 i need sunstreaker content i need to see ur rendition and analysis of him NOWW /lh /pos

OHHHHHHHH I CAN TELL A LOT BE READY FOR SOOT TO BE A YAPPER

I'm ashamed to post something like this on the internet but I'll try. I do not consider Sunstreaker a whole good guy I must say so.....

I must warn you my english SUCKS and I don't use translator because it makes communication for me even more confusing so I'm sorry for any errors you might see in my text post 😭😭😭

also I do not claim my interpretation of twins being idw canonically right okay that's just my brain makes me feel funny when I think about this

sadly I can't draw rn because I'm currently not in a state and hard working so there won't be any pictures :(

or I might show you something old..... yeah I think yeah

so

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe come in pair so I'll be talking about BOTH.

so I should start from their pre-war relationship I think? they had a lot of trouble because of their different love language and their contrasting personalities

and also they had a lot of trouble because of Sunstreaker being basically the upbringer and morally the older brother to Sideswipe which mainly made his personality shape the way it is

while Sunstreaker being self-centered sociopathic and met with high expectations from him he cannot express his affection and care properly often making wrong decisions (example: joining the gladiators to protect his brother with earning money and joining the side of power that in Sunstreaker's perception was the safest at this time)

Sideswipe was more about morale and family (like. a normal one. where you support each other and shit y'know A NORMAL ONE) on the opposite hand: words of affirmation, sparing time for sharing activities, trying to be alike his brother just to understand him more. Sunstreaker's arrogance made one blind and Sunstreaker pathetically thought all of those gestures were gestures of pity. one did not listen and another wanted to be heard so bad — this is what made them to be torn apart during the war eventually leading to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe avoiding each other to the point that one of them leaves to Earth leaving another on Cybertron on some bullshit task

they hated each other. one was hurt of ignorance, other was no less hurt by his own delusions. and then guess what? headmasters

once again — Sideswipe tries to talk and Sunstreaker tries to keep shattered pieces of his personality paranoia PTSD and moreover his PRIDE together. unsuccessfully. he commits unspeakable and Sideswipe is fucking broken

the whole au is about Sunstreaker not just magically being cured of his trauma but of bearing it and accepting it just like he and Sideswipe were accepting each other back into their lives. they tried to understand each other and what's more important HEAR each other's needs

and yeah there Sideswipe lives. and yeah he's the same irritating bastard that even jokes about his possibility to be offlined right on brother's hands. Sunstreaker doesn't mind anymore. he just doesn't wanna lose him again because it happens that it hurts even more than being disassembled alive

caption: "I'm still here"

[shinylipglosss]

MOTH TO A FLAME

theo james x male reader

summary: you get pulled over by policeman theo james. he doesn’t believe that you aren’t drunk, so he asks you to do him a favour.

warnings: rough, quiet theo, police officer theo, bttm reader, penetration, descriptive, nsfw, 1.7k words

spotify

Blood rushed to each crevice of your calm face. When you managed to get yourself pulled over you already understood the gravity of what you’d done. You had never gotten in trouble with the law. You hated getting in trouble period. You hadn’t the faintest clue what to expect, so when a tall, olive-skinned man came strolling to your window you couldn’t help but flush.

With hands placed firmly on his gun-proof vest, he leaned in against your car window practically staring right at you. It made you eternally grateful for your blacked-out windows. It took you a moment to realise this was supposed to be that part where you rolled down your windows. In the time it took you to do that, the man’s brows had arched in an impatient furrow.

“Why were you speeding?” He seemed to sputter out his words when he got a good look at you, that only made you more nervous. He kept his head ducked to talk to you, a constant reminder of his height. You found yourself staring at his eyes. Something about him invited something ravenous within you.

“I lost focus, i—I…it won’t happen again.” You undoubtedly made his sputter seem like a clear sentence. For some odd reason your uncertainty made him smile. He bore a smile even more handsome than his face; you were sure if you spoke again no sound would come out.

“Step out for me, yeah?” This was the worst case scenario that could only happen in this one. He thinks you’re drunk, but in reality you just found him hot. His biceps glistened as he opened the door for you, it was easy to tell that his muscles were a reward from years of hard work and dedication. You could feel that same dedication in his strong grip on your much less muscly arm. “Are you drunk?” For the first time you realised the road you ended up on was in the middle of nowhere. There wasn’t a single car in sight.

“C-Course not.” Well that sentence was better than the last at least. “I told you, I just got distracted. That’s all.” That seemed to satisfy him enough as he shrugged his heavy-weighed-down shoulders.

“I believe you. But protocol tells me i’ve got to search the car.” His thick British accent melted nicely into your ears, it had gotten quite bad how much accents turned you on.

He slipped past you and even the thick padding of his gear couldn’t stop you from being able to feel the thick muscle carved under it. You wanted nothing more than to melt into his embrace and feel him, but alas you were getting accused of being drunk. Even on duty you could tell in real life he was laid-back. You could have bet he had a girlfriend—maybe even a wife.

He sat now in the passenger’s seat, with you in the drivers seat. Apparently he needed you to explain what every somewhat suspicious object was. So that’s exactly what you did, because in truth, you never wanted this to interaction to end. Eventually, he stopped, sighing greatly and letting you get a look at his relaxed face before his hard one came back. “I’m sorry, I know I said I belive you, but…” He grabbed a beer bottle that I had foolishly kept. “What’s the explanation for this?” You knew you had no come back for this. Truth is you really were drunk, madly so.

“I’m sorry, listen, I can’t go to jail. I’ll—“

“Do anything?” A silence fell between the two of you then. The only sound being the wildlife from outside of the car. It was oddly erotic, you watching his tongue dart to lick his lips. Stubble lined his jaw in that immaculate way that seems like he put no effort in. He shed his vest and you watched as his arms shuffled behind his back. He pulled out his gun and placed in on the back seat. His face was different when he tore his gaze into you—complete stranger ready to destroy you—his face was hungry. A bob of an adam’s apple. Was it yours or his? His eyes trailed your body. You did the same.

He snaked a hand into your hair and pushed you into him. He forced his tongue down your throat, his beard scratching against your soft face. You hadn’t felt utter submission until him. Now you couldn’t go back. “Don’t you think we’d have more space in the back?” You could feel the blush coming to your face as soon as you asked. But he responded with a dirty growl and fished in his pockets for your car key. When had he taken that?

You both ended up in the backseat, him pressing your face aggressively to the seat whilst he cuffed you. It was quiet for the few seconds it took him to get rid of his shirt. He flipped you to face him and you couldn’t help but run a hand down his body. His golden skin looked slick with honey. He watched you darkly as you ran a hand over his chest, inspecting him. The man’s body rose and fell rhythmically. You brought your mouth to his chestnut-coloured nipple. It was exhilarating watching the gruff, taciturn man writhe at the new found pleasure. The breath was snatched from his throat and you brought the trail of your tongue from his nipples to his neck. An attractive neck was something new for you, but everything about him was attractive and new.

You inhaled the scent he emitted, a deep, musky one that crowded all your senses until all that was left was him. He let his head fall back against the seat and you stared up at him crestfallen he wouldn’t meet your gaze. You had known him for an hour—maybe. Yet the affect he was having on you was intoxicating. Bringing your lips back to his own, those pink, full things, you scratched at the newly naked back. Your nails cascaded down the rigid bumps of muscle and you savoured the way he looked at you now.

He brought his hands, veiny and long, to your lips. They were closed and he quickly changed that by parting them with his middle and ring finger. You let your body relax and feel the heat emanating off him. Those fingers slid to the darkest depths of your mouth. He used them like he was looking for something important. Your eyes watered slightly but you didn’t dare break eye contact with the god of a man. “Let me enter you.” He simply said. “Let me know how you feel. Please.” The fact he pleaded with you showed that he wanted you so bad. You just hadn’t seen it.

He placed himself against the car door, sitting with his long legs slung across the entire row of seats. You realised he was so tall his legs took up all of the space. You sat on his lap and let him unbuckle himself. “Can I take my clothes off?” You chuckled, somewhat trying to joke. By the time you had taken them off, the greek stature of a man had his large cock out and had already began to stroke it sensually. His gaze was solely on you so you knew he was thinking of you entirely. It felt good to imagine the effect you had on him. You retook your spot in his lap. You lowered yourself onto him. He spat on his hand and rubbed your hole, inserting a large thumb. Your body seemingly ached for that same spit to be in your mouth once more. Placing your hands on his chest for support, you braced for the moment his cock entered you. He had two fingers in your ass now, prepping you for the real thing. He did the same thing as when his fingers where in your mouth.

The second you let your body breathe, he thrusted his length into you. You hadn’t bothered counted his length—you knew it was long—it was just you trusted that he knew how to use it. But you counted now. One. Your body shook. Two. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. There wasn’t a better feeling. Three. You could feel him stretching you now. Four. He began to feel the friction of you. Five. His hips thrusted begging for more of you, he would get it either way. Six. You had convinced yourself that your hole would mould into his shape; you wouldn’t be able to fuck anyone but him. Somewhere between seven and eight inches you had forgotten that you were supposed to be punished. He was an officer. You were doing a crime. In a way it was a punishment. You wanted him to have you. To fuck you and never stop.

He began to thrust violently into you, hips bucking with the notion. His cock pulsated inside you. It wasn’t long before he began to hit your special spot. When he did, you became incoherent, touching every part of his body, licking anything of him you could find. You wanted him. Him. You smelt his aftershave clearly worn down after hours of a shift. You felt his manhood inside your tight walls, along with a twitch of his pec. A pooling sensation began flooding in your belly. You felt weird. But Good. His body rocked violently against you now. He was holding onto you just as hard as you to him. The only sound filling the car was the grunts and moans the both of you were emitting. He pushed into you a final time, his abs contracting. His semen filled into you. At some point between that you felt his ropes against your walls and felt the need for release. You pressed your forehead against his. The moment when the both of you were in the middle of an orgasm felt euphoric. As if never wanting the moment to escape, the both of you stayed still until minutes later. When you did move, he asked you one question: “Again?”

[theysayalltheworldsastage]

@cherrycolacowboy okay so more on my earlier headcannon. and also just to add i am normally not a modern au girly but i do really love this au a LOT. anyways. for anyone not following, this is a headcannon i have about a the A HELPING HAND AU

Soda has ADHD and Dyslexia. Does he know this? Maybe. Do most people in his life know this? Yes. But if you know the Curtis house, you know they don’t have the money for that.  It hurts though. It hurts the people who love him to see him hide behind a mask. To know what’s going on in his mind (they don’t know half of it) and not be able to do anything about it. 

Sure, Paul had heard this hurt from Darry before. But he never expected this. He didn’t except for his chest to ache so much. 

Paul has become used to Soda following him around the house, talking about everything on his mind. He’s used to the kid never sitting still, and having trouble reading. He’s used to the range of emotions he has. But also the smile always on his face. And the jokes he makes out of everything. Even the times he shouldn’t have to feel like the mood needs to be lightened. 

To an extent, Paul has learned how to deal with this. How to not outwardly express his exasperation and exhaustion because he knows it’s nothing Soda can be at fault for. Chet and Soda have a lot of differences, but also a lot of things that Paul can tell are in common. Maybe Chet’s more quiet, but he has to always be moving. Doing something. Maybe it’s fidgeting with something in his hands, or walking in a circle around the coffee table twenty times. 

Paul has also learned that when Sodapop Curtis gets quiet, it isn’t right. When Soda stops trying, and when he doesn’t even attempt wearing a smile on his face, or to focus on something other than his mind, it feels wrong. 

So one night in spring, Soda had been slowly spiraling. He was getting quieter, and he was going between staying in bed all day and walking to the park, near the tracks, around the neighborhood. He was either still or constantly stirring. 

Yes, Chet noticed this. Started holding him extra close. Darry made sure Paul was keeping an extra close eye on him. Pony realized the signs. But he was never quite sure how to comfort Soda the way he had comforted him all these past years. 

Ponyboy and Sodapop had always been like little brothers to Paul. To an extent. But lately they have been his brothers. They were a family now. The gang had been spending more time at Paul’s house too. So he didn’t miss the way that Steve was hanging around a little bit more. Or how on the days that Paul couldn’t get Soda out of bed, Ace would drag him to the park to sit and get some fresh air. He was real grateful for them. But a hopeless feeling started to claw at his chest. It felt the way that Darry had described it to him many times before. 

Eventually Ace couldn’t pull him out of bed. Steve started to get angry. Twobit looked concerned. Pony really did try, but to no avail. Darry would spend hours sitting besides Sodas bed, but couldn’t get him to say a word. Dally and Johnny had even tried what they could. Nothing. 

One night, everyone was at their own places. Most nights someone was staying over.  But not tonight. Ponyboy was sleeping in his own room. There was soft rain you could hear throughout the house. Paul was walking into the kitchen when he saw Soda. The kid was just sitting on one of the wood chairs, staring. It was hard for Paul to tell if there was a lot of something, or a lot of nothing behind those eyes. 

“Soda?” The kid turned to Paul. And he started crying. He looked at Paul with the same sadness that the older felt inside his heart. Maybe sadness wasn’t the word. Maybe it was worse. It definitely was. The younger just shook his head real slowly. And as tears were still falling down his cheeks he spoke. 

“I don’t know Paul. I’m so tired of this. My mind isn’t normal.It’s not, I’m not fucking normal. Something is messed up but I don’t know what. I can’t read and. I can’t shut up and I dont know something isn’t right, Paul. Something isn’t right. What I feel isn’t normal. And no one understands. I mean, I don’t really understand, but no one understands. I’m okay sometimes but my head? Sometimes it just snaps. I don’t. Paul something isn’t right. I can’t read and, Paul I need help.” 

Soda was now sitting on the porch outside watching the rain fall and he wasn’t really breathing right but Paul was sitting right by him with an arm wrapped tightly around his shoulder and even though Paul didn’t say anything he knew he was there and that’s all he could ask for because his breathing evened out a little bit more and he started talking again because Sodapop Curtis just can’t shut the fuck up can he?

“And i’m just so messed up. I get angry. And I get angry when I’m not supposed to and I laugh when i’m not supposed to and why does hearing people chew make me fucking angry? That’s not normal, Paul. I had to drop out of school because I can’t read and I’m just so fucking stupid I can’t read or do math and all the words just go everywhere and that’s not normal, Paul. I need help I need fucking help but I don’t know something isn’t right and my heart hurts and I just. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be like this Paul. It’s not fair. It isn’t fair what did I do to be like this? It’s so stupid. I’m just so fucking. It’s not fucking fair. It’s not fair, it’s not fucking” 

And not he had his face in the older boys shoulders and he was hiccuping and he was crying because Sodapop Curtis is a real fucking mess isn’t he? 

And maybe Paul wasn’t the best with words. Not like Soda. Soda could find words and a way with those words for every thing. Paul is sure he could find a word for the feeling that he felt right now. Because he sure as hell didn’t know how to explain it. But it was horrible. And it wasn’t something good. He couldn’t imagine was Soda was feeling right now! But he knew that whatever Soda was, he wasn’t stupid. And curse whoever made the kid think that. Curse the world for giving Soda those thoughts. Because truth be told, he might be the least deserving people of a mind that feeds him those words. Sodapop Curtis is the light and joy of this world. No one would get by without him. So yeah, maybe Paul wasn’t good with words, but he was good at being there. So that’s what he did. He sat with Soda. He didn’t hush him, he just let him cry with the rain. Paul cried with the rain too. Because this was his brother. And he would die for him. Paul Holden would fucking die for Sodapop Curtis. Because they were brothers. And that’s what brothers do. 

It was a learning process. For both of them. Soda asked for help a bit more from here on out. Because letting those words out helped ease his mind just a bit. And Paul worked to get someone for Soda to talk to. Get him some medicine. (Though this is another story. Soda refused to take medicine for a long time. He was scared that it would change his mind. And he wouldn’t be him anymore.) 

But this wasn’t the end. Things didn’t only go up. Because he had more breakdowns. Some of them were slow. Some of them were filled with anger, others with sorrow. In fact, the next one after this was scary for everyone. There weren’t any signs. He just snapped. He. Just. Snapped. 

But one thing didn’t change through it all. Paul was there to protect him. And for that came a feeling that Soda wasn’t quite sure how to express in words. 

not perfectly written. am i the biggest fan of this writing? nope. but i like the concept. so this is what we’re working with rn lol. in fact, not edited at all. will i go back and rewrite later? maybe! was going to go back through and add italics to some words to emphasize some things but i’m not feeling up to that super much at the moment. but yes. it’s something

[hyuniemyunie]

I need my son

like what if since Sonic is his older brother in a way

what if we are like an older sibling to tails

like how sometimes the boyfriends younger sister becomes best friend with the girlfriend-

I just want to hug my son

High-Speed Bonds, Slow-Built Trust

sonic x gn!reader, platonic tails

sfw

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(ФωФ): a bond in the making! platonic fluff with tails, romantic stuff here n there with sonic. FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF FOUND FAMILY AHH

i didnt give reader a gender but i did like

"thanks sister/brother/sibling" so uh yeah

i ammm still emptying out my drafts, requests will be open again once im done

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

The first time you met Tails, he had been so painfully shy that he could barely look you in the eye. Sonic had introduced you with his usual breezy confidence, grinning as he ruffled the kid’s twin tails like it was second nature.

“C’mon, Tails, don’t be weird,” Sonic had teased, pushing him forward slightly. “They’re cool. You’ll like ‘em.”

Tails had flushed under his fur, ears flicking as he ducked his head. He was smaller than you expected, his golden fur slightly mussed from whatever project he had been working on before Sonic had dragged him out of his workshop. He clutched his wrench in one hand like a security blanket, glancing between you and Sonic like he wasn’t sure what to do.

You had crouched slightly, making yourself smaller so you weren’t looming over him, and extended a hand. “Hey, Tails. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

His fingers twitched against his wrench, hesitating.

You didn’t push. Instead, you just let your hand hang there, waiting, offering him the choice.

After a long pause, he slowly—very slowly—reached out and gave you the smallest handshake you had ever received. His fur was soft against your palm, his grip hesitant but warm.

From that moment, something shifted.

—

Tails wasn’t used to having someone besides Sonic looking out for him. He was independent, brilliant, and had long since proven himself more than capable of handling his own problems. He had built machines that could outpace Eggman’s warships, hacked into impossible systems, and even flown headfirst into danger just to pull Sonic’s reckless ass out of trouble.

But no one had ever been soft with him. No one had ever just… looked at him like he was a kid who deserved warmth.

No one until you.

At first, he didn’t know how to react to it. When you casually slung an arm around his shoulders, he stiffened before awkwardly relaxing. When you pulled him into a one-armed hug after a long day of fixing up the Tornado, he just blinked up at you like you had done something utterly foreign.

When you ruffled his ears absentmindedly one evening, he turned bright red and short-circuited so hard he nearly dropped his tools.

Sonic, watching from the sidelines, just cackled. “You good there, buddy?”

Tails had scrambled to save face, stammering about how he was fine and totally not freaking out over a little hair ruffle, thank you very much. But the next time you did it, he leaned in—just a little.

—

The first time Tails really sought you out was after a long, rough day.

Eggman had attacked without warning, and while no one had been seriously hurt, it had been a lot. Buildings had been damaged, the Tornado had taken a beating, and Sonic had barely gotten out of a nasty fight without limping. Everyone had pulled together to fix things, but you had noticed how quiet Tails had been the entire time.

He hadn’t spoken much, just throwing himself into repairs like his life depended on it. Even when everything was over, and everyone was resting, he had stayed up late, working on the Tornado long after he should’ve been asleep.

You had found him in his workshop, hunched over a pile of broken parts, muttering calculations under his breath. His wrench trembled slightly in his grip.

“Tails?”

He startled like he hadn’t heard you come in. His ears flicked back, and he quickly turned away, pretending to fidget with a screwdriver. “Oh! Uh, hey! I—I was just—”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine!”

That was the fastest lie you had ever heard.

You walked over, kneeling beside him. You didn’t say anything, just waiting, giving him space to breathe.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, so quietly it was almost a whisper—

“…I messed up.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I—I should’ve seen it coming. Eggman’s attack. I should’ve done something. Maybe if I—if I had been better, faster, smarter—”

“Tails.”

His ears flattened at your tone, eyes wide.

“You didn’t mess up,” you said, firm but gentle. “You did your best. And no one got hurt because of you.”

“But—”

“Would you ever say something like that to Sonic if he made a mistake?”

That made him freeze. His mouth opened, then closed, as if his brain was short-circuiting.

You softened, reaching out to place a careful hand on his head. “You’re allowed to be a kid, you know. You don’t have to carry everything on your own.”

His bottom lip wobbled. Just a little.

And then—hesitantly, nervously—he leaned forward.

You barely had a second to react before his small frame pressed against you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he clung to you with surprising strength. His twin tails curled slightly, trembling.

You hugged him back instantly, cradling him close, rubbing slow circles against his back. He smelled faintly of oil and metal, but beneath that, he still smelled soft—like something warm and familiar.

It was the first time he had ever hugged you first.

And you swore, in that moment, you weren’t ever going to let this little fox carry his burdens alone.

—

It had been a few days since that moment in the workshop. Tails hadn’t said anything about it since, and you didn’t push. But something had changed.

You noticed it in the little things.

How he hovered closer when you were around, his twin tails swaying just a little more excitedly when he saw you. How he’d glance up with those big, bright eyes, silently seeking your approval when he finished a project or figured out something new. How he didn’t flinch away anymore when you reached out to ruffle his ears or pull him in for a quick hug.

Sonic, of course, had noticed too.

“He’s stuck to you like glue, huh?” Sonic had teased one afternoon, watching as Tails followed you around like a shadow, adjusting his goggles and muttering about his latest invention. His tone was light, but there was something fond in his eyes.

“Maybe he just likes my company,” you had shot back playfully, nudging Sonic’s shoulder.

Sonic had snorted, crossing his arms. “Yeah, well… Can’t say I blame him.” His grin had softened slightly, just for a moment. “He needs someone like you.”

You had blinked, caught off guard by the seriousness in his voice. But before you could respond, Sonic was already gone, racing off like he hadn’t just dropped that bomb on you.

And now…

Now you were realizing just how right he was.

—

“Hey, hey! Careful with that!”

You barely managed to catch the wobbling tray before Tails completely knocked it over. He had been trying to carry two mugs of hot cocoa—one for you and one for him—but his little hands had been trembling from the weight.

“Whoa!” You steadied the tray, glancing down at him with a raised brow. “What’s the rush, little guy?”

Tails’ cheeks flushed under his fur, ears twitching. “I-I just… I wanted to surprise you…”

You blinked. “Surprise me?”

“I made it myself,” he mumbled, eyes fixed on the mugs like they were the most fascinating thing in the world. “I thought… maybe you’d like it after… y’know.”

Ah.

You didn’t have to ask what he meant. You had been out all day, helping Knuckles with a problem at Angel Island, and Tails had been left behind to keep things running smoothly in the workshop. He hadn’t said anything, but you could tell he hadn’t liked being left alone for so long.

And now here he was, trying to make up for it by…

Your heart melted on the spot.

“Tails,” you murmured, crouching down so you were at eye level with him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he insisted, his voice soft but firm. His little hands tightened around the tray, his tails swishing anxiously behind him. “You… you do so much for me. I wanted to do something for you too.”

You stared at him for a moment, your chest tightening. This kid…

You reached out, carefully taking the tray from his hands and setting it down on the nearby table. Then, without a word, you pulled him into your arms.

Tails squeaked softly but didn’t resist. He melted into the hug almost immediately, his twin tails curling around your waist as he pressed his face against your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “This means a lot to me, Tails.”

He didn’t say anything, but you felt his arms tighten around you, his small body pressing closer like he was trying to soak up as much warmth as possible.

You stayed like that for a while, just holding him close, letting him know—without words—that he wasn’t alone. That he didn’t have to do everything by himself.

And when you finally pulled back, his eyes were brighter. Lighter. Like a weight had been lifted off his tiny shoulders.

“Come on,” you said softly, ruffling his fur with a gentle smile. “Let’s go drink that cocoa before it gets cold.”

Tails’ smile was small, but it was real.

“Okay.”

—

The next time something went wrong, Tails didn’t shut down.

Eggman had launched another surprise attack, this time targeting the outskirts of Green Hill. No one had been hurt—thank Chaos—but the aftermath had left a mess of broken buildings, scattered debris, and enough chaos to make even Sonic’s head spin.

You had been right there with them, helping where you could, but it was Tails who had really stepped up.

He was a blur of golden fur and twin tails, barking out orders to the villagers as he coordinated repairs, his mind working faster than anyone could keep up. But this time…

This time, when it was over, he didn’t immediately retreat to his workshop to drown himself in work.

Instead, he found you.

“Uh–hey?”

You had barely had a moment to catch your breath when you felt a small tug on your sleeve.

“Hey, buddy,” you murmured, turning to look down at him. His eyes were wide, his tails drooping just a little, but he was holding himself together.

You crouched down immediately, your arms opening without hesitation.

Tails didn’t even think twice. He barreled into you, his small frame pressing against you as he clung to you like a lifeline.

You held him close, one hand stroking gently between his twin tails, the other rubbing slow, soothing circles on his back. His body trembled slightly against yours, but he didn’t cry.

“I’m proud of you,” you whispered softly, pressing your cheek against the top of his head. “You did so good today, Tails. So, so good.”

His little hands clenched into the fabric of your shirt, his breath hitching just slightly. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “You’re amazing, Tails. And I’m always going to be here for you, no matter what.”

His bottom lip wobbled again, but this time…

This time, he smiled.

It was small, a little shaky, but it was there.

“Thanks… big sister/brother/sibling.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

Oh.

Oh, this kid was going to be the death of you.

“Anytime, little guy,” you whispered, pulling him close again. “Anytime.”

—

That night, Tails fell asleep curled up beside you, his twin tails wrapped around your arm as he snuggled against your side.

And as you watched him, his breathing soft and steady, you realized something.

You weren’t just Sonic’s friend anymore.

You were Tails’ family.

And you wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.

—

Tails had always been a little shadow to Sonic—following him around with wide eyes, learning everything he could, and idolizing him in a way that made Sonic both proud and a little worried. The kid was smart—too smart—and he had a tendency to push himself way too hard just to prove he could keep up with Sonic’s pace.

Sonic loved him like his own little brother, no doubt about that. But Sonic wasn’t exactly… the best at slowing down long enough to let Tails feel that love.

That’s where you came in.

You had slipped into their little world so seamlessly that even Sonic was a little surprised. At first, you were just there, hanging out and helping out whenever needed. But somewhere along the way, things shifted.

Tails started sticking to you just as much as he did Sonic. And not in the same way—he didn’t try to impress you or prove himself like he did with Sonic. With you, he was just… Tails.

Soft. Open. Vulnerable.

And Sonic noticed.

—

It was a quiet afternoon in Green Hill, the kind of rare day where Eggman wasn’t causing chaos, and the sun hung lazily in the sky. You were sitting on the porch of Tails’ workshop, a half-finished project in your lap, while Tails tinkered with something nearby, his little hands expertly adjusting tiny gears with delicate precision.

Sonic was lounging a few feet away, sprawled out like a cat in the sun. His eyes were half-closed, one arm lazily tucked behind his head, but you knew he was paying attention. He always was.

“Y’know,” Sonic murmured, breaking the comfortable silence, “I never thought I’d see the day where Tails had someone else wrapped around his little finger.”

You snorted softly, not looking up from the project in your hands. “Says the guy who let him follow him around like a baby duck for years.”

Sonic cracked one eye open, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, well… He’s a hard kid to say no to.”

“Tell me about it,” you muttered, glancing at Tails. He was completely in his element, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration as he adjusted a screw.

Sonic’s smile softened as he followed your gaze. “He’s different with you,” he said quietly, and for once, there was no teasing in his tone. “He’s… calmer.”

You paused, your fingers stilling as you processed his words.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Sonic added quickly, propping himself up on one elbow. “I know I’m awesome—”

“Obviously.”

“—but I’m not… good at that soft stuff, y’know?” His grin faltered just a little. “I’m always running. Always moving. But you…”

You finally looked up, meeting his eyes.

“He doesn’t have to chase after you,” Sonic murmured. “You’re there.”

Your chest tightened, and you swallowed hard. “I’m not trying to replace you, Sonic.”

“Pfft.” Sonic waved a hand dismissively, his grin back in full force. “Like anyone could replace me.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Cocky.”

“Confident.” He winked, but then his expression softened again. “But seriously… I’m glad he’s got you.”

“Me too,” you murmured, your eyes drifting back to Tails.

“Guys!”

You barely had time to react before a small blur of golden fur barreled into you, nearly knocking the project out of your hands.

“Whoa! Easy, bud,” you laughed, catching Tails before he could send you both tumbling. “What’s the rush?”

“I finished it!” Tails beamed up at you, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he held up the small device he had been working on. “It’s a signal booster for the Tornado! Now the comms will stay connected even if Sonic goes out of range!”

“That’s awesome, little guy!” You ruffled his fur affectionately, and Tails practically preened under the praise. “You’re a genius, y’know that?”

Tails’ cheeks flushed, his ears twitching as he mumbled, “I had a good teacher.”

Sonic, lounging nearby, smirked. “Aw, you talkin’ about me, little buddy?”

Tails blinked, looking between you and Sonic. His brow furrowed slightly in thought before he gave a small, shy smile.

“Both of you,” he murmured softly.

For a moment, there was silence.

And then—

“Okay, that’s it.” Sonic was up in a flash, scooping Tails into his arms and spinning him around with a laugh. “You’re too cute. It’s illegal. I’m gonna have to arrest you.”

Tails squealed with laughter, his twin tails wagging as he giggled uncontrollably. “S-Sonic! Stop!”

You watched them with a warm smile, your heart swelling at the sight.

Yeah. This was home.

—

Later that night, after Tails had fallen asleep on the couch with his head resting in your lap and his tails curled around himself, Sonic plopped down beside you with a content sigh.

“He’s out like a light,” Sonic murmured, glancing down at the sleeping fox. “Kid works too hard sometimes.”

You ran your fingers gently through Tails’ fur, your touch soft and soothing. “I know.”

Sonic was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer.

“You really love him, huh?”

You didn’t even have to think about it.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your eyes never leaving Tails’ peaceful face. “I do.”

Sonic’s grin was softer this time, almost… wistful.

“Good.”

You glanced at him, arching a brow. “Getting sentimental on me, Hedgehog?”

“Pfft. Nah.” Sonic leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. “Just… y’know.” He peeked at you out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t say it much, but… thanks.”

“For what?”

“For being here,” Sonic murmured. “For him.”

Your throat tightened, and you looked away, focusing on the rise and fall of Tails’ small chest. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

—

Tails stirred slightly in his sleep, nuzzling closer to you with a content sigh. His little body pressed against yours, seeking warmth and safety even in his dreams.

And as you gently pulled a blanket over him, brushing a strand of fur away from his face, you knew…

This wasn’t just Sonic’s little brother anymore.

This was your little brother too.

And you would protect him with everything you had.

Forever.

[pruneunfair]

"They don't see it the way I do" A remarried empress rewrite.

Chapter 1: Beatrice

"I accept this divorce."

It only took those four words from the soon-to-be deposed empress for the attendees for this divorce trial to riot. The 21st Trovi empress, the pinnacle of perfection, and the lady I served for only one year had just accepted being deposed as empress without a fight. I can't say I wasn't surprised if I'm being honest, being the empress was Navier's life's purpose, but I suppose actively fighting and losing would do worse to her reputation rather than leaving with grace as many divorced empresses of the past were expected to do. 

It was hard to see and hear beyond the sea of men and women pleading with Navier not to go down like this, for only a few seconds I could catch a glance at the emperor, Sovieshu, he was both relieved and guilty for what he had to do, I suppose he isn't completely without a heart but that says little about his positive qualities.

In his arms was my best friend and his mistress, Rashta Ishka, who shared the same relieved expression while her lips trembled and bit at her nails, I'm sure that Sovieshu would make her his next empress and I'm sure she knew of both the safety it would grant her with the downside being the utter lack of respect she'd receive for being the replacement for an already beloved woman.

I had only 5 seconds to glance at the trial itself before Marquis Farang shoved me and a few others aside to run towards Navier

"Your Majesty! This can't be!"

He didn't get very far and was barred off by Sovieshu's guards, Navier first looked at him with gratefulness in her eyes for the people like him willing to defend her even if it went against the emperor, then her attention turned to her ladies in waiting, me included. Some such as Laura were struggling not to weep for their empress and lunge at Rashta for Navier's honor, some such as Countess Eliza had managed to remain poised and graceful as they courtseyed to her one last time.

I followed along with Eliza's example, it was the least I could do for the woman I once served.

"Empress Navier, do you truly agree to accept this divorce without objection?" The court minister asked, he was hoping that Navier would change her mind and fight back but the response was the same as the first

"Yes, I accept this divorce."

Only one more word added to that original sentence and the air around already reeked of a funeral, but I wasn't sad, I wasn't happy either, just.. neutral you could say. Even when she walked out of the courtroom solemnly as ever despite the unrest among her supporters, even when the other ladies in waiting scowled when Sovieshu comforted Rashta in his arms and whispered to her that the hard part was over, I remained utterly neutral to everything around me, even if it was only partial.

Rashta is my friend, perhaps one of the closest I ever had, but my reputation has already been put at stake before by willingly speaking with her on a regular basis. I can't risk that even more just to look happy for her at a divorce trial.

*

*

*

3 months earlier

I was preparing for her majesties morning routine as always when Laura burst in so red faced that I almost thought she was blowing smoke out of her ears, Countess Eliza followed suit with a nervous expression. We exchanged greetings like usual but something was still amiss, Laura was passionate but never this passionate unless there was something troubling her and Eliza almost never wore anything other than a simple smile during the day. Both of the ladies' fingers were pruned like raisins, had they just finished bathing the empress?

"Lady Tarital..." I began "Is everything alright?"

Laura didn't waste a second before replying in a sharper manner then she usually did

"No! Everything is not alright! his majesty brought back a trophy from his hunting trip.. a tramp!"

Eliza was quick to shush her

"Lady Tarital, hush now.."

My interest, however, was already piqued. "A tramp you say? I don't see the problem in allowing his majesty to bring in a pet dog"

I'll admit it was a joke that was in poor taste but I figured a little humor wouldn't hurt anyone, not like it mattered though since neither Laura or Eliza found it very amusing.

"This unfortunately is no laughing matter Lady Arwen.. his majesty did indeed bring a filthy looking girl from his hunting grounds, she was covered in mud and her hair appeared not to be brushed for weeks." Eliza explained.

"One leg was leaking pus and blood and the other had been snared by his majesty's trap! We were sure it was either a prisoner or a slave but his majesty made us bathe the unkempt thing anyway!"

Well this I wasn't expecting, people like that were never allowed near the palace for the emperor and empresses safety yet his majesty not only brings home a woman he found caught in a trap but he also has noble ladies bathe her? Normally for anyone lower than the empress they'd be bathed by common maids, not the empress' own ladies in waiting. Not even they bathed themselves with their own two hands.

"Goodness! I can't believe his majesty!' Laura fumed while she threw open the curtains in a huff.

"It was likely just a momentary loss in his majesties judgment, I'm sure it won't-"

"You can't be so sure Beatrice! this is just the beginning of an affair! they always start with a lapse in a mans judgement."

Laura only ever called anyone by their first name when she was at her most furious, it was her way of knocking it into anyone that the situation was dire when she was so upset she forgot basic etiquette. However, she didn't get too far before all three of us heard the doors gently swing open and the empress was ready for the usual routine of hair brushing and tea sipping.

Empress Navier, the ice cold empress of Fahlgren. We got to experience first hand why she got that nickname, her face was always frozen into one expression and that expression was a blend of lips that were always on the brink of a frown and downturned eyes that made her appear tired. When she spoke, it was always with the monotone grace expected of a noble woman and on the rare occasion she was upset. She projected as loud as a military commander. What made her truly intimidating was that her frozen face made It hard to tell if she was upset or simply neutral and all three of us waited for one to decide to risk it to figure out if Navier was displeased with us for gossiping about her husband or if she was just waiting for someone to say something.

I decided to be the one to take that risk and play dumb.

"Good morning your majesty."

We all exhaled a small breath of relief when Navier replied with another good morning, thank goodness, she didn't hear us.

Eliza took charge of brushing the empress's golden locks while I prepared the tea. Laura's face returned to its usual hue as she prepared which dress her majesty will wear today. None of us dared to speak out of fear that someone would crack and tell the empress everything we know about her husband and the mysterious girl he found, leaving only the chirping of the birds outside to lighten the mood. However, as smart as we think Navier is, she's smarter.

"Did something happen while I was away?"

The first one to crack was unsurprisingly Laura, this time though with less yelling then when she told me.

"Indeed! His majesty brought some filthy girl from his last hunting trip. He must've taken a liking to it since he had us wash it."

"We believe she may have been either a prisoner or a slave judging by her conditions... her right leg was caught in the emperors trap and the left leg was gravely injured, so his majesty had her carried inside like a fairytale princess." Eliza added

Both of them abruptly ceased their talking, afraid of making Navier feel self conscious

I returned with the tea and poured a cup for the empress as I've done every morning before, but she doesn't drink it right away, Laura and Eliza have gotten her too curious.

"And?"

This time, Eliza cracked first

"...Even when it was covered in squalor it was quite pretty, and when we finished cleaning the filthy thing, her beauty was only second to the Duchess of Tuania."

I couldn't contain myself after hearing that, this stranger from the town below, a stranger who might be a slave being so beautiful that she could be a rival for the most beautiful woman in Fahlgren? It all sounded like a commoners storybook.

"She really is that beautiful?" I impulsively asked "I suppose even wild flowers growing in the rose gardens can best all other flowers."

Laura shot me a nasty look, the kind of look where everyone but me knows I said something inconsiderate.

"Of course, her beauty couldn't come close to compare to yours, your majesty!" Laura quickly added to make up for my lack of decorum.

I didn't want to listen anymore about these rumors of a slave girl waltzing into the palace, I had a feeling that if I did then I'd get that impulse to add my commentary on the matter which always seemed to be wrong in some way, Either I would notice it and or someone else would and it was always worse when someone else noticed. It was wrong to not immediately defend the empress but you also don't want to be such a suck up that it breached etiquette, you should want to emulate Navier but you also shouldn't actually do it so you wouldn't gain the reputation of a copycat. These aren't exactly official rules but they are unwritten ones for a lady in waiting, you have to look different but not act different. Yet every time I would end up switching from leaning too far on one side to leaning too far on the other, I just couldn't find that middle ground and I'd find myself sucking up too much on one week and being too blunt on the second week.

And right now, my big mouth has possibly left Navier insecure that a wild flower could stand taller then any rose she's ever grown.

Navier wasn't upset though, she was all too used to my inconsistencies and simply started drinking the tea I made for her while she insisted Eliza tell her more.

"His majesty kept asking her things like, "How did you get hurt?" "Why are you so thin?" "You look so pale." 

Navier still wasn't so bothered. "That doesn't sound bad at all."

"He even brought her gifts. They weren't much, only a few new outfits for her to wear and some treats to snack on while she recovered.. but there was an atmosphere around them that felt too much to be just friendship."

I expected Navier to brush it off like she had done before, after all if what Laura and Eliza were claiming was the truth it's not like it wasn't common for noble men, especially emperors, to fall for other women. She didn't though, instead she sat there quietly for a moment, tightly gripping the teacup in her hands before releasing slowly.

"I see." The bird's chirping took over as the only audible sound again and 15 seconds of waiting for a response felt like an eternity.

"I'm sure he only brought her because he is a compassionate person."

I guess even empress' like Navier can cling onto hope like that. Maybe that's why she still tolerates me after one year under her wing when I've been less then adequate as a lady in waiting, but then again, she hardly speaks to me, even to order me to do anything that it isn't basic. Its gotten to the point where any extra work I have is only to convince the other ladies I'm not slacking off.

Maybe I'm just overthinking it, I am one of the youngest of the empress' ladies in waiting after all so perhaps Navier is just giving me more leeway until I get it together. ...Or maybe she's aware of how impudent I sound, and this is just her equivalent of that nasty stare.

[noiranamnesis]

“Oh,” she said, brows lifting. “I’m invited to your private chambers?” The words left her with more surprise than sass, her voice softening as genuine disbelief flicked across her features. She had assumed, perhaps naively, that he’d elect to keep her confined to his study or the library. “I thought we’d be staying somewhere more…instructional,” she added, a dryness in her tone not quite masking the nervous edge threading its way beneath. Because now, with the way he was looking at her, she remembered: I might even have enjoyed it, if I'd known what to expect. Although, usually I'm the rough one.

Warmth bloomed at the base of her neck and threatened to climb. Why had he said that so casually? And worse? Her mind was replaying it, over and over, layering it with things implied. Private chambers. Rough one. Hands…

Slipping her hands from his- slowly, gently- she rose onto the tips of her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. A fleeting thing, but deliberate. Her way of maintaining an upper hand, or pretending to. “I’ll see you tonight, then,” she murmured, pulling back with a small smile. “But I need to return to the kitchens. I promised to help with orders, and I can’t have them thinking I’ve abandoned them. Or worse- I’ve landed myself in trouble with the King.”

Her nose wrinkled with amusement. “They already think I may have lost my touch, since someone-” light hues flicked pointedly to his, “had the audacity to send back a crêpe. Even though it was exactly what he usually demands.” She rolled her eyes for good measure, though her voice remained light and teasing. “If I’d known you were so petty,” she added with a smirk, “I would have delivered it myself. With a lecture on the side.”

Although, usually I'm the rough one.

If she hadn’t been so thoroughly mortified, she might’ve scoffed.

But then he moved.

She hadn’t expected him to stand, let alone lessen the space between them in just a few strides. When his hands reached for her and gently lifted them from her face, something in her breath caught. It's the softness of it, she thought. The absurd tenderness in the way his palms cradled hers, thumbs drawing slow, unthinking circles along her skin. It wasn't a flirtation. It wasn't calculated. It was comforting, infuriatingly so, and she hated how her pulse answered to it.

Her instinct was to step back, reclaim the space between them. But she didn’t. Not immediately. Instead, she blinked, just once, before her voice found its footing again. “I would prefer a different teacher.” The words slipped out before she could think better of them- dry, defensive, too quick. Yet after a breath, her expression softened. "But," she murmured, aiming for dry and falling somewhere closer to flustered, "so long as you're not planning to lecture me all night..." A reluctant, wry smile formed.

I can’t believe I’m saying this.

“I’ll spend the evening with you. On one condition.” She drew a small breath and lifted her chin, gathering the remnants of her composure. “You have to eat a savory crêpe.” The demand came out a little sharper than intended- petty, yes, but undeniably sincere. He hadn’t finished the one she made last night, and some quiet, indignant piecer of her refused to let it go.

“And…” she added, light hues narrowing, as if daring him to flash that irritating smirk, “I’ll think of something else.” Because truthfully, it was difficult enough to hold a coherent thought while he was touching her like this: thumbs tracing her skin with maddening gentleness.

I bet he knows exactly what he's doing. Ugh.

She cleared her throat softly. “One question,” she said, more quietly now. “Am I spending the evening with you as your employee…” Her voice was even, yet subtext pulsed beneath it, steady and sure. “Or as your guest?” The distinction mattered. If she was attending as his employee, then she would keep her distance. She would wear her uniform. And she would not let him touch her like this again.

[ruporas]

need to exist in your warmth (id in alt)