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secretlysamcro · 2 days ago

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Black female reader x Jax Teller SMUT, violence, explicit language & possible spoilers If you’re under the age of 18, haven’t finished the show or dislike any of said topics, please read no further.

Request: “Reader is the well liked bartender at the Sam crow clubhouse who has know Jax and the club since childhood. Jax and reader have essentially become friends with benefits though he secretly hold deeper feelings. Tara comes back to town causing Jax to start icing out reader and placing his focus on Tara. Because of this reader calls the arrangement off with Jax who acts like he doesn’t care at first , however once he sees the reader entertain other men, Jax becomes jealous and possessive and decides to profess his feelings to the reader who shares the same sentiments. This causes a fight that spins into smut 😈They have sex and she decides to be his old lady”

Backstory: y/n & Jax have known each other for years, growing closer in the past year though, since Tara left Charming. Being the favourite bartender in the SAMCRO clubhouse has a lot of benefits. Brothers who have your back, free booze and now, the possibility of being dicked down by the VP whenever the fuck you want. Both you and Jax have already broke the ‘no feelings, just sex’ rule but neither of you have said it out loud but now… you’re both gonna pay for it. Tara’s back on the scene again, and Jax not knowing where his loyalty lies, fucks up…big time.

The sons roll into the SAMCRO parking lot, their engines cutting out one by one. It had been a long run, miles of open road but their business was handled. With just enough tension left to make them want to get drunk.

Jax, the first off his bike, swings off rolling his neck as he leads the way inside. He already knew what the others didn’t, the usual pretty sight wouldn’t be behind the bar tonight.

Chibs stretches his arms over his head, cracking his back “Christ, I need a whiskey”

“Make it two” Tig says, rubbing a hand down his face as they follow Jax inside.

The usual noise was present in the clubhouse. Music playing low but just enough to hear, the usual crow eaters loitering around. The bar however, missing their favourite bartender. No familiar smile, no teasing remarks, no y/n.

Tig let’s out a groan “Where the hell is y/n” he questions.

Chibs looks around with his brows raised, before joining in on the protest. “Aye, place feels off when she’s not here”

Bobby already dropping into a chair, gives a lazy shrug “don’t think she’s working tonight”

“Since when does she ever take a day off” Juice pipes up, sounding personally offended.

“I heard cherry say last night before we left y/n wouldn’t be in” Bobby relays what he had heard.

Jax smirks to himself but stays quiet, heading straight over to the bar and grabbing a beer for himself. He pops the cap off with his teeth before taking a swig.

The clubhouse was alive with conversation and the clinking of glass as the guys settled in. Cherry moved behind the bar filling drinks and flashing flirty smiles, but it never felt the same when y/n was missing.

Jax, sat among them, unbothered as he nursed a beer with his free hand. Every so often, he pulled his phone out, his thumb hovering over the screen as he checks the time. He doesn’t say a word about what or who he was waiting for, and no one bothered to ask.

Across the room, Happy was in his usual spot, sprawled out in a chair with a crow eater draped over each side of him. He moves between them effortlessly, kissing one before turning to the other, his hands roaming over the both of them, not caring about the eyes on him.

Bobby scoffs, nudging Tig before nodding towards what he’s witnessing, “Look at that greedy bastard” he says, shaking his head.

Tig smirks, raising his glass “gotta respect it”.

A low rumble pulls into the lot catching their attention, it wasn’t a bike, but it was just as recognisable.

Jax exhales, knowing exactly who it is. Stretching his back before pushing off the bar. No urgency, no rush just a quiet decision as he turns to walk away, disappearing down the hall.

The others notice Jax slip away, but think nothing of it.

Juice, who was closest to the door, checks outside. “Well, well, well, look who decided to show up”

The second you stepped inside, the air around the room changed. The conversations didn’t stop, but they slowed as all eyes flickered towards you. Your skin, deep brown and glowing under the dim clubhouse light. Your lips full and glossed just enough to catch the reflection. And as always, your hair flawlessly laid in your signature style that never loses its charm. Everyone noticed you, no matter where you went. You were the kind of beautiful that made men reckless.

Tig grinned, tilting his head towards your every move “You know sweetheart, I’d get down on one knee for you”. You scan the room briefly, realising that Jax is missing. Probably already in the place you're headed.

You don't skip a beat as you shoot back at Tig, “Oh really? I heard you’d do the same for Mrs. Venus too” you throw him a quick wink, as you recall how much he had been bragging about her a few nights ago, Tig being a little too drunk to keep his mouth shut. Laughter erupted around the bar as Tig clutched his chest in pretend hurt.

“Brutal” Chibs muttered, shaking his head before downing his drink.

You give a casual wave to the others. They nod, grinning in response. But you don’t slow down or stop to entertain them. Your path is now clear, and its obvious to them where you’re going.

The guys exchange knowing glances, immediately understanding now why Jax had snuck out moments before you entered. They’d been aware of this little thing you two had going on for a while now. It wasn't unusual for the two of you to disappear together, only to return moments later, as if nothing had happened.

Chibs lets out a low whistle, realising the deal “That boys down bad”

Tig rests his head in his hands, sighing dramatically at being rejected by you once again. “Every damn time, man”

You round the corner, Jax leaning against the door with a beaming smile plastered on his face. “You took your time” he says, his voice smooth but teasing.

“Had to get Tiggy off my back” you laugh, playing along.

He lets out a soft, amused breath, stepping aside just enough to let you slide through the door. His body stays in place, but his head follows you, almost mesmerised. As you pass, the brush of your hand just below his belt sends a small jolt through him.

“You coming or what?” you question with anticipation.

he laughs aloud, “trust me, we both will” he responds, his words thick with promise. He's got a devilish grin on his face, as he pushes off the wall, pulling his jeans up a little tighter following you into the dorm, the door clicking behind him.

If only one of you had the guts to speak up first, to admit that this little thing between you went far deeper than just the sex.

A week and a few days had passed since the last time Jax was buried deep within you, the longest time you’d gone this year without having sex, and ever since, something had been off.

At first it was subtle and easy to brush off. But tonight? It’s impossible to ignore and you’re done entertaining his attitude. As usual, the clubhouse was busy, the usual mix of members, hangarounds and crow eaters filling the spaces. You were in your usual spot behind the bar, keeping the drinks full and entertaining the guys with your usual back and forth banter.

He’d been shut off since he walked in, cold and distant, not even a ‘hello’ you’d seen him in his moods before, but this was something different. He was shutting you out completely. So, you decided to return the favor.

“You want a drink? or you just gonna keep standin’ there with your face all screwed up like that?” You ask, one hand on your hip and the other on the pump.

He moves away from the counter as you approach, his jaw tightening. “Nah, I’m good” he barely looks at you.

You let out a sharp laugh “that’s what I thought” you retort, as you move away serving someone else at the opposite side of the bar. The guys pick up on the tension immediately.

“Damn” Tig whispers under his breath, amused at the drastic shift between the two of you. Chibs raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. Jax walking away avoiding any possible questioning.

You weren't directly near them but you could still hear, so when Juice, drunk and loose lipped mumbled something about Tara being back in town and how her and Jax were ‘figuring things out’ the realisation hit you like a brick.

Thats why he’d been so reluctant to touch you, talk to you, or even look at you. Because of her. Because of Tara.

No, you and Jax weren't together, just friends who fucked on the regular. No strings, no feelings. That was the deal. A deal that you had both broken without saying a word.

For a year, it’s been only him, and only you. Nobody else in either of your beds. So finding out he’s there trying to fix things with the one who left him, when just days ago it was you he was fucking. Yeah, it fucking hurts.

You hadn’t spoken to Jax in a week, He barely came up to the bar anymore. When he was at the clubhouse, he stayed hidden in the dorm or locked away in church, anywhere but near you.

Its nearing the end of the night, and you’re ready to leave the bullshit and the mayhem behind. You grab your bag, throwing your things together as you make your move towards the door.

The boys are saying their goodbyes to you as Happy pulls you into one of those brotherly hugs. The kind that always made you feel like you had someone in your corner. “Take care kid” he says into your ear.

You cling on to him for a second longer than usual, needing the warmth and reassurance. He was the older brother you never had, the one who could always read you better than anyone else.

You give a quick wave to the others and head for the door, avoiding Jax at all costs. He was slouched at the back table, watching you with that unreadable look. The same one he’d been giving you for days now, ever since Tara had shown back up. Fuck him though, why should you let him treat you like this.

You slam your car door shut, the sound echoing through the silence. The engine hums as you rub a hand over your face, finally able to breathe. Finally able to feel the weight of everything crashing down. The anger, the hurt, its all there now about to spill over until a knock at the window stops you. The darkness makes the figure hard to recognise, but the flash of those familiar fucking rings, you knew exactly who it was.

Your fists tightens on the wheel as you press the button, the windows sliding down. And there he was, stood with one hand resting on the roof, looking at you as if nothing had changed.

“Not staying? he questions, with that familiar arrogance, as if he expected you to turn around and run back to him.

Your face twists into a snarl “What the fuck would I be stayin’ for?”.

He leans in closer, that pathetic look in his eyes, the one he wears when he knows he’s fucked up “Its been a minute” he taps his finger against the frame, like that was suppose to mean something to you.

You scoff at his audacity, shaking your head “Didn’t notice” you shoot back, your tone less than happy.

He takes a long sigh, “you want me to beg or something?” the defensiveness creeping in.

“Aww, you miss me now? Tara not fucking you like I do?” you respond, the fake sadness in your voice as you scrunch up your face, letting the words sink in.

He stiffens, his jaw clenching, suddenly having nothing to say.

“Yeah, your boy juice runs his mouth when he’s fucking drunk” you snap, chewing the inside of your cheek. “That’s why you been actin’ like that. Cuttin’ me off cause you’re back with her?” You look him in the eye now, your lashes fluttering towards him, waiting for an answer.

Jax exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face, looking like he’s thinking of something to say. Anything to say, but he’s coming up blank. He can see how pissed you are now, the little signs that someone else might not clock onto, but he already has.

He sees the way you keep biting your cheek, the way the curses roll of your tongue like a second language and how your fingers won’t stop twisting the rings on your hand.

“It’s not like that” he finally mutters, but you cut him off before he can even bullshit you.

“Not like what Jax?” You spit out “Not like you’ve been fuckin’ me for a year, sleepin’ in my bed and now shes back, you’ve gone running? Did you forget she was the one that left you?” You sprinkle that little insult at the end, knowing it would hit him where it hurt.

He just stands there silently staring at you, no emotion on his face at all.

You already know the next thing he’s gonna say is gonna piss you off, and when he finally opens his mouth, it does exactly that. Because instead of admitting his feelings for you, he takes the easier route. The one where he’s an asshole.

“It’s not behind your back” he says, once again his voice cold and detached, like none of this fucking matters, like you don’t matter. “No feelings, That’s what we said right?” He’s staring through you, not at you.

“Just sex. That’s all it’s ever been” He tilts his head slightly, acting like he doesn’t care. His lips portraying the tiniest smirk.

Your jaw clenches so fucking tight it aches, but all you can do is laugh. Not because you find this funny but because you cannot believe the audacity of this fucking man.

Deep down, you know Jax feels something for you, but he’d rather choke on it than admit the truth.

“Cool” you mutter, your voice being the one that’s now cold. You lean in, close enough to catch the whiskey haunting his breath. “If you need your dick sucked that bad, call your lil girlfriend”.

He stares back at you, not saying a word. You hold his stare, if he was gonna stop being a pussy and fix this, it was going to be now.

But he doesn’t. He pulls out his phone, taps the screen, the silence so powerful, you even hear the dial tone.

He grins right in your face “Hey Tara, you free tonight?”

The composure that you had left, snaps. You throw your hand up, getting ready to slap the shit out of him, but Jax is too quick, he jerks his head back just in time, and instead of hitting his face your nails rake across his cheek, a sharp deep scratch that immediately starts bleeding. You watch as the fury settles in his eyes.

You stare at him, your heart pounding. But he doesn’t retaliate. He slowly pulls back, his fingers grazing the cut that you had just left.

His eyes narrow as he sees the blood on his hand. He looks back at you, the muscles in his jaw flexing.

“You’re fucking crazy” he says through clenched teeth. Without another word, he watches you slam the car into reverse, your tires screeching as you leave the lot.

He’s fucked up. He knows he has, the second it happened. If he could take it back, he would. But the damage is already done. He’s made his bed, and now he has to lie in it… even if it means someone else other than you, filling the empty space next to him. He lights a cigarette, downing a shot as he waits for the one who broke his heart.

You weren’t even planning on going tonight. The annual SAMCRO cookout. Same faces, same bullshit, and him. Tonight though, you were done hiding. Fuck it, he made his choice and that choice was Tara.

You step out of the shower, the steam curling around you. You drag your nail through the thick lotion, the same nail that left the scar on Jax’s pretty face. Your hands glide over your smooth skin, the moisturizer sinking deep into your rich complexion. Then, comes the dress. The little black one that clings to your body like a second skin, the one he used to pull up with desperate hands. You slip it on, letting it mould to every curve, every dip on your body on display. Next, come your earrings. Big and gold, the shimmer catching against your mocha scented skin. You finish your outfit with your knee high boots and your long leather jacket. Thankfully, your apartment is only a five minute walk away, which works out just fine. Because you already know you’re about to get reckless.

Before you even hit the gates, you can already feel the energy. The music blaring, the smoke from the BBQ rising up, thick and heavy. You can hear the laughter, the chatter and the roar of the bikes as they pile in. The smell of meat grilling in the air, mixed with the familiar smell of trouble.

All the usual suspects, all the familiar shit. Thankfully, you’re not scheduled to work tonight. Gemma always gives you the night off for events like this. She’d rather you be part of the chaos then stuck behind the bar serving drinks.

As you walk into the lot, the place is packed. People spilling out of the clubhouse and bikes lined up like fucking soldiers. You’ve been around the club long enough, worked the bar long enough but for some reason tonight feels different.

“Y/N! You ready for my meat yet?” Tigs voice cuts through the noise, loud as hell. You turn to find him holding a jumbo hot dog, the bastards grinning like he’s just made the best joke in the world.

You roll your eyes as you stroll over, giving him a once over, deciding to play along. He’s standing alongside Chibs and Happy, thankfully no Jax in sight… yet. You’re unsure if they know what had happened the other night between the two of you, and frankly you didn’t give a shit. “And if I said yes?” You ask, matching his banter.

Tig nearly loses his shit. “I mean, who could resist” his smile sharpens. He doesn’t wait for you to respond, shoving the thing in your direction. Without hesitation, you bite down on the end of the hotdog, Tigs eyes jokingly darken as Chibs and Happy Jeer him on.

“How you been?” Happy asks, the way he’s watching you, it’s obvious they know.

You don’t want to go there, not now. So you spin some bullshit about how you just needed some time to yourself, trying to steer the conversation away from whatever the fuck happened with Jax.

Chibs, sensing the tension pulls you over to the side. “Y/N I’m telling you this cause I’ve got love you… we all do. But she’s here with him”.

Your stomach ties in a knot, but you don’t let it show. Of course she fucking is. You give Chibs a quick kiss on the cheek. He knows what’s up, he’s trying to look out for you without betraying Jax and you’re thankful for it, but it still fucking stings.

You push further into the madness. Weaving through the crowd, meeting familiar faces, sharing small talk here and there, but still, no sight of Jax, or her.

“Hey sweetheart” a hand slides over your shoulder and you feel the warmth before you even turn. It’s Gemma. “You smell good” she adds, her voice smooth as she steps closer to you.

"Hey Gem" you greet her, pulling each other into a hug.

She looks you over, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "You feeling better?" she gets closer to you as she speaks.

"Yeah, thanks" you reply, forcing a laugh. You know she sees right through your 'I'm too sick to come to work' bullshit.

You and Gemma always got along, she never asked questions she didn't already have the answers to. She knew about you and Jax, even if it was never said out loud. She saw how he softened around you, how much more at ease he was with you, more than anyone else, and as his mother, she appreciated how you helped him get through the aftermath of Tara, even if it was all in secret and never 'official'. She had never gotten along with Tara, even before she left Jax in pieces.

She looks at you, a little deeper than usual. “You know I’d always have your back?” she says, her words are heavy almost like a warning. Its cryptic, but you know exactly what she means. This was her way of saying ‘do what you gotta do’, no matter what’s going on with Jax.

The door creaks open as you step in, it doesn't take long. Jax is sitting at the bar, his back to you and his shoulders relaxed, like nothing ever happened. Tara, sitting next to him whispering too easily in his ear. You fucking hate it, but you force it down.

You take your coat off and adjust your dress before heading straight towards the bar, your heels clicking against the concrete, like a pre warning. Without a second thought, you slide onto the stool, directly next to Tara, close enough, that your thigh nearly brushes hers and close enough to make him fucking suffer. You don't say a word, you don't look at them. You just exist in their space like you fucking belong there.

Juice is behind the bar, pretending to do something useful, but mostly just messing around with bottles. Tara completely oblivious, doesn't even notice the way the air thickens around you. She's still smiling, still talking to Jax, unaware of how the entire room dynamic, has just shifted.

"Tryna steal my job Ortiz?" you say, setting your coat on the side.

Jax hears your voice before he sees you, every muscle in him on edge, knowing you’re close. Juice's eyes immediately flick to you, and then over to Jax. His lip twitches like he's trying to hold in a laugh.

He laughs awkwardly, "someones gotta keep shit in order while you've been off the grid" his words are careful, like he's tiptoeing around a landmine, his eyes continuing to go between you and Jax.

You tilt your head slightly, "hmm" is all you respond.

Juice stands there, unsure of what to do, he rubs a hand over the back of his neck "you want a drink, or you just here to bust my balls?"

“Both” you say with a sweet smile. “whiskey... neat” your tone is effortless, like none of this fucking bothers you.

Jax is watching you. You can feel it, the burn of his eyes into the side of your face. His eyes never leave you. Cold and calculating, almost as if he's trying to figure out your next move but he doesn't say a word. He doesn't need to. He never expected you to show up tonight, and the second he heard you order a whiskey, he fucking knew. He knew tonight was bound to go south. He'd seen you drunk before, and with this shit brewing? Shit was never gonna end clean.

Juice places your drink in front of you, he extends his hand, offering to take your coat too. As soon as you rise from your seat, Jax's eyes drag over you. And then it hits him. That dress. His favourite fucking dress. The one he'd fist in his hands as he fucked you against any available surface. It's hugging every curve, taunting him. His jaw tightens, his fingers flexing against his beer. Fuck, he misses you.

You pick up your glass, turning to leave, but at the last second, you pause. Not for Jax though. For her.

You turn to Tara, your voice laced with fake sweetness "Missed home, huh?"

Jax is almost vibrating with tension, Tara is still completely oblivious. "Yeah, its good to be back" She smiles in your direction.

Jax's jaw is clenching. You still show him no interest. Your Gaze locked on Tara, and he knows, deep down, you're doing it on purpose, and its fucking killing him.

“Thanks Juice,” you say, tossing a grin over your shoulder before heading back into the crowd.

You barely make it outside, before your wrist is yanked, so hard your bracelets are digging into your skin. He pushes you discreetly against the wall outside the club, just out of sight.

His grip is tight, too tight and he’s barely holding himself together.

“You think this is some kind of fucking game?” His voice sounds more like a growl, his nostrils flaring in anger.

You tilt your head, finally giving him the attention he wants.

“Do you?” You say, almost as if you’re challenging him. He tightens his hold for just a second.

“Cut the shit” he growls, his voice rough.

You scoff, moving your face closer towards him, close enough that he can feel your breath on his top lip. “You started it” your voice is sharp and also taunting.

For a second, it feels as if he might snap, grab you or even kiss you, maybe he’ll completely lose it.

But you just smirk, slow and cruel and then you slip free from his grasp, turn and walk away.

He looks up into the air, exhaling a deep breath. A few steps away, stands Gemma witnessing it all.He stands there, his fists clenched as he watches you walk away, like he doesn’t want to chase after you, drag you back to where you belong.

But he doesn’t fucking move.

He doesn’t need to see her, to know she’s making her way over. He can feel it.

“Not now, ma” he says, exhaling hard through his nose and running a hand through his hair.

Gemma scoffs, stepping right up beside him. “I’ve seen you do some stupid shit, but pushing her away for Tara?” She shakes her head in disgust “you must be outta your goddamn mind”

“You don’t know shit” Still, he doesn’t move, his eyes tracking your every movement.

“I know everything, Jackson” she moves closer to him, her face inches from his. “I know watching her walk away is killing you, I know you feel something real for that girl, but I know you’re too much of a stubborn little shit to admit it” Jax goes to speak but she cuts him off just as quick. “So instead. You’re walking around with that stuck up heart breaker who’s already ruined you once?”

He says nothing, shifts his eyes slightly to Gemma, he knows she’s talking the truth, but like she said, he’s way too stubborn.

“Don’t be a goddamn coward Jackson” She shoves past him, her shoulder knocking his as she storms off.

You’ve spent the night effortlessly dodging both Jax and Tara, three drinks in and already you’re feeling the warmth spread through you. The alcohol just about taking the edge off, just enough for you to be able to relax a little.

You’ve caught up with Opie and Donna, laughing over their kids and life. The conversation being easy and light hearted. Opie, not mentioning Jax once. And you’re thankful for it.

You’re currently stood having a quick chat with Unser, the two of you standing next to the BBQ, a joint in hand. He offers, but you politely decline, pulling your own from your purse. Whiskey and weed? Probably not the best combo, but you’re too far gone to care right now. You’re still laughing at the shit show unfolding in front of you. Juice fumbles with the grill, burning nearly everything he touches.

“Give it here” Unser groans, rolling his eyes as he takes over the grill, his face giving that ‘’I’m too old for this shit’ kinda look.

You feel a presence right next to you, it’s unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

“Can I get you a drink?” The voice is deep but smooth. You recognise him but you don’t really know him, you remember the way he checks you out though. He’s one of those faces you always see at these kind of things, someone who’s always there but not quite in the circle.

You look him up and down, dark hair, full of tattoos and broad. He has that rough kind of vibe, but not in the biker way. Out of instinct, you almost decline, but then you remember who you’re dealing with. And if jax wants to play this game, then so can you. You don’t owe him shit.

“Lead the way” you respond, a flirty smile creeping upon your face. Your voice is calm, but inside, you already know what you’re doing.

Jax is sat at a table in the back of the clubhouse, a cigarette burning between his fingers, pretending like he's not coming apart at the seams. Chibs and Tig see it, the tightness in his jaw, the way his knee bounces up and down. But Tara? She's still clueless.

That's when you walk in.

His firm hand rests low on your back, steering you towards the bar. Jax clocks it instantly, he drags hard on his cigarette, the smoke hitting his lungs with force and then, you look at him, just for a second, but long enough to make it clear.

You slide onto a barstool, your body angled just right. Legs crossed, dress rising just enough to make a man sweat, your lips curved in that dangerous smile. But its not for the man in front of you. Its all for Jax.

You laugh, leaning closer, your hand grazing over his arm. Jax watching the whole damn time. He watches as you whisper something into his ear, he watches as you raise your hand, playing with the hairs at the back of his neck, just like you would do for him.

You're playing dirty, and he knows it, and its fucking working.

Jax swirls his glass in his hand, barely listening to whatever the fuck Tara's going on about. The muscles in his forearm flexing with how tight he's holding it. He watches how you bite your lip between sips, how your finger trails down the side of your glass, How you lean in too close when talking to him. He knows you, he knows when you're getting too loose, too reckless.

He shifts in his seat, trying to breathe through it. But its fucking impossible. Tara, grabbing onto his arm, snapping him back to the table "You okay?" He gives a sharp nod, but his eyes don't move off of you.

Chibs and Tig exchange a look, both of them knowing exactly what's about to unfold. They barely have time to react, before either of them try to steady him, he's already on his feet. He looks at Tara, "I’m sorry" he breathes out, the words cold but he doesn't care.

He's done pretending, that 'sorry' means its the end of whatever the fuck they had going on since she's been back. Tara blinks, she’s caught off guard by his bluntness. She cant read him right now, and he doesn't give her any time to try.

He yanks the guy back so fast his drink spills across the table, the glass smashing against the floor. You don’t even feel bad, because your petty plan has worked perfectly.

The room falls into a heavy silence, all eyes now on Jax. Tig and Chibs, already on standby in case shit gets out of hand. But the guy doesn’t even try to fight back. One look at Jax and he’s already backing away, his hands raised in surrender.

You scoff, shaking your head “are you foreal?”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even hesitate.

His hand wraps around your upper arm, fingers sinking into your flesh, hard enough to leave marks.

“Get the fuck up” he orders, his voice dangerous.

And that’s exactly what you do.

You let him drag you through the clubhouse, past the staring faces, stepping over the innocent guy who you sucked into your petty little game.

As you pass Tara, you flash her the bitchiest smile you can manage. Loving the way her face tightens, before Jax pulls you out into the cool night air.

She, doesn't even need to think about it, she knows exactly what's going on. Slowly, she picks her bag up from the floor, her hands trembling. She doesn't say a word, just straightens her back like she's maintaining control. But it’s all an act, she knows she's lost him.

Chibs shakes his head, he knows how this is going to end, and its only a matter of time before everything blows up. Tig on the other hand, sits there, grinning like Cheshire cat. He’s always had a twisted love from drama, and this is only the beginning.

He pulls you toward the garage. Shoving open the heavy metal door and yanking you inside. The second the door slams shut behind you both, you know shits about to get real.

Jax is pacing like a caged animal, his movements sharp and erratic. His chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths. Sweat beads lined up in perfect formation along his brow and his hair a damp mess. He looks like a man about to lose his fucking mind.

Meanwhile, you're leaning comfy against the Chevy, which is due to be serviced tomorrow. Arms folded beneath your chest, the alcohol humming through your veins. You've seen Jax like this before, ready to throw hands, ready to tear through anything or anyone in his path. But being the one in his line of fire? its fucking delicious.

His fist slams into the side of the Snap-On toolbox, splitting his knuckles, the blood dripping to the ground.

"FUCK!" he shouts, not in pain but in fucking rage.

He shakes his hand, regaining his composure as he walks closer to you, his eyes full of frustration, and something else you recognise.

"Stop fucking playing with me" he seethes out, his voice thick with warning.

You tilt your head, that infuriating smile back on your face. "Or what?"

His jaw swings side to side, his anger just about contained, but you don't back down, you aint built like that.

"Wait, let me guess…" you taunt, cocking your hips further in his direction "…you don't want me no more, but no one else can have me, right?" your words leave your mouth strong and slow. "Well fuck that, I aint the one”

And that, was all it took.

Jax moves so fast you don't even see it coming. One second, you're testing his patience, the next, his hand is clamped round your throat.

His grip is a warning, a promise even. Anyone else might be scared, but you? you're aching for more, thighs clenched and your pulse racing.

You wanted to push him, to see how far he'd go, and fuck. You’ve got exactly what you wanted.

"You think I don't want you?" he's looking at you, fucking intensely. His grip tightening ever so slightly.

You raise your hands, gripping his. The blood from his knuckles a vibrant contrast against your dark skin. Your nails dig deep, leaving a new set of fresh marks on his flesh.

"YOU BEEN FUCKIN ACTIN LIKE IT! YOU RAN BACK TO THAT BITCH QUICK ENOUGH” Your voice trembles, barely holding your words together.

Jax releases your neck, shoving your hands off him equally as fast. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY Y/N? YOU WANT ME TO SAY SORRY?" His voice echoes through the garage.

You shake your head, the disbelief washing over you. "I don't want your sorry Jax" Your hand hovers where his grip just laced your skin. "I want the fuckin’ truth" you say softly, a desperate edge to your voice.

He knows exactly where you're going with this. This has never just been about sex, and you both knew that this moment was going to come sooner or later. He exhales harshly, his hands against his face like he's praying for some fucking patience.

"Tell me you don't have feelings for me" you whisper, your voice trembling but still powerful. "Tell me you don't love me the way I love you".

Fuck. You just drunkenly confessed you're in love with him. There's no turning back now. You've broken the rules first. The words are out, raw and real and your confession hangs in the air.

Silence.

For a moment, you see it in his eyes, the vulnerability, the fear and the truth he wont fucking say.

But then, just like that, its gone.

Anger rises over you again, you scream, shoving him and pounding your fists against his chest "TELL ME!" you're desperate to hear the words, to know you're not alone in this.

And then, he breaks.

"You want me to say it?" His voice comes out as a low growl, something almost wicked.

Then, he spins you around, your back now in line with his chest.

"Jax! what the fuc-" Your words are cut short. Too distracted by the rough tug of his hands, dragging your dress, his favourite dress, up your thighs and exposing your curves in his most favorite way.

He presses a heavy hand to the centre of your back, forcing you to arch against the hood of the car.

"You wanna hear me say it?" He repeats, his belt clinking as he fumbles to get it undone.

You're so fucking ready for him, you can't even get the words out, but the moan that escapes your lips tells him, its exactly what you want.

His fingers slide between your thighs, parting you, gliding between your wetness.

"You knew it was gonna end like this, didnt you? All fucking wet, begging for it. Thats why you've been pushing me so hard…ain’t that right darlin’" he leans his body weight over you now, his stubble pressed against your cheek.

You laugh under his force, because he's right. This is exactly what you wanted.

And that's what pushes him over the edge, because he knows it too.

He kicks your legs apart, lining himself up perfectly.

And then he's inside of you, burying himself back where he belongs with a slow, dominant thrust.

A broken moan rips from your throat as he fills you, stretching you so perfectly, you can't even breathe. He groans into your ear, gripping your hips so tight you know you'll still be wearing his fingerprints tomorrow.

"Fuck y/n" he's panting fast, dropping his forehead against your shoulder. "You feel so...fucking..." and then, he goes harder, throwing his head back in pure bliss.

The car rocks with every thrust beneath you, your palms flat against the cold metal hood, as he fucks you like he wants to ruin you.

His hands slide up your body, wrapping around your throat once again, tilting your head back so that he can kiss you. It’s deep and messy, just how you like it.

"You wanted the truth?" he breathes out, the impact of his thrusts getting harder. Another loud, elongated moan is your only response.

"I fucking love you" he mutters into your ear as your nails dig into the metal.

He reaches a hand underneath you, circling your clit, slow and deliberate drawing whimpers from your mouth. He knows exactly how you like it.

You lift one leg, draping it over the edge of the hood, giving Jax the freedom to adjust himself. His hands grip your thighs as he pulls you closer, shifting his angle and deepening the connection between the two of you.

"Fuck, this is gonna kill me" He laughs. The garage is too cramped, the car an awkward height for Jax's tallness and the hood is freezing against your back.

You sit up straight, the intensity as strong as ever, he slides his hands down your body, brushing against your skin. You're crashing into the metal shelves, knocking tools over in the process. The loud clanking sounds echo around the room but it doesn't stop either of you. It only adds to the chaos of the moment.

You guide him toward the corner of the garage, Jax kicks off his jeans and boxers in a fast move, his breath quickening, both of your eyes dark with hunger as he slides himself down against the wall. Without wasting another second, you hover above him, slowly sliding down onto his thick cock with a low, breathless moan. You're in control now, and he loves it.

You bury your face into his shoulder, muffling your moans. "Fuck! y/n" he groans, his hands digging into your ass cheeks as he tries to make you move faster.

His eyes burn with need as he watches you fuck yourself on him, rolling your hips in deliberate moves, your moans getting louder with each one. "I love you too" the words escape your lips, Jax's cock twitching in response.

Outside, Chibs, Juice and Tig are making their way to the garage, following after you both in the aftermath of the mayhem you had left behind. They stop for a moment, hearing things knocking around, but the absence of voices has them confused.

"You think they're fucking or fighting in there?" Tig laughs, squeezing Chibs’ shoulders from behind.

Chibs takes a long drag from his cigarette "Who the fuck knows...could be both".

And then they hear it.

The sound of you and Jax coming together, both of your moans filling the air like a perfect fucking harmony.

The desperate guttural sounds of pleasure echoing through the garage, and into the parking lot outside, making it impossible for anyone nearby to ignore. Your soaked walls flutter around his cock as you both hit your peak, your bodies trembling together.

The guys stop dead in their tracks, eyes wide as they all look around at each other in a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

"Yeah… they’re definitely fucking" Tig laughs, they spin on their heels avoiding the garage at all costs. They know exactly what's happening in there, and they sure as hell aren't about to interrupt.

Photos & gifs do not belong to me, just edited together.

If I had a £ for every time I wrote the word fuck or fucking in this story, I’d be fucking rich 💀

Again, please don’t take anything written as a stereotype/generalisation I’m writing from my own black heart lol 🖤

Thank you for your requests! Love a bit of jealous Jax. | Also, apologies for not adding in the old lady bit, I tried and it worked smoother ending it here, but I can always do a part two…

(Slowly getting through one request at a time, so please don’t think I’m ignoring or not doing them, just doing them in the order that they come in)

Jax Teller Masterlist

xoxo secretly samcro

#jax teller #jax!black reader #jax teller x black!reader #sons of anarchy #jax teller one shot #samcro #charlie hunnam #secretly samcro #soa #jax teller smut #jax teller imagine #jax teller x reader #jax x reader #charlie hunnam smut #charlie hunnam imagine #charlie hunnam fanfiction #black!reader

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megalony · 4 hours ago

Text

Undo What's Done

This is a new Emperor Geta imagine I had an idea for, I hope you will all like it.

Feedback is always appreciated.

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Summary: (Y/n) and Geta have always known they were betrothed to each other, and their love bound them too. When (Y/n) becomes pregnant before marriage, Geta asks his father to arrange their marriage sooner. But the Emperor is sadistic and puts (Y/n) and her unborn child in jeopardy.

(Set before the twins become Emperors)

I am hoping to make this into a little series.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"My lady."

A tender smile flushed (Y/n)'s features when Geta brought her hand to his lips. The kiss he placed there was soft and tender, almost like the brush of a petal against her skin, so light that (Y/n) almost thought she'd imagined the touch.

She liked the way his eyes seemed to darken when they dragged up and down her frame like he was drinking in every inch of her. He always seemed to look at her in the same way. Whenever they were permitted to be in each other's company like this, Geta always had that sense of longing in his eyes, he always seemed to have an underlying desire hidden away in those eyes that only came out when he was in (Y/n)'s company.

He didn't seem to want to release her hand. His thumb stroked over the back of her fingers and his head inclined to one side as he straightened up in front of her.

Geta allowed his eyes to divert towards the maid stood a good few feet away from them on the path. It wasn't the same maid who usually accompanied them when they were permitted to meet.

Usually (Y/n) had a stout, stern governess who hovered so close she became a shadow, an omen looming over (Y/n), warding off anyone who dared look at her. She always glared at Geta as if he was somehow improper or unruly or as if she didn't know who he was. He didn't like her. He could barely talk to (Y/n) when the governess was lingering so close by.

This new maid seemed to understand the basic rules of ettiquette. She didn't hover too close to intrude on their conversation, she didn't want to walk beside them as if she were one of them or had their status. She was lingering in the background, walking behind them to give the sense of propriety that was required, but nothing more.

"Shall we?"

(Y/n) nodded, trying to bite back her eagerness as she looped her hand through Geta's elbow and let him lead the way.

She didn't have to turn her head to know her maid was following dutifully behind them, this time at a distance rather than what her usual governess would do.

It would be improper if (Y/n) and Geta were allowed to meet alone without a chaperone. Despite Caracalla being here for this visit and now walking alongside his twin, he wasn't classed as a chaperone because he was their age, and he was a boy. (Y/n) was the daughter of a Senate, she couldn't be alone with any boy or man, no matter who they were, she had to be escorted and chaperoned to ensure nothing untoward happened.

"How have you both been?" (Y/n) jangled the bracelet on her wrist and moved her hand to rest on Geta's forearm.

Her eyes danced between him and his brother stood on his other side, watching the twins express matching smiles and share a look before they glanced back to her. It wasn't often that (Y/n) got to be in Caracalla's presence too, unless they were all at a ceremony or with all the Senates.

When (Y/n) and Geta met, they only had a chaperone. It was nice to be around both Princes for a change.

"We've been training."

"You've been training, I don't find it very enticing." Caracalla corrected while his head lolled from left to right and he began tenderly plucking the petals from the flower in his hand.

He didn't like training, it was too controlling and strict. When he held a sword, he liked to wield it however he chose and plan an attack in his own way rather than following some old crone's orders. And he didn't like it when Geta was instantly much better at something than him. Neither of them had paid much attention to their studies unless it was of countries and war, and they were well read, but they didn't spend lots of time reading.

Their interests lay outside of books and sword training in the great hall.

"And you?"

"Mother has me brushing up on my Latin." (Y/n) didn't mind her studies, and she loved reading, one of the things that differed between her and Geta.

She leaned her head on Geta's shoulder as they continued walking and a flowing conversation enraptured around the three of them. These were the moments (Y/n) longed for. In between studies and her parents hosting dinners and parties, there wasn't a lot that (Y/n) found her own sense of pleasure in and she didn't have a lot to look forward to.

But these meetings with Geta, the time she got to spend with him, whether that be over lunch or going for walks or simply wandering the palace when she was permitted to visit, these were what (Y/n) longed for. These were what got her through her studies and kept her going each day.

They were both waiting for the day they would be married.

It wasn't often that anyone betrothed to another found a genuine likeness and love for the person they were joined to.

(Y/n) and Geta had been betrothed since they were children. At first, it hadn't been decided which Prince (Y/n) would be joined with. Not until the twins were nine and it was decided that she would be suited with Geta.

Since that age, they had seen each other at dinners, they went out on horse rides together and met when (Y/n) was brought along to the palace, since her father was a Senate.

They had found themselves falling for each other and (Y/n) couldn't have been more relieved that the person she was to spend her life with was someone she loved. There was nothing worse in her mind than marrying a man she didn't love. It posed the risk of a dull or sorrowful life and (Y/n) absolutely dreaded the thought of being in a loveless marriage and finding love with another who she would never be fated to be with.

She knew she was lucky, far luckier than most of the people in Rome and those who were in her position. Women were married to the best suitor and simply told to go along with it. She knew her own parents weren't in love, they had grown accustomed together and got along, but it wasn't love. It wasn't what (Y/n) and Geta had and they weren't even married yet.

"This way."

(Y/n) glanced her head to look behind her when Geta suddenly tugged on her wrist and pulled her a few feet back until they were safely hidden behind a hedge.

Somewhere along the way, Caracalla became distracted and was chittering away to himself as he admired some of the statues in the garden. And (Y/n) noticed her maid had taken a seat on the marble bench along the path. She too seemed to be lost in her mind as she began to read the book she had brought along with her.

Clearly the maid hadn't been briefed on keeping (Y/n) within her sights at all times. But she must know that nothing untoward would happen, or she presumed nothing would if she was within close range. She didn't want to babysit (Y/n) when she wasn't a little girl needing protection and guidance. And the maid was far too meek to dare correct either of the Princes if she thought they were doing something wrong or childlike.

When Geta took a few more steps back, (Y/n) felt her heart jumping into her throat as he led her towards the clearing near the pond. They were well and truly out of sight now. They were hidden from both her maid and his twin, both of whom hadn't seemed to notice or care about their absence.

For the first time, possibly since they had known one another, they were truly alone. Truly allowed to talk and be close and smile and share words that no one else was permitted to hear.

(Y/n) could feel her heart beating out of her chest when Geta sank down to sit on the grass and she found herself doing the same. Sitting so close to him made her stomach flip. Being this close, with their thighs touching and their arms meshed together and Geta's hand now entwined with hers with no one to glare or observe, it was bliss.

"I heard father talking to the Senates, I think he wants the wedding to proceed soon."

Geta had tried not to get his hopes up when he heard his father talking in a meeting, but he knew what had been said. He knew his father's health was starting to fail, and he wanted to see at least one of his son's get married and secured so when they took the throne, there would be no quarrell about their succession. It would make Geta's stance and power higher if he was married, especially to the Senate's daughter.

His heart had jumped into his throat when he heard his father talking about the wedding.

He wondered if his father would try and find a bride for Caracalla too, but if one of the twins had a bride then there would be no rush to find one for Caracalla. He seemed happier being solitude with the women their father brought to the palace for them.

"I'm glad to hear it." (Y/n) couldn't bite back the smile that spread across her lips at hearing such news. She knew her mother was eager for the betrothal, she had been so happy when (Y/n)'s father came home and announced their daughter would be a future Empress. There was no higher honour (Y/n) could have or that she could bestow upon her family and rise them to the top of Rome like this.

But it wasn't about status or security for (Y/n). If she were worried about marriage then that would be a comfort, but she was simply eager to be with Geta. Be with the person her heart wanted, the person who loved her back.

The conversation flowed easily between them and (Y/n) found herself relishing in the sound of Geta's laugh. It wasn't often that she heard him laugh, and to be the only person within earshot to hear such a melodic noise made (Y/n)'s smile brighten.

She knew what a ruthless man the Emperor could be. She knew he had often beat the twins into submission, whether to get them to listen or to behave or simply because he was in a drunken rage. She knew it made their lives hard, always walking on eggshells and wanting to rebel against their father but not being able to.

So to see Geta so relaxed and happy and carefree like this, it was a lovely sight.

(Y/n) cast her head over her shoulder to see whether the maid or Caracalla were within sight yet. Neither of them were. As much as (Y/n) loved being alone with Geta, she felt like they were on borrowed time. She didn't know whether the maid would care or if she would brush this off and think it was okay. Her governess would of thrown a fit and raged at (Y/n) for being promiscous; she probably would have said (Y/n) was a tart for being alone with a man, especially the one she was engaged to.

But all the worries and panic surging through her veins fizzled out the moment a soft hand pressed beneath her chin and tilted her head to the left.

(Y/n)'s smile morphed into something resembling shock when Geta's lips planted upon hers.

She wanted to push him away. She wanted to scold him and tell him that acting like this wasn't proper, that they were pushing boundaries by holding hands every time they met and a kiss was far too promiscous. But the touch was invigorating.

The softness of his lips and the eagerness behind his touch and the feeling of his hand cupping her cheek made (Y/n) want to melt on the spot.

It didn't matter that their teeth clashed and (Y/n) was sure that she had a cut to her upper lip when both of them leaned in and pressed a bit too eagerly into the kiss. All that mattered was savouring this feeling and dragging it out into something more, into a moment that couldn't be ruined by anything.

Stars twinkled in front of (Y/n)'s eyes when they finally parted for air and she let her temple rest against Geta's. She could see those deep brown eyes swirling like batter mix and his pupils expanded until they were almost eclipsing what was left of his iris's.

Her hands fell to his shoulders, brushing her fingers across the dip at his collarbone and the base of his neck as their noses pressed together and she watched a breathless smile take over Geta's expression.

"That's better," Geta's words were spoken against (Y/n)'s plump lips and she seemed to inhale each word while his eyes searched hers.

He knew it was a risk to kiss her when it was against social cues and he didn't want (Y/n) to think he presumed her to be anything like the women who frequented the palace. But she was the one he wanted, she was the one he thought about in the dead of night. And what harm could there be in kissing her when their wedding seemed to be imminent?

"You are very forward, you know. And we have no chaperone." (Y/n) tried to look behind her both to prove her point and to ensure that neither her maid or his twin had seen them. But she couldn't move her head far with Geta's hand cupping the side of her face.

"I can't help it, I seized my chance. I pray the wedding is soon, then there won't be any need for a chaperone." The displeasure was clear in Geta's eyes. He didn't like having to be watched and assessed like they were still little children or absconding fools.

If he were Emperor already then he would have set the plans in motion for their wedding by now. But when they were married, none of this propriety would be necessary and no one would be able to judge their relationship and their eagerness to be around one another.

And when Geta and his brother were finally on the throne, out of the shadows cast by their brute of a father, things would indeed be much better. Geta wanted to have (Y/n) close, to be wed and have her by his side at all times. But that meant having her at the palace, where she would be around his father. He didn't want his father to take out his anger on her or be crude to her.

Up to now, the Emperor had been nothing but curteous, he could do nothing else when being improper would risk the betrothal if he displeased (Y/n) or her father. But once they were married, Geta would keep (Y/n) as far out of the way of his father as possible. He and Caracalla only spent time in their father's company when he wanted to talk matters of state or teach them something.

His drunken rages weren't often taken out on the twins anymore, but Geta still didn't want (Y/n) around him.

(Y/n)'s hands moved from Geta's shoulders to cradle either side of his neck and her thumbs began to trace the edges of his jaw as she took a deep breath and closed the gap between them.

She knew she shouldn't. (Y/n) knew kissing Geta was going against the rules that had been instilled in both of them since they were little. She knew doing this now would lead to more, that this would push them to catch any opportune moment together in the future. (Y/n) knew that this broke the boundaries and every other meeting they had, they would want to do this and more, and it wasn't a good habit to allow.

But she couldn't help herself. Not when Geta was all she could think about, all she wanted, and he was right here with no one to stop them or tell them it was wrong.

And when she heard Geta mumbling "So beautiful," against her lips, it made her mind go fuzzy and sent her heart into a frenzy.

This is what it would be like when they were married. No one would watch them or chaperone them when they were bound together. They would be free to kiss and link arms and take walks or be left alone in a room together and no one would call them improper or look down on them or think they were being risqué.

And maybe in a few short months, that would be their reality. Their wedding was set in stone, and even though a date hadn't been picked yet, clearly the Emperor was thinking about deciding such a date. Their parents had been waiting for the right time, as it was up to them when the wedding would proceed. Hopefully that time would be soon.

"We- we should- we should get going." (Y/n) could barely pant each word against Geta's lips when he leaned in further and seemed to swallow her words without taking them in.

Surely her maid would notice if they were gone too long? And they weren't allocated much time to spend together today, they would have to be back inside the palace soon for (Y/n) to leave with her parents. As much as they both wanted to stay here, it wasn't practical; they didn't have long.

"Soon."

"Geta-"

"Stay here with me a while longer, please?"

There was very little willpower within (Y/n) to argue and with Geta's chest leaning into hers until he was almost laying her down on the grass, she couldn't find it in herself to disagree. Not when his touch was heavenly and there was no one ruining the moment or telling them to stop like normal. Fate was giving them a chance to be together, to be in their own company. This was too good of a moment to ruin just yet.

Geta prayed his father would set a date or it was going to physically tear him apart not to be this close to (Y/n) every day. Princes had been married much younger than Geta was now. The renounced princess Lucilla had been wed and bore her child at fourteen.

They were meant to be together, both in fate and in writing, their futures were entwined.

And he didn't want this moment to end; what could go wrong?

***

Uncertainty and sheer unbridled panic dwelled within Geta's gut as he entered the study he rarely passed these days.

His sweating palms clenched into fists to try and compose himself and stop himself from turning around or melting into a concerned puddle on the marbled floor. It wasn't like him to panic. Not anymore. Not since he had been little.

Panic didn't come into things when Geta had spent the last decade shielding himself and his twin from their father's wrath. Panic didn't seem relevant after the beatings and the arguments and all the shouting he had endured during his childhood. Even the death of their mother hadn't made him panic like it should have as she would no longer be there to shield the twins from their father's drunken tyrany.

But in this moment, Geta felt more panic than he had ever felt before and he knew it was because he had no way of knowing how his father would react and what he would say. Or do.

If his father had done what he should have done in the first place then Geta wouldn't be feeling this overwhelming sense of anxiety. If things had gone smoothly and according to plan then this wouldn't be a problem.

He tried to hold his head high and straighten out his shoulders when he walked into the study and closed the door behind him. At least there were no guards in here, he could have a private talk with his father without any staff listening in or watching eagerly like they normally did.

"What do you want?"

There was a sense of dismissal in the Emperor's voice as if Geta was coming to him to ask for a sweet or to have his father's attention like he was a child or a peasant off the street. He and Caracalla had grown up never wanting their father's approval or attention and Geta certainly wouldn't start now. This was a business talk, nothing more, nothing less.

Geta did his best to steel himself and his expression, even though his father hadn't bothered to turn around to face him. He knew it had to be one of his sons, no one else walked in unannounced or got away with walking in and staying silent and so presuming.

"To talk to you, about when you plan to set a date for when I marry Lady (Y/n)." It was so hard to get his words out in the right order without being too presumptuous or coming across as rude. Geta knew better than most that if his father so much as thought he was being rude then he would become enraged and very uncooperative.

His father finally turned around to face him and Geta wasn't sure what to make of the amused expression on the Emperor's face. He had one hand leant on his desk so he was slouched back at an angle and one brow was arched up as he looked over at his son.

"Why the sudden rush, boy?" That tone of voice made it hard for Geta not to show his distain.

It irked him to no end that their father rarely used the twins names. He used cast off names or jibes to refer to them and Geta had never been sure why. They were the boys the Emperor had longed for, twin boys to rule the Empire he was building, and yet he never referred to them with an ounce of kindness in his voice or a smile on their face.

Their mother had been the one to use their names but even then it was hard to remember a time when she had been affectionate. She never did anything when their father used to raise a hand to them, so it hadn't been hard on either Geta or Caracalla when their mother died.

"We want to be married." Being nocholant wasn't doing Geta any favours, he could see it in the way his father's shoulders slouched and how he huffed.

Usually if the twins acted as if something wasn't a bother to them or they weren't interested, their father didn't question it. They had learnt to hide from him what they wanted and desired or he taunted them and tried to take it from them like life was a game and he wanted to win. At all costs.

"And you will, when the time is right." That seemed to be an end to the conversation as the Emperor looked down at the pages he had scattered about on his desk.

"The time is now."

Geta began to spin the golden ring around his index finger in a manner to calm himself down and keep his composure.

They had waited long enough. Geta had expected to be married by now, he expected to have a wife and be his own person and gain more respect and freedom that came with marriage. He didn't want to keep waiting around like this as it was torture, and it was taking too long.

"Why? You think being married will put you ahead of your brother for the throne? That's a dirty tactic." The Emperor clicked his tongue, although his smirk was evident.

That was a nasty way of gaining what he wanted, but the Emperor would admit he respected his son more if that was his game. If he thought that being the twin who was married or who had children would put him higher in line for the throne, then that was one way to go. The people of Rome would be more inclined to have Geta on the throne if he brought stability and heirs.

It had never formally been discussed which son would take the throne. On technicality, Geta was elder as he was born first, but to the rest of Rome, the Emperors shared the same birthday so they shared the same birth right.

It wasn't often that twins thrived, usually one thrived and the other, a weakling, would perish. Having them both survive into adulthood and gain strength and minds of their own was a surprise to the Emperor and to Rome and it meant choosing one to be a successor.

"We would rule equally, my marriage has nothing to do with that-"

Frustration dwelled within Geta as he tilted his head down and closed his eyes, trying his best to control his emotions that were going to get the better of him at any moment.

Why could his father, for once, not just agree with him and do the right thing? Couldn't he set a date- preferably soon and let this be an end to the matter. He had pledged Geta to marry (Y/n) and so far he had done nothing to show that he meant this intention and was going to hold up on the agreement. Geta was starting to lose faith and it would do his father no good to lose the faith of (Y/n)'s father and the rest of the Senates if he didn't follow through with this marriage sooner or later.

"Then why so eager all of a sudden?"

"(Y/n) is with child. If we're not married, the child won't be legitimate."

Something tore at Geta's heart when he watched his father's smirk turn into a sinister grin.

He knew telling the truth wouldn't incline his father to agree, but he prayed his father might just go along with this. It was a predicament after all and if his father didn't agree, he would cause an uproar.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

But their families had let them meet more often now that their studies were over and Geta and Caracalla were focusing more on how to rule than their tutoring. And those small moments they stole together turned into afternoons when (Y/n)'s maid and even Geta's guards simply daudled and twiddled their thumbs or sat waiting while they went into the gardens or the temple in the palace grounds.

Those moments had led to something more and caution had been lost. Now they were stuck.

On their last meeting (Y/n) had wept as she told Geta she knew she was pregnant. She couldn't confide in her mother, her maids would tell both her parents and her father would become outraged if he knew. The only silver lining was they were already betrothed. (Y/n) was spared the insult of being called a stupid girl when she had lain with the man she was engaged to.

And if they got married now, then there would be no outrage or suspicion or gossip. They would be married and announce the pregnancy and no problems would arise. (Y/n) could have the baby and Geta would have an heir. But he couldn't abide by the thought of his child being deemed illegitimate simply because his father delayed on the wedding.

That couldn't happen.

A deep sigh left the Emperor's lips as he turned to fully face his son. One leg crossed over the other and he leant his hips back against the desk while his arms crossed over his chest. He seemed to delight in the way Geta bristled and held himself taller with his pointed chin jutting out and his lips curled into a snarl as if he was rearing for battle.

"You surprise me. Were there not enough whores to satisfy you?" One hand waved at his side to refer to the many women who resided in the palace on the sole basis of being ready to tend to both Prince's every need.

Geta refused to answer such a question. He could feel the fury rising within him at the indignation that his father was implying (Y/n) was one of those women too. She wasn't. She wasn't like the whores and concubines the Emperor brought to the palace. (Y/n) wasn't like that and Geta hated how his father could smile and so easily presume and speak such a thing.

"You do realise that she should be pure if you are to be wed. A future Empress should be above reproach and pure, which now, she isn't. Thanks to you… presumably." The Emperor shrugged his shoulders and slowly shook his head as if he were somehow disappointed.

But Geta couldn't understand his words or his logic. How could his father think or imply she wasn't pure when the whole point of that was to give herself to Geta, which she had done. The only difference was it had happened before marriage, not after.

(Y/n) was above all reproach, she was reagal and pure and without any fault or doubt about her. She was perfect in every way and everyone who knew or even looked at her could see that. No one would know what had happened if they were married now, as soon as possible.

"She is to be married to me, what does it matter? She was pure and if we are married no one will know."

"This isn't how a lady of her status should act, let alone someone marrying a future Emperor. I might have to rethink this betrothal."

A deep rumbling could be heard within Geta's chest as his eyes went wide with fury that raged a burning fire like a volcano within him. That wasn't allowed. How could he say such a thing? How could he imply that?

His hands clenched into tight fists at his sides until his milky white skin almost looked grey and any trace of colour went straight to his face that was turning a deep shade of blood red. His knuckles threatened to pop out of place and his nails began to create indents into his palms as he shook in a volatile manner.

Geta knew without a doubt that if this was anyone else, they wouldn't act this way. Any other Emperor would sigh, they would say Geta had let himself down and should have known better, but they would agree. They would agree this was the right thing and arrange the wedding.

Why was it so bad when they would have been married by now if the Emperor had already made an effort to start on the arrangements. It would all have been over and done with by now, but the Emperor had busied himself with other matters and Geta had succumbed to (Y/n)'s grace and beauty. It was his fault, he would take all the blame for this but he wanted to rectify this, if only his father would agree and take heed.

"Don't do this!" Geta's voice boomed throughout the study and the threat weighed heavy until his father's amusement faded.

"Calm down boy, she's just a-"

"I'll say I forced her if you don't allow this marriage to go ahead. You'll ruin everything, our lives, her reputation. My child. You can't- I won't let you do this!"

If it came to it, Geta would make it well known that he had done wrong. He would let it be known that he forced himself on (Y/n) if his father tried to make her look to be anything less than a lady of honour. Geta would take all the blame and he would make sure everyone knew that his father wasn't allowing the marriage.

He couldn't let his father do this. There would be no repercussions for Geta. This thing happened all the time, the Emperor himself had been with countless women and had illegitimate children in Rome who he didn't know nor care for.

But this was (Y/n). A lady of high honour and reputation, the daughter of a Senate who was betrothed to one of the Princes. This would be a great shock if people found out and if the engagement was broken, (Y/n)'s life would be ruined. Her father would cast her aside, she could bring no higher honour than marrying a Prince and if that didn't happen because she and Geta got ahead of themselves then her father would shun her.

She would be cast aside with a child to support and no one of any status would want to marry her.

Her life would be over. Geta couldn't allow that all because he let himself get carried away and urged her to do the same.

He couldn't let that happen because his father was a vindictive soul who didn't deserve to be on the throne. If he had his way the Gods would strike his father down on that very spot right this minute, then he and Caracalla would rule and everything would be set right again.

"Remind me stulte, who is the Emperor? Speak out of line again and you know what will happen." The way the Emperor's voice deepened and his hand clenched into a fist made Geta inwardly shudder.

Clenched fists were a sign of an impending slap or punch and although Geta had always tried to protect Caracalla, he had never fought back against his father. A child could not win a fight against a man.

Geta's lips curled into a deep snarl and he tried to hold his father's gaze, despite the reeling emotions within him. Geta hadn't paid much attention to his schooling, but he had remembered a little of the Latin which he had learnt, so he knew his father had referred to him as an idiot. It was a new phrase Geta wasn't used to being called, but he was used to far more spiteful and degrading terms than that.

He just wanted to do the right thing. He wanted to be married to the woman he loved, the one he was bound to, and secure her and their child. Was that such a bad thing?

But Geta could see in his father's wavering expression that he was done with this conversation. He wasn't going to talk about it any further, at least not today. But each passing day that ticked by made things worse for Geta and so much worse for (Y/n).

He watched with growing distain and hatred in his eyes as his father waved a hand to dismiss him and turned to face his desk again while he spoke over his shoulder. "I'll think on it and decide what to do for the best. Leave this with me, boy."

That didn't bode well for Geta, he could feel it in his bones.

***

"Geta… I'm afraid."

(Y/n) wrung her hands out in front of her and sank her teeth down into her lower lip to try and control the storm raging within her. It was turning her stomach in loops and knots that couldn't be undone and her chest was alive with nerves like thousands of birds trapped within her ribcage, fighting to break free.

This wasn't going to work, she could just feel it. No matter how much they wished for this to happen and work out, something told (Y/n) that it wasn't going to.

She couldn't stop from tapping her feet against the stone floor and the rings on her fingers were clashing together and straining as her numb fingers felt like they were going to snap from how much she was fiddling with them.

"This will work. They can't refuse, all will be well. Do you trust me?" Geta reached out to tangle his hand with (Y/n)'s, stopping her from panicking so much when he entwined their fingers together.

He squeezed her hand tight and began smoothing his thumb over the back of her hand.

And when he looked down at her, he found the smallest etching of a smile on her face as she nodded to his question. "Yes."

Of course she trusted him. (Y/n) would admit that she had been utterly panicked and overwrought when she realised she was pregnant. A dreaded part of her thought that this wouldn't be glad news for Geta, but he had proved wrong. (Y/n) trusted him enough to tell him and he assured her he would do everything within his power to ensure their wedding took place.

It was the Emperor who was disagreeing with them. He seemed to find it entertaining. He hadn't mentioned anything to (Y/n)'s father, praise the Gods, but he was simply ignoring and blanking Geta on every occasion when Geta brought up the marriage.

'I haven't decided yet.'

'This is something that requires careful consideration.'

Those were the main variations Geta seemed to be getting from his father and he had given up. He wouldn't squirm and wriggle under his father's metaphorical foot any longer. He was going to go ahead with this marriage whether his father made any arrangements or agreed or not.

When (Y/n) turned and cast a glance over her shoulder, her worried eyes locked on her mother.

She was fiddling with the belt around her waist, pinning her dress in place against her figure. It wasn't often that (Y/n) ever saw her mother look nervous. Unhappy, angry, incontent, certainly, but nervous and furious like she currently was, this was something different.

(Y/n) didn't have a choice. She had to tell her mother because if they were doing this, then they needed witnesses and (Y/n) knew as much as her mother would be forever disappointed in her, she would at least try to help and rectify the situation. Not like her father. He would cast (Y/n) out the moment he heard the news.

"Let's proceed, shall we?" The brisk voice of Gaina's voice made (Y/n) shiver despite how she nodded along to her mother's words.

(Y/n) let Geta lead her into the chapel, with her mother and Caracalla following close behind.

They were going to get married.

There was no other way. If the Emperor wouldn't arrange the proper ceremony as he promised and should dictate, then Geta had to resort to desperate measures. He found a priest willing to perform the ceremony simply because he was afraid of the wrath Geta promised to impose on him. Geta might not be Emperor yet, but he was a Prince, he had the next highest authority and he could make this man's life not worth living.

And everyone in Rome knew that this marriage was planned and preconstrude, it was known to everyone. So this wasn't really going against the Emperor's rule or wishes when he himself had declared this betrothal.

"This is only what was planned for us, we aren't doing anything wrong. Once my father sees that, he will have to accept it. You will be my wife, and no one will dispute that. I promise."

Each word was murmured against the side of (Y/n)'s temple and she could feel the words soaking into her skin. His promise had an enchanting effect, making (Y/n) feel like a spell was being cast over her with a sense of magic flowing through her veins.

(Y/n) squeezed his hand and looped her free hand around his bicep, gluing herself into his side as if to ensure that they were forever bound to one another.

This wasn't how either of them thought or planned for their wedding day to proceed. They didn't think they would be in a small chapel a far ride from the Palace with only two people to be their witnesses. But somehow, this was better.

There were no spectators, no onlookers. No Senates murmuring their approval or bickering, no people fussing and trying to outdo and outlook everyone else. And there was no enraged Emperor breathing down their necks for everyone to be afraid of.

As long as Geta had his twin present, he didn't care about anyone else. And he could see his brother smiling out the corner of his eye. Caracalla's golden tooth glistened in the midday sun and the blue sash draped over one shoulder glistened like a sapphire. He had his hands clasped in front of him, his shoulders straight but his eyes set on his twin and future sister as if silently ensuring they were okay and everything was going to go according to plan. Their plan.

Geta let his eyes focus on the cream dress (Y/n) wore with golden tassels and silk and thread woven to make her look radiant, like a beam of light directly from the sun. There were flowers in her hair, something Geta hadn't seen before and the way she held herself and smiled made Geta feel unworthy.

This shouldn't be happening in this way, with such secrecy and deceit and unbridled panic. But this was what they had to do, and if this worked the way Geta hoped it would, then his father would see reason.

His father would hate the scandal of one of his sons getting married in a private ceremony with no announcements and no members of the council present. He would organise another wedding, a proper ceremony for pretenses and so all of Rome could know and rejoice.

That was what had to happen. There was no other way for the Emperor to save face after this marriage was officiated. Geta would embarrass him if he had to, but this wedding was a necessity.

***

"You've done it now, boy."

Shivers tore throughout (Y/n)'s body and she winced, coiling her arms towards her chest out of instinct. Her head aimed down and her teeth chomped down on the inside of her cheek when the Emperor's harsh words whipped through the air.

They had all been anticipating this, they knew what would happen when he found out, but somehow this was more frightening than anything (Y/n) had imagined. And she had come up with thousands of theories and examples and scenarios.

Her head angled to the left when she felt a careful hand curling around her elbow and her heart clenched when she saw the panic written across Caracalla's face. He wasn't even the one who would get into trouble for this and yet he was fretting. That was the reaction his father got out of the twins for just about anything they did, whether it was good or bad.

(Y/n) sidestepped until she was pressed into Caracalla's side and she let him loop his hand properly through her elbow as he tried to cast his eyes down to his feet. But he couldn't refrain from watching his twin. Geta had always been the more stubborn out of them both, he was always the fighter, the one willing to take any blow their father lashed out and he was always shielding Caracalla from his wrath.

Both of them looked ahead towards Geta, stood in front of his father like two opposing forces going to battle.

For once, Geta didn't quite look the young boy he truly was, nor did he look small in his father's presence. He looked bold, aged, mature. Or maybe that was simply how he came across to (Y/n).

"You wouldn't act or do the right thing, so I did." There was a nocholant tone to Geta's voice and the look in his tired eyes showed that he didn't want to fight or argue. He simply wanted his father to give in for once, and do the right thing.

But the Emperor scoffed as if he had been thoroughly insulted- which he hadn't as Geta could of said much worse to upset him- and he stepped closer until he and his son were almost nose to nose.

"Marrying one of your concubines is the right thing for a Prince, do explain."

"Do not forget who betrothed us for the last ten years, father. This was your doing, the arrangement was signed. What man, nay, Emperor goes back on his word?"

Vile poison spat from Geta's tongue as he pushed his palm against his father's chest to make him take a step back.

This had been prearranged. This had been laid out, carved into stone and told to the world. Everyone knew of this marriage arrangement, it was the Emperor who had been debating going back on his word when he knew the uproar that it would ensue if he did. He was the one telling Geta he wouldn't sanction the marriage and he didn't think (Y/n) was worthy now she had been 'tainted' by the one person she knew she was allowed to be with in the world.

Geta would admit he had done wrong by going behind his father's back, but he had been righting his mistake. Something his father clearly wouldn't do or admit to and that was a bad trait in a leader.

"I wouldn't of needed to if you'd of chosen one of the whores in the palace instead of bedding that one out of wedlock." The way the Emperor pointed a crooked finger towards (Y/n) had her coiling into Caracalla's side and gripping his arm so she didn't shed one tear or one morsel of emotion for him to pick on.

She could see her mother's stature bristling as she stood a few feet away with a look of indignation on her face. Gaina would never speak out of turn to the Emperor, she knew better, but it took a lot of self control to stand there and hear her daughter referred to in such a manner.

In her eyes, the Prince was just as much to blame for his frolicking actions as (Y/n). They had both gotten ahead of themselves and succumbed to lust and desire before marriage. If they waited until their marriage was arranged and done with, then there would be no problem.

But Gaina was relieved about how Geta tried to rectify things. God only knew that all Geta had to do was imply the child wasn't his and (Y/n)'s credibility would have been torn to ribbons. He could have turned his back on her and told his father he didn't want this marriage and that would be the end of (Y/n)'s life. But Geta had done the right thing, something Gaina wouldn't expect from a boy of his background and status.

Geta's hands clenched into fists at his sides while his skin bristled and he pointed his chin up towards his father.

"Enough! We're married now, as is proper and you can't undo what's done. This is what's right and what I want, punish me how you see fit but it is done. I won't see my child be cast out or a bastard because of you."

Panic ensued through everyone in the room and (Y/n) flinched at the tone of Geta's voice and the fury that boiled over in the Emperor's eyes. She couldn't help but move her free hand down to her stomach that her gowns weren't hiding very well anymore.

The Emperor had wasted precious time. Everyone in Rome would know by the haste in their marriage and when the baby had been born that the couple had acted untoward. It wouldn't take much to work out. But if the Emperor had simply agreed in the beginning and arranged a quick marriage, they might just have gotten away with it.

When Geta cast his head to look over his shoulder, he watched his twin slightly nod his head in agreement and the look in Caracalla's eyes showed he agreed and was fully supportive of his brother's words. And he noticed how his wife- such a strange notion to think of now- was refusing to look anywhere but at the floor.

She knew the Emperor wasn't going to agree, she had told Geta that she believed he would try anything he could to stop this because he was cruel and he liked to see his sons suffer. It was all a game to him, a game which Geta had bested him at.

"I think you forget who you're dealing with, little boy. The priests answer to me, and no lord or Senate, let alone a Prince, can be married without my distinct approval. Which you did not gain, I hasten to add. I can annul this marriage by sunrise, then we will see what becomes of this child."

Tears burned in the corners of (Y/n)'s eyes and she leaned into Caracalla, suddenly fearing her legs were going to give out on her.

He would really go that far. He would have their union annulled because he was vindictive and they didn't have him there to approve something which he himself had orchestrated. They already had his approval in way of writing and a gentleman's handshake with (Y/n)'s father from years previous. A bond which the Emperor was clearly willing to break.

If he did this it would sever connections within the Senate. Some would side with (Y/n)'s family and father, others would agree with the Emperor simply to save their own necks. Trust in the Emperor would be lost and the people of Rome would know and sense this. Trades would go down if people thought the Emperor was no longer a man of his word.

This union was planned and in writing, he couldn't throw the sanctity of that away and claim it was out of respect or self preservation when going against this marriage was what was going to ruin them all.

"If you try to annul this marriage then all of Rome will lose faith in their untrustworthy Emperor. You gave your word, you agreed in writing, I had all the approval I needed from you."

What more could Geta have done to rectify the situation? Why could his father not go along with this? Was he that bent on things being done by his word and command that he wouldn't allow this because Geta used his initiative?

Geta wished his father would fall to his demise. He wished him to die right here in this moment. When he and Caracalla took the throne, nonsense like this wouldn't happen. People would know where they stand, Geta would always follow through on his agreements and promises. And (Y/n) would never be treated in this way ever again.

If he knew he could get away with it, Geta would have murdered his father himself by now. But he didn't have the respect of the guards and the rest of Rome yet to commit such an act and still be placed on the throne.

"Do not test my patience, I'd be willing to let her be one of your favoured women, she would be taken care of. I wouldn't cast her out on the street or put her at the mercy of her own father. I presume he has no knowledge of this marriage either and that I will need to have words with him."

Terror clutched at Geta's heart when the clicking of heels caught his attention and he turned just in time to see (Y/n) flee the room.

She wouldn't stand and listen to insults like these any longer. Insults that were going to become a reality because the Emperor wasn't going to listen to them, that was clear.

Tears burned down her face and it became harder and harder to take a proper breath when her lungs began to seize up.

How dare he say such things. How dare the Emperor imply he would be doing (Y/n) a favour by letting her remain as one of Geta's whores here in the palace. Being one of those women would degrade (Y/n), she would never marry, never be loved or respected by her family or anyone else.

She would be a common concubine raising the Prince's child in the depths of the palace, watching as the Emperor forced Geta to yield to his demands and possibly marry someone else. (Y/n) couldn't live that life, she couldn't be a woman of the night, she would rather die than face such disregard and disrespect.

Her hands fisted in her dress, hiking it around her ankles so she could run without threat of being tripped up. She didn't know where she was aiming for. Her father was with the rest of the Senates somewhere in the palace, and she had a dreadful feeling that the Emperor was going to tell him the news. Today. She couldn't face him. She couldn't face anyone else.

She had it in mind to run home and collect her things, to pack up and vanish before her father had the chance to cast her out and tell her she had dishonoured her family and was no longer part of the (Y/l/n) family or name.

The dark part of her mind told her to find a knife or head to the kitchens and look for almonds and the rest of the ingredients to form cyanide. If this marriage was annulled, (Y/n) couldn't wait for the Emperor to be dethroned or to pass away and have the twins on the throne. She would be cast out by then, she would have an illegitimate child. Taking her own life would evade that scenario and the Emperor might just be kind and remorseful enough to make her death look natural.

The hand that curled around her wrist stopped her from becoming lost in her tragic thoughts and she would of screamed if she had any air left in her lungs. Her sandals skidded along the polished floor and her body jerked to the right as Geta reeled her towards him.

He let her fall into his chest and steady her hands on his shoulders and his hands frantically moved to cup her face, trying in vain to wipe away the tears that wouldn't stop falling.

"Love, it's alright I won't-"

"He will- he- he will annul our marriage," Tears continued to stream down (Y/n)'s face as she hiccupped through her words. "Once he tells my father, I- I'm done. Cast out, d-dishonoured. He will ruin me."

Geta couldn't be sure whether she was referring to her own father or his, but it didn't matter. Once her father knew, her world would shatter. He would oppose the Emperor's annulment but if it went through, he would cast (Y/n) aside. She would lose her home, her dowry, her family and her life. She would have nothing but the love of a Prince who couldn't be hers any longer and a child she wouldn't be able to protect or support.

Her trembling hands tightened around his shoulders and she tried to tilt her head down until Geta's hands squeezed her neck and prevented her from looking away from him. He cupped her face harder and pressed their temples together until their noses were squashed together and their breaths started to entwine.

"He can't annul what has been done, the church has sanctity. The marriage had witnesses and is consummated. Love I promise you that I won't let this happen. I'll announce it, I'll tell everyone, I'll find the priest and bring him here so he can't do anything. I will do what I have to so you and our child are safe."

Rage dripped from each and every word he spoke and (Y/n) could feel the fury boiling through him and into her bones. He was gripping her so tightly that she was starting to shake and the way he smashed his lips onto hers was like no other time he had kissed her before.

There was no fever, no childish smiles or a sense of longing or desire. There was no relief and peace and sanctity like yesterday when they were married. This time, there was desperation in the way Geta kissed her, like he couldn't control anything but their touch and he wanted to keep this for himself.

His lips overcame hers, his mouth consumed her and when she tried to part her lips to breathe Geta simply inhaled the air she consumed. He kissed her until her teeth hurt and her lips were tingling and her lungs were screaming as she gasped against his mouth.

Her knees threatened to give way and her hands moved from his shoulders to grip his wrists as she inclined her head and finally managed to part from Geta just enough to gain some air.

"You'll stay here with me, you won't leave my side." It sounded more like an order than a request and (Y/n) nodded along to each word.

Leaving wasn't safe, not when her father was going to find out and if he found her, that would open another universe of problems and arguments. Being around Geta was the only way (Y/n) could remain safe.

She leaned into him until her knees started to waver and Geta was the only thing holding her up and preventing her from collapsing to the floor. But she couldn't stop crying.

There was very little they could do against the Emperor who held all control here. He could do whatever he liked, he could ruin (Y/n)'s life and reputation and their love and he seemed thrilled at the prospect.

Geta could try all his might, he could tell all of Rome he was married, he could ensure the priest didn't allow their marriage to be annulled, but the Emperor could go to great lengths to get his own way.

What were they going to do?

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kayawolfhorse · 21 hours ago

Text

The sun sets molten across the server, brushing the horizon in strokes of fiery reds and sickly, lurid golds. Rivulets of light drip sluggishly between the boughs of the dark oaks around Grian and glint against the diamond blade held loose at his side—a mere precaution, in this space between one held breath and the next. The night is young enough to have not yet spawned its monsters, and evenings are an agreed-upon respite this early in the game.

Grian flexes his hand around the sword as he walks. As newly-crafted as it is, the leather grip is still stiff, and it cuts a hard crease into where his time ticks away between the green lines of his palm. The heart and the life lines, he vaguely recalls, working in tandem to cease the pulse at his wrist. Who had told him that? It doesn’t matter.

The din of the day has faded into a buzzing hum that reverberates across Grian’s nerves. His shoulders feel pinched within the confines of the jacket Joel had wrangled him into. The grass doesn’t sound quite right beneath his soles. There is a sense of wrongness that clings to the back of his neck.

“Fancy seeing you here!”

His blade is at Scar’s throat before Grian can register the movement. “Scar!” He lowers his arm and glares. He does not put the sword away. “You can’t do that to a man.”

Scar’s grin is far too crooked to be anything close to the sheepishness he tries to sell it as. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, meaning approximately none of it. “Beautiful day we’re having, isn’t it? Would you just feel that breeze! The air is ripe with opportunity, don’t you think?”

“Uh huh,” Grian says drily. “Were you following me?”

“It’s all coincidences, Grian, all coincidence,” Scar says with a wink. His tinted glasses are perched rather precariously on his face. Behind them, in such low light, his eyes look odd. “I just happened to be in the area! That sword is completely unnecessary, by the way.”

“Do you want something? Is that what this is?”

“Can’t a guy just visit with his favorite bread bridge boy?”

“Bad Boy,” Grian corrects, and immediately wonders why he bothers. “And anyway, I’m hardly on favorite grounds.”

“Oh, nonsense.” Scar waves him away, and his striped shirt—predominantly buttoned for once—ripples with it. “Joel’s definitely crossed off the potential list, we can rule him out. Jimmy and you are about even on the mischief meter, but between you and me, you wear those sunglasses better.”

Grian wrinkles his nose. “They weren’t my idea.”

“And yet here you are, wearing sunglasses after the sun’s gone down.”

“On my head.” Grian gestures at where they’re propped in his hair to emphasize his point. “You’re over here actually wearing yours. Why are they blue, anyway? That’s got to make the world look weird.”

“Oh, they do,” Scar agrees. He slides off his glasses and takes a moment to consider them before, without warning, turning them around and sticking them on Grian’s face.

Grian’s sputtering protest dies in his throat as Scar adjusts where the glasses lay behind his left ear, brushing the shell of it in the process. Scar’s skin is rough with callouses and his touch is gentle. Grian is suddenly, inexplicably warm.

Once satisfied with his work, Scar takes a step back and tilts his head. The blue tint of the glasses does color the world strangely, but every observation of it is taken from Grian’s peripheral; his field of vision seems to have narrowed to encompass Scar alone. Like this, his eyes appear sea-green, and it’s nicer than the near-fluorescent shade his current life gives him, but Grian can’t help but think of kinder worlds and the lovely, lively emerald they bring with them.

“Well?” Scar prompts.

After Grian’s remembered how to breathe, he huffs at Scar. “Now I’m wearing two pairs of stupid glasses—hey!”

Scar steals Grian’s sunglasses and slides them into his own hair, and it’s stupid, really, how well he pulls them off. He strikes a pose and asks, “How do I look?”

“Like an idiot,” Grian deadpans, but the quirk of his lip betrays the straight face he’s trying to keep. This is the problem with Scar: no matter what may lie between them, regardless of the sides they stand on, it never takes Scar long to slip between the barbs of Grian’s scowl and soften the points into a smile.

Scar is entirely too aware of such an issue for Grian’s personal liking, if how his eyes crinkle at the corners is anything to go by. “A matching pair we make, then!”

“Hey, now, don’t go lumping me into this.” Grian’s sure the blue glasses look silly on him without the context of the rest of Scar’s get-up.

From a nearby tree, a spider leaps towards them with its mandibles splayed. Grian strikes it down in two hits; after it disappears, he turns to raise an eyebrow at Scar.

“Maybe the sword had some use,” Scar concedes, “but not against me!”

“We’re both green; I wouldn’t have killed you anyway,” Grian remarks.

“Of course, of course, that comes later.” Scar is easily wry and comfortably teasing.

“Of course.” Grian smirks. The night is dark. The faint, flickering light of a nearby torch illuminates Scar’s lingering smile—a small, private thing, accompanied by a slight pitch in his brow. Grian’s voice comes out lower than he means it to as he says, “Best be getting back, yeah? You wouldn’t want to lose time to some old skeleton.”

“Bedtime waits for no man.” Scar nods. “Especially if you’re teamed with Bdubs.”

Grian laughs. His fingers twitch at his side for something he can’t name but feels twisting in his chest. “Goodnight, Scar.”

“Goodnight, Grian!” With one last flash of his teeth, Scar’s unprotected back recedes further into the forest as he heads for the Clockers’ base. A beat passes, then another, as Grian’s feet remain rooted in place.

Nearby rattling shakes him of his stupor. Sighing, Grian passes a hand over his face as he starts in the direction of the bridge. Belatedly, he realizes he’s still wearing Scar’s glasses.

He folds them carefully into his pocket before he reaches the Bread Bridge. The world’s strangeness no longer has the justification of a filtered view. The stars don’t look quite right above him.

Before beginning the climb to the half-burnt mansion’s roof, Grian lightly touches the glasses’ translucent rim. He does not think about too-green eyes and too-indulgent smiles. He does not think about blood that always stains the same.

He’ll give the glasses back tomorrow.

#shrugs #i do enjoy the idea of the liml map just being kind of off-putting in a way you can’t put an entire finger on #it’s liminal it’s too saturated it’s entirely alien every part of it reminds you of moments passed #the people are the same. they bleed as they always have #limited life smp #grian #goodtimeswithscar #desert duo #scarian #trafficshipping #trafficfic #my writing

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dailyadventureprompts · 2 days ago

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Hi there! I hope your having a wonderful day!

So i had a question, or more acuratly wanted to ask for some advice. Ive more or less recently started dming, mostly in the form of one-shots for my main group. And ive stumbled across the following issue: while i love the lore building and describing and rp-ing i really struggle with combat. I tend to get overwhelmed and forget about effects and skills, and struggle with coming up with 'battle tactics' (which is what our campaign dm suggested) or make it way to easy because i worry about the players being dissappointed by 'loosing'(eventhough they've mentiones they would love harder combat and would even be okay with a tpk if it was earned)

So do you happen to have any suggestions or ideas on how to practice running and organizing combat and/or scalling or ways to not get so overwhelmed?

(Im sorry if this isnt quite what you do, i just didnt really know who else to ask)

This is ABSOLUTELY what I do friend, every part of the dungeon mastering experience is worth talking about because that's how we improve.

If you're having trouble learning your way around combat you're more than justified: it's a whole second game, and strategic skirmish tactics requires a very different skillset compared to the collabrative storytelling rules you're just now getting a handle on.

First, lets talk about what combat in d&d is even FOR: Fights in d&d are really no different than any other challenge, they're a hurdle you as a DM employ to introduce drama to a narrative and engage your players, not all that different from a locked door or an obstinate NPC that needs to be convinced. The difference is that when you call initiative, you are shining a spotlight on the moment to moment decisions your party makes when time is limited and greatly raising the stakes: Seconds matter in combat, quick thinking matters, mistakes matter.

To use a simple example, recently I ran a road encounter where the party came across a gnomish merchant who's wagon had been attacked by predatory flightless birds. The question wasn't "can the party defeat the birds", I knew they could, the question was " Can the party defeat the birds before they eat this poor gnome who will be a friend/ally to them later"

The reason you're having problem with tactics and being worried about killing your party is that you're thinking about combat as its own isolated thing rather than a dramatic beat as part of a larger story. Most fights in D&D are NOT about attacking the party directly: Instead the baddies have something they want to accomplish (Take, devour, defend, slay) and it's a question of whether the heroes can stop them before they accomplish their mission. Combat only takes 2-4 rounds generally, which is a limited time for your players to put their thumbs on the scale and try to alter the course of events. Tactics are emergent out of goals, so think about what your minions would want to happen and how they would've gone about achieving it before the party comes by to wreckingball through their carefully laid plans.

Another example: An enemy force is attacking a castle the party are guests at, looking to secure hostages in preparation for a coup attempt by a rival noble. While the villains' over all job is to capture pieces, the initial wave of badguys are primarily concerned with slowing the party down to prevent them from interfering with the other attackers around the castle, meaning they'll fight defensively, potshots from cover and barring exits.

When you refocus the badguys' goals away from killing the players and towards things that push the plot in a particular direction (especially one the party would generally like to stop) you’ll have a clearer idea of what the enemies want to be doing, which not only helps you decide how they act, but also pick what enemies go into a fight.

If you're feeling totally overwhelmed another option would be to switch to a game system that focuses less on crunchy combat. It's drastic but everyone has game systems that fit better with their particular DMing style, especially in the early days when you're first developing. I'd highly recommend Forged in the Dark, or Powered by the Apocalypse systems, as they still have the punchy action-forward storytelling of d&d without having to manage much on the mechanics side.

#dm advice #dm tips #combat #dapper digresses #dm tip #dungeons and dragons #D&d #dnd #pathfinder #prompt postage

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forlorn-plushie · 3 days ago

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Styles of Prep - Games that Care

Yet another of the lies that Wizards of the Coast has sold TTRPG players, which they've bought into wholeheartedly, is that there are different styles of preparation, and all are valid for every game (because both are valid for D&D, and D&D is right for every game, of course.)

I'm gonna go over a couple games I've run, and explain that actually they all care about the type and level of preparation the GM does.

Indie games are often honest and open about what they want. To take a high-prep example, I recently ran Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy. It is not subtle! In the narrator section, right after the introduction, it says "We cannot advise you strongly enough to use prewritten adventure modules". It's not just there - throughout the rules, there's an emphasis that the situation, the state of the world at the outset and thus at every time that follows, is known and rigid. Eureka is a mystery game - the who, what, how, why, and more are all set in stone. The narrator is forbidden to change the scenario on the fly.

Eureka is very forceful of this because the authors, writing a game for mystery investigations, are well aware that it's damn near impossible to make a coherent mystery up on the fly. I'm sure they've tried. I've tried. It's impossible. Something will contradict, and you won't notice until well after the players have reasoned from that contradictory information. It can be done, but not well, and the mental load on the GM is going to kill them.

It's not a genre thing - Eureka is a game about the act of solving mysteries, but so in Brindlewood Bay. I don't have experience with Brindlewood Bay myself, but I do know that the GM doensn't have a real mystery ahead of time - there's a move which is rolled to determine whether a theory is correct. Both are mystery games, but they approach them differently - and each makes a vastly different demand of the GM's preparations.

On the opposite end of the spectrum from Eureka, more in line with Brindlewood Bay in fact, is just about every Powered by the Apocalypse game. Apocalypse World is very clear about what to prepare, and it's more or less the opposite of Eureka: "Daydream some apocalyptic imagery, but DO NOT commit yourself to any storyline or particular characters."

The rules actually tell you to start on what would typically be 'prep' during the first session: "Work on your threat map and essential threats". It's more like note-taking, at that point, just placing the names of stuff that gets mentioned in the session. After that first session, and between each other, you do some real out-of-session work, solidifying the notes you made into Threats.

I won't go into it at length, but Dungeon World is much the same - though there's no 'map' for threats, as characters are expected to be far more mobile, the system of solidifying problems that were mentioned in-game into problems with some mechanically attached descriptors is much the same.

Now, on to the elephant-sized dragon in the room - Dungeons and Dragons. The game itself is, truthfully, quite honest about this. It's the marketing team and the community, having fallen for their propaganda, who pretend low-prep is a valid way to play Dungeons and Dragons.

The 2014 DMG, correctly, focuses on prepared play. It asks DMs to consider "Do you like to plan thoroughly in advance, or do you prefer improvising on the spot?", but everything in that book is either rules text or preparation guides. Mostly the latter.

D&D, as it has existed since 3rd edition, (this is what I have experience with - I can't speak to earlier editions, except to note that there are alot of modules in their time and in the OSR tradition) is a game that thrives on prep. Even if that prep is procedural - tables of encounters and wandering monsters for an area, for example - it's impossible to run the game from nothing, without a lot of background, and have it work.

Imagine not knowing D&D, at all - you pick it up, read the non-list rules (so skipping most of the classes, races, spells, feats, backgrounds, weapons, etc) in the PHB and DMG, and try to run a game entirely improv from the rules and vibes. You'd quickly end up scouring the monster manual for appropriate encounters - and the game, by the rules, demands appropriate encounters! There's a budget system! It's a game about killing monsters and does a lot of math to try and make sure it's challenging without killing player characters.

D&D, at least in the books, is pretty honest about what it wants from preparation. It wants a lot! The playerbase pretends otherwise, but they're wrong. I've yet to find another game that tries to lie like this. Eureka wants you to use modules. Apocalypse World wants you to wing it. I have yet to find any game that actually doesn't care.

#ttrpg #forlorn essays by plushie #ttrpgs #indie ttrpg #indie ttrpgs #D&D #D&D 5e #dungeons and dragons #dnd #dnd5e #apocalypse world #pbta #indie rpg #tabletop games #tabletop roleplaying #eureka #eureka ttrpg #ttrpg prep #ttrpg theory

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jinmindeulle · 2 days ago

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vulnerable | k. mingyu, j. wonwoo (3)

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 kim mingyu x fem!reader x jeon wonwoo

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 2 k

𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 angst, fluff | friends-with-benefits!mingyu, neighbor-and-highschool-crush!wonwoo | you decided! wonwoo is your choice.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 mentions about sex i guess?

mingyu is taking his time. wonwoo stays by your side.

• • ┈┈┈┈ ๑ ⋅ ⋯ ୨ ୧ ⋯ ⋅ ๑ ┈┈┈┈ • •

Your heart hurt. It really did.

But Wonwoo was right in front of you, and Mingyu had taken his damn time. You knew from a friend in common that his routine hadn’t changed much. He still met with his friends and attended his after-office get-togethers. He was doing fine.

But you weren’t. You opened his inactive chat at least six times a day. Sometimes you typed and erased, sometimes you just stared at it, hoping Mingyu started typing by the force of manifestation. It never happened.

“I can’t help but ask you, is everything alright?”

Ever since you got closer to Wonwoo, you would regularly visit each other. All it took was a minute-long walk from one corner of the first floor to the other. Now that he had a tiny and fluffy companion, you had more excuses to stop by when you got home from work.

“It’s complicated” you sighed, gently scratching the kitty’s neck.

“I like complicated” he chuckled, bringing his can of beer to his lips as he looked at you with attentive eyes.

“Well… I’ve got this friend who has been my best friend ever since college. We met when he banged on my dorm’s room at two in the morning because he was drunk and thought that was his dorm.” you giggled, reminiscing about that crazy first week as a college student. “He was everywhere I looked, and he seemed to like talking to me. We became close and he has been my rock for more than eight years. But last year, things changed a bit between us”

“You fell in love, right?” Wonwoo’s eyebrows rose.

“Kinda?” you shrugged, giving an awkward laugh “We started as friends with benefits, with some rules to follow. We could kiss and have sex. We could make it stop when one of us asked to. We banned jealousy and we were not exclusive…except-”

“You were being exclusive” he chuckled and shook his head “I don’t see the problem, though. If you two were fine by how things were going…”

“He was not” you sighed, taking a sip of your can so you could continue the story with a little bit more courage “He asked me to start seeing other people so we could follow that stupid rule, and he explicitly said ‘I don’t want us to be a couple’”

Wonwoo seemed to be contemplating where the narrative was heading before he asked “But he still wanted to fuck you?”

“We were not having sex every time we met up — that was what bothered him the most, I guess. Not because of the act in itself, but because he felt we were practically a couple when he came over, cooked with me, and cuddled to sleep instead of being all over each other”

“So…”

“We fought and he finally came over to apologize. But now we’re in this weird position where he doesn’t know what he wants and I’m waiting for him as if I were Rapunzel trapped in a tower. He knows I don’t see him as a friend anymore. But I don’t want to lose him if he chooses to make this end” you looked down to your lap, eyes welling up. Wonwoo shifted from his side of the couch and scooted closer, hugging you with his right arm so you could place your head on the crook of his neck.

“You won’t lose him. It might be weird at the beginning, yes. But he needs you as much as you need him. Do you think he is willing to cut ties with you if he doesn’t choose commitment?”

“I guess he’s not” you mumbled, taking in Wonwoo’s scent to calm down your hiccup.

“If he is the one, and you are his one, there’s nothing to worry about,” his low and calm voice had a magical effect on you, and as you felt the vibrations of his voice through his neck, you began to soothe your worries “ If you still think he’s the one when he’s still not ready to treat you as his girlfriend, maybe time will eventually bring you two together. And if time doesn’t, then… I’m still gonna be here”

“You are an angel” you mumbled, feeling your eyes heavy.

“Only for you”

. . . . . . . . . .

Three weeks. Exactly twenty-one days had passed, and Mingyu was still nowhere to be seen, or heard of.

Day twenty-two was your limit. You had to make a decision, even if he hadn’t made up his mind yet. It was killing you to know that he could come and destroy everything you had built over eight years, and you would remain with a broken heart until he decided to either mend it or turn it into ashes.

You had to prioritize yourself.

We need to talk.

It physically hurt to finally type and send the text instead of erasing it. Your heart started pounding and you thought that it was about to explode, expecting an answer that took three and a half hours to come. And after you read it, you regretted even having the thought of sending that text.

I’ve got plans.

Hot tears traveled down your cheeks, frozen in place, holding your phone close to your heart. Who was that person? Mingyu would never, could never.

And yet he could. He sent those eight years of precious, heartwarming moments to the trash. All those nights you had stayed awake to help him on his projects, while you could have been working on yours. All those events you had been his plus one to help ease his nervousness when you could have stayed at home to study for your postgraduate course. All those kisses that had felt so real, so caringly true.

It was over.

Dinner is ready!

I don’t know if you are coming but if you are, you better hurry.

[Picture]

Homemade, just how you like it 😌

At first, you thought that there was no way you could go in that state. You were just going to ruin that Friday night for Wonwoo.

But after you rubbed your last set of tears away, you took a look at yourself in the mirror and decided that it was not too bad. Wonwoo had seen you worse back then. Also, you needed him. More than anyone else.

Even more than Mingyu.

So you answered.

On my way!

And left your apartment.

“Hi! Oh… What did he do?” the concern in his eyes made yours flood up with tears once more.

“I think he dumped me? I don’t even know if that’s accurate to what happened”

“Come in” Wonwoo mumbled, taking your frame under his long arm and embracing you as soon as he closed the door behind him. “Let it out”

“But the pizza is turning cold” you cried, face buried in his collarbone as he held you close, ruining his shirt with tears.

“We’ll reheat it later,” when he kissed your temple, you felt how your heartbeat got faster, and how relaxed your breathing turned out. His scent always had the effect of a tranquilizer on you, and you were beginning to feel it little by little, from head to toe “Wanna talk about it?”

“I just need to forget him”

And you were determined to do it.

Plus, Wonwoo was making it so easy for you.

When you felt that you had no more tears to shed, he led you to his sofa, and Bomi, his cute kitten, quickly rested himself comfortably on your lap.

“He knows you’re sad” Wonwoo smiled as he came back from the kitchen, a wooden tray with the two yummy-looking pizzas on top.

“He’s too cute” You kept yourself busy petting Bomi as you waited for Wonwoo to bring the wine he had promised.

“Is it too out of place on my part to say ‘Cheers’?” the man asked, giving you your glass and extending his your way.

“You’re the only one I would allow to do that” you softly giggled, clinking his glass with yours “Cheers.”

“Cheers” he chuckled, looking at you in the eye.

. . . . . . . . . .

Six days after your now ex-best friend/ex-friend-with-benefits cut you off, he decided it was the right time to reappear in your life. And you thanked whoever or whatever was above that Wonwoo was holding your hand from the other side of the table when the phone lit up with Mingyu’s notification.

“He’s back” you mumbled absentmindedly, taking the device with your other hand and reading the text aloud “Sorry for keeping you waiting so long. I’m ready to talk now”

Wonwoo’s face fell.

“What…what will you say?”

You sighed, and the first thing your eyes landed on was your and Wonwoo’s intertwined fingers. He was caressing and holding them with so much care that your heart skipped a beat. You raised your gaze to his eyes and laid your heart before you, just for him. For the one who deserved it.

“I told him to take his time, and I must own up to that. However, I never said anything about waiting for him to decide. He will understand that my thoughts and my heart belong to someone else now. Even if it’s soon, even if it has just started. I mean it when I say that I want you. Hell, I have wanted you ever since I was twelve”

“Wh-what?” he squished your hand, and you had to giggle at his response.

“I might have taken a break from being in love with you a couple of years ago. But ever since you came back to my life, it has felt the same, Woo. You might have changed a little, yes, but your kindness, your responsibility, your sensibility, and sensitivity are still the same — I fell in love with you because of those traits of yours. Not to mention your handsomeness.”

It felt right. Wonwoo felt right.

“Why didn’t you say something back then?” he looked cute in that state. He looked as confused as happy.

“You were not as straightforward as you are now” you shook your head “Woo, you ran away from all those girls. How would I assume I had a chance?”

“You were the only one I would have stayed for” he mumbled, and your heart melted. “I’m sorry I never showed it to you. I was the one who assumed it was too obvious on my part”

When your phone lit up again, you decided it was time to let Mingyu know that you were not waiting for him. That you had a right to move on.

“Let me take care of this,” you said, moving to the corner of the table “Proceed with your drink, please” you smiled, softening at his expression. If he was a cartoon, a question mark would have appeared over his head.

You angled your phone and after a couple of shots, you were content with the outcome.

[Picture]

I’m the one who’s busy now. And for real.

When you left the café hand in hand, you couldn’t help but wonder if things would have been different if Mingyu had reached out sometime earlier.

Maybe, just maybe…

But he hadn’t, and you were truly happy with where your life had headed. Right across your door, Wonwoo appeared when you least expected him to. He was there to hold you, to caress you, to care for you — for your meals, for your sleep schedule, for your working hours. He was there when no one else had been.

“What’s got you so smiley?” the reason for your many sleepless nights and enamored sighs during your teenage years asked, squishing your hand as he led you into your building’s elevator.

“You”

As the doors closed, Wonwoo wasted no time and pressed his lips to yours, gently cupping your face with his large but soft hands. You steadied yourself by gripping the sides of his black t-shirt, angling your head to let him have you. All of you.

His kiss felt even better than you had imagined all those years ago. He showed hunger and patience at the same time, he wanted to feel what he had missed for so long and also save it for later.

“You’re amazing” he mumbled over your lips, a gentle smile on his face.

“You are”

“I’m too happy to argue right now.” he pecked your lips again, just in time to get out of the elevator. “But I might do it later”

• • ┈┈┈┈ ๑ ⋅ ⋯ ୨ ୧ ⋯ ⋅ ๑ ┈┈┈┈ • •

epilogue: wonwoo as your boyfriend

• • ┈┈┈┈ ๑ ⋅ ⋯ ୨ ୧ ⋯ ⋅ ๑ ┈┈┈┈ • •

part 1 | you decide... mingyu (2) or wonwoo (3)

please like and reblog!

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unfortunate-brat · 3 days ago

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Forbidden Fruit

winchester!twins x latina!reader

synopsis: when adam and eve stumbled into the garden of eden, god had only one rule. the fruit that came from the tree, with it’s beautiful green leaves and delicious looking fruit was forbidden. neither one would eat it, or they shall face a consequence worse than death. yet when both twins meet you, a face far too beautiful for a school like this, they face the same temptation that adam and eve once did.

series warnings: smut, angst, jealousy, dark themes, sibling rivalry

yazzy's comments:okay i do have to give credit to @floralscented because their stanford!dean fics came out before my own. i love a good twins au and love triangle. this will not have chapters in order as each piece can be read as a standalone. also ave and I were discussing this so they are also credited for the brain rot we had with these fuckers.

jackles crew: @deansbeer / @soldiersgirl / @stereotypicalbarbie

18+, must have age in bio to interact. minors and ageless accounts will be blocked !!

follow @unfortunate-bratfics for just new posted imagines !!

you met the boys in the fall at stanford during orientation, noting their similar features and contradicting behaviors.

michael, the oldest, was reserved. didn’t speak much and often used his eyes to communicate. his clothes were ironed and tailored to every single inch of skin. glasses perched on his freckled nose, pillows of pink pursed into a thin line unless he turned them upside down for a brief frown. hair parted and combed neatly to the side. you’d find him in the library, in his own reserved study room getting a head start on other assignments or reading greek history. book in one hand and an apple in another. the man was a health freak.

dean, the youngest of the two was more outgoing. that charming smile and way with words had anyone practically under his spell. usually his hair was spiky, not really combed out and left alone. unlike his older twin, dean had no issue speaking his mind, yet when it came to feelings he would keep them inside. his eyes always a soft green, ones any girl would lose themselves in. you’d often see him on the football field running laps or drills. being captain was a tough position but he made it seem easy. his diet was terrible, always ditching lunch breaks for burgers across the street. the cheesier the better.

both boys gained lots of attention that first year and though it took time to not confuse them, eventually people spotted the differences. knew which twin like or didn’t like, sometimes the hard way. michael didn’t like to make chitchat, so when the cheerleaders would spot him in the hallway and rush over, he’d flash them a glare before walking away. and when dean spotted those same cheerleaders later, flaunting his infamous smile, they’d walk away. dean hated how michael ruined his reputation sometimes, he wanted to fit in for once. or at least try to.

you had spotted signs to not get the twins confused, recalling michael always carried his watch and had a slightly darker shade of green in his eyes. though that’s if you could stand looking at him in the eyes long enough. the older twin was easily annoyed, looking down upon everyone like a god and his mortals.

when it came to dean, the young man instantly brightened up the room. his hair was either spiky or somewhat shaggy. eyes a bright green like a candy apple, lips curled into a sweet smile. a total sweetheart and the poster boy for any rom com. sometimes though, he carried a faint smell of cigarettes. if anyone were to ask, no he hadn’t been smoking.

·̩͙།† ͝ ︶ ͝ ⏝ ͝ ︶ ͝ †། ·̩͙

Please note; I do not allow translations or redistributions of my work by anyone else except myself. MDNI, if your account is ageless or empty, I will block you !! Minors are NOT welcome here.

#yazzy’s works !!#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x latina!reader #michael!dean x reader #michael!dean x latina!reader #forbidden fruit au 🍓 !!#angst #smut #fluff #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #dean winchester fanfiction #michael!dean #Dean Winchester x you #dean x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester smut #dean winchester angst

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w2mini · 5 hours ago

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“Inarizaki with a manager who…” randoms !!

warnings: reader is reserved, fem reader, swearing, platonic or romantic idgaf

IDK bout’ you guys, but every time I think about Inarizaki having a manager, I think about someone who:

Is stereotyped as your typical “quiet” and “reserved” demeanor girlie when in actuality—she just finds herself in a difficult position to open up to the boys. 😓

- I mean, who wouldn’t have a hard time, they’re like top two in the nation and HIGHKEY intimidating to be with, I have respect 4u girl. 🫡 but a job is a job. Kita recruited you since he had to balance his club and academics at one point (also following the coach’s suggestion).

Also should I just mention that you are such a beauty??? Like, maybe if you weren’t so pretty and mysterious then they wouldn’t be bothering you so much just to talk with you!! 😾

- Suna tries to small talk with you sometimes, keyword: tries (his way of trying is giving you the most unnoticeable hints that he wants to talk with you).

- Whenever you begin to feel tired during a long day in practice, Osamu won’t just let it slip past him and hands you some of his mint candy that he has to help you stay awake as he suggests. Yall chill like that🤞

- You and Kita are the ones who are always together, since you guys discuss about the team’s schedule and strategies alongside coach. But that’s just about it.

- Aran and Omimi tends to help you with your duties, especially if it requires lifting heavy weight or a lot of items to carry. We love gentlemen. 🫡

- Riseki is TOO shy to chat with you, but he’s trying his best I swear. 🥲 Your glamorous self just makes him feel like standing beside you feel like a huge offense.

- The closest (🤏) I would consider to be close to you is proably Akagi and Ginjima, they were the ones who approached you with a warm welcome and introduced you to the team as they showed you the ropes of being a manager.

As for Atsumu? I’m gonna need a whole separate section for him hol’ on.

- How do I even start with him.

- Because for the first time, he doesn’t attract your attention, he’s chasing for it.

- You’re supposed to praise him! fangirl over him! shower him with your undying attention! Not just awkwardly standing there and nodding every now and then! 😾

- Can’t you see how hurt his pride is. 😞 (his fault for expecting too much tbh 😹)

- His last straw was during when he was practicing his sets and you were there to watch. So when you approached him, he was expecting the words: “wow you’re amazing Atsumu!”

- Your response?

- “Miya you should probably extend your arms further more so you have better accuracy on the ball.”

- his jaw dropped to the floor.

- YOU? THE MANAGER? giving him TIPS?

- and what’s worst is that you were right and it genuinely improved his sets slightly better, oh he’s never forgetting about this.

But even after all that, you genuinely just could not bring yourself to be close and open up to them, your reason? a lot.

- The volleyball team of Inarizaki is undeniably well known around the campus and to be their manager is either a curse or a blessing.

- actually scrap that. It’s a fucking curse.

- number one. the top on the damn list. their fangirls.

- the amount of them that question you about the team is just too much for your poor social battery to handle. You were their victim number one to harass about the team. (props to Aran for always saving you during times like these 🙂‍↕️)

- which is also why you have a set of rules to yourself whenever you encounter one of the members in the campus: 1) walk quickly past them in the hallways, 2) only talk to them when they initiate it first, and 3) to never bring up anything about them around the campus.

- number two would be the team itself. why? very self explanatory. 😊

- you do not get an ounce of peace and rest around those guys. Especially Atsumu’s endless cycle of jokes and teasing just to get a reaction out of you.

- and that one time Osamu accidentally served a ball towards you. You were on the tribunes just taking notes. WHO SERVES AT THE TRIBUNES.

- but its okay, he bought you a snack as an apology after that on the convenience store run on the way home. His motherfucker of a twin however just laughed at you like a maniac.

- also the amount of strays you have to pick up during practice is EXHAUSTING. Being their manager made your spine feel like 85 years old.

However, you are genuinely such a hardworking girlie🥹 your actions spoke louder than words, it’s just your way of showing you care for them but sometimes you just don’t feel like it’s enough and you don’t think they notice it either because of how reserved you could be.

- Inarizaki’s volleyball team was independent, they didn’t need a manager.

- which is what they think.

- because ever since you arrived, Kita has felt a heavy weight lift off his shoulders (++ coach too). You’ve genuinely helped them in ways that you didn’t deem possible

- you also took notes of the smallest things or even the quiet observations about the team on your notebook (e.g. “Make sure Atsumu doesn’t forget about his water” or “Osamu gets grumpy if he skips meals” etc.)

- Although they may not be vocal about it or have mentioned about it—the team just has so much respect for you. To be able to manage a team like them is impressive. They don’t think anyone would be able to top your managing skills EVER.

So yeah, it kinda just went on like that… not for long. You strictly kept a classmate relationship between them and just went on being their manager—you do your job, but you kept a distance. That is until Inarizaki gets their win against another strong team.

It wasn’t anything serious or sad with what became the turning point in your relationship with the team, I’d say its very Inarizaki like.

- It happened when Inarizaki won against a really strong team, the game was fierce and stressful to watch, but in the end they were able to snatch the gold.

- Undeniably, the boys are all hyped. “We should celebrate! C’mon let’s go out to eat!” Akagi says as he excitedly suggested.

- the others agreed with the idea, especially a certain twin. On the way, they all discussed their orders and plans for later. In the end they all decided to go for ramen.

- You on the other hand kept silent. You decided it was best for you to go home already and let them have their fun, your social battery was draining anyways.

- which COULD’VE been the plan.

- Until Kita turns around to your direction, then offhandedly says: “You’re coming too right?”

- your brain short circuits.

- it doesn’t help with the fact now that the rest is also waiting for your answer.

- is this what they call peer pressure. 😵‍💫

- but it was in this moment that you realize that—they actually want you to be there. Not just as their manager, but as part of the team.

- So you agreed.

- It was a warm moment when you guys were inside the ramen bar, everyone made an effort to include you, making stupid jokes, teasing you slightly, sharing food, etc.

- And, probably for the first time ever, you were laughing with them.

- And, they all just. froze.

- Because they rarely saw you express emotions around them. Heck, not even a laugh!

- They all glanced at each other and nodded, yep, it was like they had antennas saying their common goal: to see you smile more.

In the end, Inarizaki needs a manager who can handle their shit—and love them anyway.

WOOO kinda short but hope u guys enjoyed, I just kinda wanted to share my thoughts BECAUSE every time I write about Inarizaki having a manager, I always imagine someone who’s just keeps to herself yk, but thas js me🤷‍♀️ Thats why I chose Haerin for today’s layout because the personality matches her sm lowk omg

I kinda wanna make this a series tbh, LIKE that one shiratorizawa series in Ao3 I FORGOT THE NAME but you guys know right….. right.

23 notes · View notes

amethystarachnid · 3 days ago

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If you promise us a happy ending, I'm okay with a angst part 3 hahahahah a breakup would be nice. The boy needs to move into another place, Tony being the most supportive and cute dad ❤️

CHRISTMAS MORNING - part III

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.9k

ᯓ★ Summary: first love heart break is rough, but nothing a trip to Paris can't resolve

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ Part I | Part II

ᯓ★ Prequel

ᯓ★ maybe a prequel to let you know how Tony and y/n ended up with four kids? 🤭, just wanna focus some more on the two of them before the kids

ᯓ★ Tony Taglist: @groovy-lady

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Summer turns to fall, and Cora and Ryan’s relationship becomes a steady part of family life. By now, Ryan is a regular visitor to the house. Though Tony still maintains his “watchful dad” persona, he’s noticeably relaxed around Ryan, occasionally sharing a sarcastic comment or offering him a soda without much fuss. You’ve even caught Tony grumbling about the boy’s taste in music—not exactly glowing approval, but close enough.

Cora, meanwhile, is glowing in a way you’ve never seen before. She’s still her fiercely independent self, but there’s a new softness about her—she’s less quick to snap, more patient with her siblings, and her happiness is infectious. Except, of course, when it comes to Alex and Howard.

The twins, ever the chaos-makers, have taken their jealousy of Ryan to theatrical levels.

“Cora doesn’t love us anymore,” Alex announces one afternoon as you’re folding laundry in the living room.

“She just loves him,” Howard chimes in dramatically, lying face-down on the carpet like his world has ended.

You glance up from the socks you’re sorting and try not to laugh. “That’s not true, and you know it. Cora loves you very much.”

“Then why doesn’t she play with us anymore?” Alex demands, sitting up with a pout.

“She used to build forts with us,” Howard adds, now rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling like a tragic hero in a Shakespearean play. “Now she just texts him all the time.”

“Boys,” you say gently, sitting down beside them. “Cora’s growing up. That doesn’t mean she loves you any less. She’s just figuring out who she is and spending time with someone who makes her happy. But you’ll always be her little brothers, okay?”

“Yeah, but we don’t like him,” Alex mutters.

“You barely know him,” you point out.

“We don’t have to know him to not like him,” Howard says stubbornly.

Before you can respond, Estelle toddles into the room, dragging a blanket behind her. She climbs onto your lap without a word and leans against you, her thumb in her mouth.

“See?” you say, wrapping an arm around Estelle. “Even when Cora’s busy, you’ve got each other—and us.”

The twins don’t look entirely convinced, but they nod reluctantly.

Later that evening, while the kids are occupied with a movie, you and Tony find a rare quiet moment together in the kitchen. He’s leaning against the counter, sipping a glass of wine, while you finish tidying up.

“They’re really laying it on thick, huh?” Tony says, smirking as he recalls the twins’ earlier dramatics.

“They’re jealous,” you reply, rinsing the last dish. “They miss her, and they don’t know how to say it without turning it into a production.”

Tony sets his glass down and crosses the room, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “Well, they’d better get used to it. She’s not a kid anymore. And I’m pretty sure Ryan’s sticking around.”

You lean back against him, savoring the warmth of the moment. “You really think so?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I still want to give the kid the third degree every time I see him,” Tony says with a chuckle. “But yeah, he’s not bad. And she’s happy. That’s what matters, right?”

You turn to face him, resting your hands on his chest. “You’re a good dad, you know that?”

“Don’t let that get around,” he says, grinning as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Just then, Estelle toddles into the kitchen, clutching a stuffed animal in one hand and rubbing her eyes with the other.

“Mommy,” she says sleepily.

You scoop her up, kissing her chubby cheek. “What are you doing out of bed, little one?”

“Can’t sleep,” she murmurs, resting her head on your shoulder.

Tony reaches out to brush a strand of hair from her face, his expression softening in that way it always does when he looks at her. “Come on, princess,” he says. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

He takes her from your arms and carries her upstairs, humming a soft tune as she curls against his chest. You follow a few steps behind, watching the way he cradles her with the kind of tenderness that still catches you off guard sometimes.

Back downstairs, the twins are sprawled on the couch, fast asleep by the time the credits roll. Cora is in her room, probably texting Ryan, and the house feels peaceful in a way that’s rare but cherished.

Over the next few weeks, the twins continue to grumble about Ryan, but their protests lose some of their bite. They still don’t love the idea of sharing Cora’s attention, but they’re slowly coming to terms with it.

One Saturday, Cora surprises everyone by joining the twins for a game of basketball in the driveway. Ryan is nowhere in sight, and the boys are thrilled to have their big sister back, even if only for an hour. You watch from the porch with Tony, sipping coffee as the three of them laugh and bicker over the rules.

“See?” you say, nudging Tony with your elbow. “They’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, though his gaze lingers on Cora a little longer. “But I reserve the right to be overprotective forever.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” you reply, leaning against him.

It’s late afternoon when the front door opens, and you hear the unmistakable sound of Cora’s school bag dropping onto the floor. Usually, this is accompanied by her calling out, “Hey, I’m home!” or the sound of her heading to the kitchen for a snack. But today, it’s eerily quiet.

You glance up from the stack of papers you’re sorting at the dining table, your instincts immediately on alert. Tony, who’s tinkering with something small and metallic at the kitchen counter, notices too.

“Cora?” you call, standing.

Then you hear it—soft, muffled sobs coming from the living room. You’re moving before you even think, Tony right behind you.

You find her sitting on the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest, her face buried in her arms. Her whole body shakes with the force of her tears, and it feels like someone’s reached into your chest and squeezed your heart.

“Sweetheart?” you say softly, sitting down beside her.

Tony freezes for a moment, his eyes wide with panic as he takes in the sight of his usually strong, confident daughter falling apart. “What happened? Who hurt you? Tell me right now, and I’ll deal with it,” he says, his voice already edging toward anger.

Cora looks up, her face streaked with tears, and shakes her head. “No one hurt me, Dad.”

“Then what’s wrong?” you ask gently, brushing her hair out of her face.

She tries to speak, but her voice cracks, and a fresh wave of tears spills over.

Tony, clearly struggling to stay calm, sits on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. “Cora, you’re scaring me here. Just tell us what’s going on.”

After a moment, she takes a shaky breath and manages to get the words out. “Ryan… Ryan’s moving to London.”

Your heart sinks. “Oh, sweetheart…”

Tony blinks, his initial panic giving way to confusion. “London? Like… England London?”

Cora nods, wiping at her eyes. “His dad got a job there. They’re leaving in a month.”

“And what does that mean for you two?” Tony asks, though he already looks like he knows the answer.

Cora swallows hard, her voice trembling. “He… He said we should break up. He doesn’t want to do long distance.”

Tony’s jaw tightens, his fists clenching on his knees. “That little—”

“Tony,” you say sharply, cutting him off. “This isn’t about you wanting to punch a teenager.”

“Why not?” he mutters under his breath, but he backs down.

Cora lets out a shaky sigh. “It’s not his fault. He doesn’t think it’ll work, and… maybe he’s right. But it hurts so much.”

“Oh, honey,” you say, pulling her into a hug. She collapses against you, her sobs muffled against your shoulder.

Tony’s expression softens as he watches her, and he reaches out to squeeze her hand. “He’s an idiot if he thinks he’s not going to miss you every day. You’re amazing, Cora. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise.”

Before she can respond, there’s a small sound from the hallway. You turn to see Estelle standing there, clutching her favorite plushie—a well-loved bunny with one floppy ear. Her wide eyes take in the scene, and she hesitates for a moment before toddling over to the couch.

“Cowa sad?” she asks, her voice tiny and uncertain.

Cora sniffles and sits up a little, trying to wipe her tears away. “I’m okay, Estelle.”

But Estelle isn’t convinced. She climbs onto the couch beside her sister, her little face scrunched up with concern. Without a word, she holds out her bunny.

“Bun-bun make you happy,” she says solemnly.

Cora’s breath catches, and for a moment, she looks like she might start crying again—but this time, for an entirely different reason. She takes the plushie with trembling hands and pulls Estelle into a hug.

“Thank you, Stellie,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

Tony watches the scene unfold, his usual snark and bravado nowhere to be found. He looks at you, and you can see the helplessness in his eyes. He hates seeing any of his kids in pain, and knowing there’s nothing he can do to fix it is clearly killing him.

Later, after you’ve managed to convince Cora to eat a little something and Estelle is back to playing with her toys, you find Tony in the garage. He’s pacing, running his hands through his hair, and muttering to himself.

“Tony,” you say gently, stepping into the room.

He stops and looks at you, his expression a mix of frustration and sadness. “I hate this. I hate that she’s hurting, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“I know,” you say, wrapping your arms around him. “But she doesn’t need you to fix it. She just needs you to be there for her.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” he admits, his voice quiet. “I’m not good at this kind of stuff.”

“You’re better at it than you think,” you tell him, resting your head against his chest. “Just keep showing up. That’s all she needs.”

Over the next few days, Cora starts to open up a little more. She talks about the memories she and Ryan made together, the inside jokes they shared, and the plans they’d dreamed of before the news of his move.

The twins, thankfully, are oblivious to the situation for the time being. They’re too busy with basketball practice and their latest obsession with building the tallest block towers they can manage. You’re grateful for the reprieve—it gives Cora space to grieve without their constant questions and commentary.

One evening, as you’re tucking Estelle into bed, she looks up at you with her big, curious eyes.

“Cowa okay now?” she asks.

You smile softly and brush her hair back. “She’s getting there, sweetie. Thanks to you and Bun-bun.”

Estelle nods, satisfied, and snuggles deeper into her blankets.

By the end of the week, Cora seems a little stronger. She still has moments where the pain hits her all over again, but she’s beginning to smile and laugh more often. Tony even manages to get her to join him for a round of Mario Kart, and the sound of her laughter fills the house like a balm for everyone’s hearts.

“She’s going to be okay,” you tell Tony one night as you’re lying in bed.

“Yeah,” he says, though his voice is still tinged with sadness. “But it’s going to take time.”

And so, as a family, you give her all the time she needs, surrounding her with love, support, and the occasional inappropriate dad joke to remind her that she’s never alone.

The chaos starts one evening during dinner. The twins are unusually quiet, their usual chatter about basketball, school antics, and random “fun facts” replaced by curious glances toward Cora. She’s sitting at the table, picking at her plate of pasta with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. The sparkle she usually carries has dimmed a bit since the breakup, though she’s been doing her best to mask it.

“Hey, Cora,” Alex pipes up, breaking the silence. “Where’s Ryan? He hasn’t come over in forever.”

Howard nods, his mouth full. “Yeah, didn’t he say he’d bring us that big bag of caramel popcorn? He never did.”

You can see the subtle flinch in Cora’s shoulders before she glances at you, silently pleading for help. Tony immediately stiffens, his protective instincts on high alert as he watches the exchange unfold.

“Guys,” you say gently, “Ryan… isn’t coming over anymore.”

The twins pause mid-bite, their synchronized reactions almost comical.

“What? Why?” Alex demands, his tone filled with disbelief.

Howard narrows his eyes. “Did he do something to you, Cora? Because if he did, we’ll—”

“No!” Cora cuts in quickly, setting down her fork. “It’s nothing like that. He’s moving to London, and we broke up.”

The twins blink, processing this new information. Then, as if on cue, they both push their plates away and hop off their chairs.

“Unacceptable,” Alex declares, his hands balling into fists.

“Totally unacceptable,” Howard echoes, his expression darkening. “He can’t just dump you and move to London like that!”

“It’s not his fault,” Cora says, though her voice is tinged with frustration. “He doesn’t want to do long distance, and we both agreed it was for the best.”

“That’s a bad excuse,” Alex snaps, pacing back and forth.

“He’s a coward,” Howard adds. “And cowards don’t deserve you, Cora!”

Before you or Tony can intervene, Estelle, who has been sitting quietly in her high chair, suddenly pipes up in her tiny, serious voice.

“Coward don’t deserve Cowa,” she says, mimicking Howard’s words almost perfectly.

Tony chokes on his water, and you nearly drop your fork.

“Estelle,” you say, trying not to laugh. “Sweetie, you don’t even know what that means.”

“Coward,” Estelle repeats, crossing her arms like her brothers, as if she fully understands the weight of her declaration.

“See? Even Stellie gets it!” Alex says, gesturing dramatically to his baby sister.

“We should punch him,” Howard announces, his face set in a grim expression.

“Punch him,” Estelle echoes, holding up her tiny fist.

At that, Tony finally snaps out of his stunned silence and stands up, waving his hands in front of him. “Okay, okay, let’s pump the brakes here. Nobody’s punching anyone.”

“Why not?” Alex asks, glaring up at his dad.

“And anyway,” Howard adds, “Ryan hurt Cora. Isn’t that worse?”

“Guys,” you say firmly, stepping in before this spirals any further, “violence isn’t the answer. And Ryan didn’t hurt Cora—he made a difficult decision, and sometimes relationships just don’t work out. It’s no one’s fault.”

“But Cora’s sad,” Alex says, his lower lip jutting out in a rare display of vulnerability.

“We don’t like seeing her like this,” Howard agrees.

Cora, who’s been quietly watching the whole exchange, finally speaks up. “I appreciate you guys wanting to defend me, but I don’t need anyone to fight my battles. I’m okay, really.”

“You don’t seem okay,” Alex mumbles.

“She’s just figuring it out,” you say softly, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “And the best thing you can do is support her and be there when she needs you.”

The twins exchange a look, clearly reluctant to let the matter drop.

“We still don’t like him,” Howard mutters as he sits back down.

“Yeah,” Alex adds. “And we’re never eating caramel popcorn again.”

At that, Estelle solemnly pushes her sippy cup away and declares, “No popcorn.”

Tony snorts, shaking his head as he sits back down. “You’re really digging in on this, huh?”

“Someone has to,” Alex says with a dramatic sigh.

The rest of dinner is a little quieter, though the twins occasionally shoot pointed glances at Cora, as if they’re still plotting how to avenge her heartbreak. Estelle, meanwhile, alternates between eating her mashed potatoes and mimicking the twins’ exaggerated arm-crossing stance, clearly enjoying the attention.

Later, as you’re tucking Estelle into bed, she looks up at you with her wide, innocent eyes and asks, “Cowa happy now?”

You brush a strand of hair from her face and kiss her forehead. “She’s getting there, sweetie. Thanks to you and your brothers.”

Estelle smiles, snuggling into her blankets. “Okay. No popcorn.”

You stifle a laugh and tuck her in, leaving her room with a heart full of love for your fiercely protective little family.

Downstairs, you find Tony sitting on the couch, staring at the wall with a contemplative expression.

“You okay?” you ask, sitting beside him.

He lets out a long sigh. “I don’t know how you do it. Keeping them all from forming a vigilante squad and storming London.”

You laugh, leaning your head on his shoulder. “It’s a team effort.”

Tony wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer. “She’s going to be okay, right?”

“She will,” you say confidently. “She’s got us. And if that’s not enough, she’s got two little brothers and a baby sister ready to take on the world for her.”

Tony chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Yeah. That’s enough.”

It starts with little things, subtle and soft gestures to help lift Cora’s spirits. You and Tony both know she’s heartbroken—first loves are never easy to lose, and Ryan’s move to London had hit her harder than she wanted to admit. But you also know the kind of family she has. Stark resilience, wrapped in unconditional love, with just a sprinkle of chaos.

The effort begins the morning after the twins’ dramatic anti-Ryan declarations. Cora walks into the kitchen to find the twins at the breakfast table, uncharacteristically quiet. Estelle is perched in her high chair, clumsily holding a spoon as she tries to feed herself yogurt.

“Good morning,” Cora mumbles, still a little groggy.

“Morning!” Alex chirps, way too chipper for this early.

“Hi,” Howard says, looking suspiciously at his brother.

Cora narrows her eyes. “What are you two up to?”

“Nothing!” Alex says, but his grin gives him away.

Howard looks down at his plate, trying to look innocent but failing miserably. That’s when you step in from behind them, holding a plate of Cora’s favorite pancakes—chocolate chip, with extra whipped cream.

“We just thought you deserved a special breakfast,” you say, setting the plate in front of her.

Cora raises an eyebrow. “Okay, what’s the catch?”

“No catch!” Tony’s voice booms as he strides into the kitchen, dressed in a casual hoodie and jeans. “Just a family-wide campaign to cheer you up. Welcome to Operation Cora Smiles Again.”

Cora groans, though there’s a tiny flicker of amusement in her eyes. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“And you love us for it,” Tony says, dropping a kiss on the top of her head before grabbing his coffee.

Over the next few days, the “operation” goes into full swing. The twins take it upon themselves to invite Cora to all their activities, from basketball practice to board games, though their “invites” are mostly just them dragging her out of her room. Estelle toddles after her sister constantly, climbing into her lap during movie nights and insisting Cora help her with her coloring books.

Tony, of course, takes things to a whole new level.

One afternoon, he barges into the living room where you and Cora are sitting, her head on your shoulder as the two of you watch some feel-good rom-com. He’s holding his phone, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Ladies,” he announces, “pack your bags. We’re going to Paris.”

Cora sits up straight, her mouth falling open. “What?”

“You’ve always said you wanted to see the Louvre, right?” Tony says, grinning. “Well, I figured, what better way to distract you than with some world-class art and culture? Plus, croissants.”

“Are you serious?” Cora asks, still stunned.

“Dead serious,” Tony replies. “Private jet leaves in two days. Hope you’ve been brushing up on your French.”

“Dad, you can’t just—”

“Already booked it,” he interrupts, waving his phone. “Non-refundable. So you’re coming.”

Cora looks at you, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Mom?”

You shrug, smiling. “He’s not kidding. You might as well start picking out your outfits.”

She blinks a few times, then a slow smile spreads across her face. “Okay, fine. Paris sounds… amazing.”

Tony pumps his fist in victory, and you shake your head fondly.

When the day of the trip arrives, the excitement in the house is palpable. The twins are bouncing off the walls, thrilled at the idea of flying on the family’s private jet again. Estelle is too young to fully understand what’s happening but seems to pick up on the energy, clapping her hands and shouting, “Pawis!” every few minutes.

Cora, meanwhile, is quieter but visibly excited. She spends most of the flight flipping through a guidebook Tony had casually tossed her way, her mood lighter than it’s been in weeks.

Once you land in Paris, it’s like a whole new world opens up for her. The city is everything she’d imagined—bustling streets, beautiful architecture, and, of course, the Eiffel Tower. You and Tony make sure the kids experience all the highlights: boat rides along the Seine, macarons at a fancy patisserie, and a picnic at the Champs de Mars.

But the real highlight is the Louvre.

Walking through the museum, Cora is completely captivated. She takes her time studying each exhibit, her eyes wide with wonder as she absorbs the art and history. Tony stays close, his usual sarcasm dialed back as he watches her with pride.

At one point, she stops in front of the Mona Lisa, her expression thoughtful.

“It’s smaller than I thought it’d be,” she says.

Tony smirks. “Yeah, but it’s got personality. Kind of like someone else I know.”

Cora rolls her eyes but laughs, and it’s one of the first genuine laughs you’ve heard from her in a while.

By the time you return to the hotel that evening, everyone is exhausted but happy. The twins collapse onto their beds, and Estelle is already dozing off in your arms. Cora sits on the balcony, looking out at the city lights.

Tony joins her, leaning on the railing. “Feeling better?”

She nods, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah. Thanks, Dad. For all of this.”

He shrugs, though you can see the emotion in his eyes. “Anything for you, kid.”

When you join them, Tony wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. Together, the three of you watch the Eiffel Tower sparkle in the distance, a quiet moment of peace in the midst of everything.

The Paris trip continues to unravel in a blend of heartwarming family moments and the kind of chaos only a Stark family vacation could produce. It starts innocently enough as you all wander through the streets of Montmartre, the cobblestone pathways alive with music, street performers, and the scent of fresh pastries. Cora has perked up considerably since the museum visit, her mood lighter, her laughter more frequent.

But then there’s him.

It happens as the family pauses near a small café. You’re distracted, helping Estelle adjust the straps of her sunhat while Tony orders espressos, croissants, and a ridiculously overpriced cup of hot chocolate for the twins. Cora’s off to the side, flipping through postcards at a nearby vendor stand, when you notice a boy about her age approaching her.

He’s tall, with tousled dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and a confidence that screams “Parisian charm.” He says something in French, his voice lilting in a way that immediately draws Cora’s attention. She blushes, brushing her hair behind her ear as she responds—haltingly but gamely—in the French she’s been practicing since she knew about the trip.

Tony notices it too.

“What’s happening here?” he says, his tone shifting to dad mode as he steps closer, coffee cup in hand.

“Oh, relax,” you say, biting back a smile. “He’s just flirting with her.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “Flirting? In broad daylight? In front of me?”

“He probably doesn’t know you’re her dad,” you tease, leaning closer. “She does have my genes, after all.”

Tony smirks but doesn’t lose his focus on the boy. “Well, he’s about to find out.”

Before he can make a move, the twins return, each holding a baguette that’s nearly as big as they are. Alex squints at the scene unfolding by the postcards.

“Hey, who’s that guy talking to Cora?” he asks, his mouth full of bread.

“Probably her new boyfriend,” Howard says, grinning mischievously.

“Not helping,” Tony mutters.

“Let’s just give her some space,” you suggest, tugging gently on his arm. “She’s allowed to talk to boys, you know.”

Tony sighs but relents, though he keeps a close eye on the interaction. Eventually, the boy waves goodbye and walks away, leaving Cora clutching her postcards with a dazed expression. When she rejoins the group, Tony can’t help himself.

“So, who’s your new friend?” he asks, trying (and failing) to sound casual.

Cora glares at him. “Nobody. Just some guy.”

“Did he give you his number?” Alex asks, grinning.

“Did he try to kiss you?” Howard adds.

“Guys, stop,” Cora groans, her cheeks turning bright red.

Tony crosses his arms. “Was his name Pierre? Because he looked like a Pierre.”

You smack his arm lightly, laughing. “Tony, let it go.”

Despite the teasing, the moment passes, and the family moves on to the next adventure. The twins, however, are not so easily distracted.

That evening, as you’re lounging in the hotel room, flipping through a travel guide, the boys march up to you and Tony with matching determined expressions.

“We want to go to Disneyland,” Alex announces.

“Disneyland Paris,” Howard clarifies.

“Please, Mom?” Alex adds, turning his best puppy-dog eyes on you.

Tony snorts. “You’ve got to be kidding me. We came all the way to Paris, and you want to see Mickey Mouse?”

“Oui, Mickey,” Estelle chimes in from her spot on the bed, clapping her hands.

You glance at Tony, who’s already shaking his head. But then Cora chimes in, a small smile playing on her lips.

“It could be fun,” she says. “And the twins have been really sweet to me lately. I think they deserve it.”

Tony groans. “You’re killing me, kid.”

The next day, you find yourself standing in the middle of Disneyland Paris, surrounded by excited children, cotton candy stands, and the sound of cheerful Disney music. The twins are practically vibrating with excitement, dragging Cora from one attraction to the next.

Estelle is equally thrilled, her eyes wide as she points at every princess she sees, babbling excitedly about their dresses.

“Look at her,” Tony says, watching Estelle hug a life-sized Winnie the Pooh with absolute joy. “She’s two, and she already knows how to work the system.”

“She’s your daughter,” you tease, linking your arm with his.

The day is a whirlwind of rides, character meet-and-greets, and an obscene amount of overpriced snacks. Tony tries to talk his way into a VIP area at one point, but you manage to reel him back before he starts name-dropping himself.

Later, as the sun begins to set, the kids are busy chasing bubbles near Sleeping Beauty’s Castle, and you and Tony find a rare moment of peace on a nearby bench.

“Remember the last time we were in Paris?” he says, his voice low and teasing.

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “I do. And I remember how much wine we drank that night.”

Tony smirks. “It was a good night. A productive night.”

“Tony,” you say, laughing softly.

“What?” he says, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying, nine months later, we had Cora. Coincidence? I think not.”

You shake your head, leaning into him. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, the chaos of the day fading into the background. Tony takes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he says quietly. “Keeping this whole crazy family together, making sure everyone’s happy…”

“You help,” you say, smiling up at him.

He grins. “Yeah, but you’re the glue. The sexy, unstoppable glue.”

You laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Mrs. Stark,” he murmurs.

The moment is interrupted by Estelle toddling over, holding a sticky cotton candy in her hands. “Mama! Dada!” she says, grinning. “Candy!”

Tony scoops her up, laughing. “All right, princess. Let’s get you cleaned up before you stick to everything.”

As the fireworks light up the night sky, you watch your family, your heart full. Cora is smiling again, the twins are their usual mischievous selves, and even Estelle is giggling as Tony pretends to “steal” her cotton candy.

It’s not perfect, but it’s yours. And in this moment, it’s everything you could ever want.

Returning to Miami is bittersweet. After the whirlwind adventure in Paris, filled with laughter, healing, and plenty of magical moments, the familiarity of home feels both comforting and a little dull in comparison. The private jet touches down mid-morning, and as you step onto the tarmac, the heat wraps around you like an old friend. Estelle claps her hands excitedly at the sight of palm trees, and the twins immediately begin discussing which of their toys they missed most.

Cora, however, is a little quieter than usual. She’s not sulking—in fact, she seems happy—but there’s something in her demeanor, a kind of soft distraction, that doesn’t go unnoticed. You and Tony exchange a knowing glance as you watch her scrolling on her phone, her thumbs moving quickly over the screen as a faint smile plays on her lips.

By the time you’re back at the house, it’s clear that whatever—or whoever—Cora is texting has her full attention. The twins bolt up the stairs to their room, racing to see who can dump their luggage the fastest. Estelle toddles after them, babbling about her stuffed animals and pausing halfway up to plop down and rest.

Cora lingers in the living room, dropping her bags by the couch and flopping down with a sigh. Her phone is still in her hand, and her fingers immediately start typing again.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “So, who’s the lucky recipient of all those texts?”

Cora doesn’t look up, but she does roll her eyes. “Nobody.”

You smirk, taking a seat next to her. “Nobody’s got you smiling at your phone like that? Come on, spill.”

“It’s not a big deal,” she says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just talking to some people I met in France.”

Tony sits on the arm of the couch, folding his arms across his chest. “Oh, some people, huh? Are we talking guys, girls, or… Pierre?”

“Dad, seriously?” Cora groans, but she’s laughing despite herself.

“Wait, is it actually Pierre?” you ask, feigning shock.

“No!” Cora insists, finally setting her phone down and looking between the two of you. “His name is Louis. He was in line behind me at the Louvre, and we started talking while we waited. He’s cool, okay? That’s it.”

“Cool enough to text all day?” Tony teases, his grin widening.

“Cool enough to not break my heart, which is more than I can say for other people,” Cora shoots back, though her tone is light.

Tony’s smile falters for just a moment, and you place a hand on his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Well,” you say, steering the conversation back to neutral ground, “I think it’s great that you’re making new friends. France clearly left an impression.”

Cora nods, picking up her phone again. “Yeah. Louis and his friends were all really nice. They even invited me to come back someday and visit.”

Tony stiffens. “Visit? Alone? Over my dead body.”

“Tony,” you warn, shooting him a look.

“I’m just saying,” he mutters, leaning back. “Paris is great and all, but it’s a long way from here. And I don’t trust teenage boys. Especially French ones. They’re too charming.”

Cora laughs, shaking her head. “Relax, Dad. It’s not like I’m packing my bags tomorrow. Besides, you liked Paris too, remember? You wouldn’t stop talking about the croissants.”

“She’s got you there,” you say, smiling.

The next few days pass in a blur of unpacking, settling back into routines, and adjusting to the Miami heat. Cora spends a lot of time in her room, but instead of sulking like she had after the breakup, she seems genuinely happy. You often catch her laughing at something on her phone, and her mood has improved so much that even the twins take notice.

At dinner one evening, Alex leans over his plate of spaghetti and asks, “Cora, why are you always on your phone? Are you playing games?”

“No,” she says, twirling her fork. “I’m talking to my friends.”

Howard squints at her. “What friends? You don’t have any friends here.”

“Not here,” Cora says patiently. “In France. Remember the trip we just took? I met some people there.”

“Like Pierre?” Alex asks, grinning.

“His name is Louis,” Estelle pipes up, repeating what she’s heard so many times over the past few days. She giggles as if she understands the joke.

“Okay, dinner table rule,” you say, holding up a hand. “No teasing your sister about her friends. Got it?”

“Yes, Mom,” the twins say in unison, though you can tell they’re not entirely sincere.

After dinner, as you’re cleaning up in the kitchen, Tony wanders in, a dishtowel slung over his shoulder.

“So, what do you think about this Louis kid?” he asks, leaning against the counter.

“I think he’s halfway across the world and just a friend,” you reply, rinsing a plate. “And I think it’s good for Cora to have someone to talk to who isn’t us.”

Tony sighs. “Yeah, I guess. But I’m not thrilled about the idea of her running off to Europe to visit him someday.”

“She’s not running off anywhere,” you say, setting the plate in the drying rack. “And if she ever did, it wouldn’t be without a lot of planning—and probably a chaperone.”

Tony smirks. “So, you’re saying I’d have to go too?”

“Obviously,” you say, smiling. “You’d hate to miss out on more croissants.”

As the days turn into weeks, Cora continues to text Louis and his group of friends, her phone buzzing at all hours with messages and pictures. You catch glimpses of their conversations occasionally—photos of the Eiffel Tower lit up at night, jokes about the Louvre’s long lines, and even a video of someone attempting to skateboard in a cobblestone alley.

The twins remain mildly suspicious of this new development, but their jealousy is quickly forgotten whenever Cora agrees to join them for a game of basketball or a movie night.

One afternoon, as you’re sitting on the patio with Tony, watching Estelle splash around in the kiddie pool, he leans over and says, “You know, I think she’s really okay now.”

You follow his gaze to where Cora is lounging in a hammock, laughing at something on her phone.

“She is,” you agree, resting your head on his shoulder. “And that’s all that matters.”

Tony wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer. “You know, we’re pretty good at this whole parenting thing.”

“Speak for yourself,” you tease. “I’m the glue, remember?”

He laughs, kissing the top of your head. “Fair enough. But I’m the fun one.”

“Sure you are,” you say, smiling as you watch your family, your heart full.

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walidgoldpreppy · 2 days ago

Text

Interview with James Whitmore: The Perfect Preppy Boy

(James sits up straight, his blazer perfectly adjusted on his shoulders. His smile is bright, fixed in an expression of quiet satisfaction. He absentmindedly adjusts his tie, making sure it’s properly tightened. His gaze is clear, obedient, almost devoid of independent thought. He answers each question in a calm, composed tone, his voice smooth and pleasant.)

– James, can you tell us a bit about your daily routine?

"Of course. Every morning, I wake up at exactly 6:00 AM. I don’t need an alarm, my body is trained. I start with a run to build endurance, then a weightlifting session. A preppy boy must always be in shape, strong, and elegant under his suit.

After that, a cold shower, brushing my teeth, perfect whiteness is a must, and skincare. My hair? Always gelled, of course. It’s important to have a perfect cut, a neat, disciplined Ivy League style. The more gel, the better. All my fraternity brothers do the same.”

– And your outfit? How do you decide what to wear?

(He glances down at himself as if the question doesn’t even need to be asked.)

"I follow simple rules. Always a well-pressed dress shirt, a properly knotted tie, and a perfectly tailored blazer.

Today, it’s Brooks Brothers, but I also like Ralph Lauren. Wool trousers, polished leather shoes. It’s natural. I don’t really think about it. I wear what’s expected of me. What is… correct.”

(He smiles again, with a serene, blissful satisfaction. Everything is in order. He needs nothing more.)

– How do you see your future? What career would you like to pursue?

(James pauses for a moment. But it’s not hesitation. It’s more like confirmation, like the answer was already there, imprinted in him, ready to be recited.)

"I’d like to work in finance. Or maybe politics. Those are structured, orderly fields where elegance and discipline matter. I like the idea of wearing a tailored suit every day, of being part of a well-oiled machine. Of following clear rules. Of being an efficient cog in the system.”

– Wouldn’t you like to be independent, carve your own path?

(His brows furrow slightly, as if the question makes no sense. Then his smile returns, even more obedient.)

"Why would I? The system works. It exists to guide us. We are given structure, values, a way to behave. Everything is already in place. All we have to do is integrate, find our role, and **obey.**”

– Have you always been like this?

(He chuckles softly, but there’s no mockery in it. He doesn’t really understand the question. He adjusts his tie again, the gesture almost reflexive.)

"Of course. I’ve always been a good boy. Always well-dressed, well-mannered, always respectful of the rules. I never wanted anything different. This lifestyle is natural, isn’t it?”

(He smiles again, content, convinced. He doesn’t remember the time when he wore sloppy hoodies, laughed too loudly, or questioned expectations. That feels distant, unreal. He is happy now. Happy to be a perfect preppy boy. Happy to **obey.**)

#ai generated #brainwashing #conformity #preppy #gay men #hypnotized #preppification #hypnosis #preppiefication #stepfordization

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kitana-coldfire · 2 days ago

Text

Hello, Sno4wy.

Well. Ain't this a bitch of an unsatisfactory situation you've put me in.

Not Simprock, not Robyn, not Mackey– you, Snowy. No one else.

Now, before we go any further: You claimed in the now-'archived’ (read: deleted) harassment support thread in EO that you didn't send that document to anyone except Gerald, specifically because– and I quote: “the document isn’t okay for sharing publicly.as it is” [sic], but that “[you’ve] not granted permission to it to anyone but Gerald”.

Wow. Well, I had my suspicions before, but I was almost kinda glad to get the hard confirmation that you never really cared about me enough to consider me ‘anyone’.

But the fact of the matter is: you sent that document to me unprompted on January 30th, 2025 (ostensibly as the 'receipts' you've been promising for months now). Why did you send it to me? Hell if I know, cause I sure never asked to see it! You just... gave it to me. And now here we are.

Now, I don't expect you to actually read this (after all, you've got quite the track record of refusing to read anything you consider to be ‘DARVO’ing you), I’m just gonna go ahead and consider this an open letter and move on.

Though, if you are reading this: for the record? I didn't want to do this; drag myself out in the open, air your dirty laundry for all to see. Sure you blocked my DMs and timed me out on EO, but did I do anything about it? No, I rolled my eyes and got back to work on censoring the very dangerous document you had unceremoniously foisted upon me:

And here’s the kicker: I had every intention of keeping this private; or, well, mostly private.

I will admit, once I finished scrubbing the doc of the personal and private medical information that you failed to redact yourself before just handing it off to me (for some ungodly reason), my plan at that point was to simply open a ticket, go: "Hey, it seems Snowy blocked me and put me in timeout before I could get the censored version of this document back to him like I promised I would multiple times. Please ensure it gets into his hands", and then just leave the matter be.

After all, whatever fallout you faced behind the scenes after weaponizing your position and lying about not sending it to anyone else due to it being NOT OKAY TO SHARE PUBLICLY by your own admission wouldn’t be my problem, it'd be yours. I’d have followed the rules, cleared my conscience, and would’ve been able to wash my hands of you forever with my head held high.

Granted, you never actually asked me to censor the document either, but that's not entirely surprising now because, after looking back at our chat logs, I realized you never even attempted to get to know me past what you assumed to be true. If you had, you'd have learned that not only am I a “known lover of walls of text”, but that I also do not take kindly to hypocrisy and manipulative behavior. And upon further review, the record clearly shows that you displayed both of those in spades during our (blessedly) few interactions.

Funnily enough though, the record will also show that you never once contacted me unless you wanted something from me; namely, for me to get involved in your personal harassment drama in some way (which you actually acknowledged I wanted no part of!)

But at the same time: I was already exposed to the information you sent me, so I felt that personally ensuring the censorship of the private medical information you dropped in my lap apropos of nothing– on people who are complete strangers to me, no less!– was simply the ethical and moral thing to do to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands.

That said: I'll be the first to admit I made a mistake in that I did forget to inform you that I had begun work on censoring the document in your stead. That was completely on me, and I apologize once again for my failure to communicate that in a more timely manner:

But I’m sure you’ll be willing to cut me some slack; after all, I was distressed by your egregious lack of basic decency.

Also, don't even bother trying to turn the fact that I made a copy around on me; I outright told you I did (you never once commented on that fact, either).

...then again, you also admitted you didn't even look at the body of the document before just sending it off to a stranger on the internet– but we'll get to all that soon enough.

Unfortunately, however, it seems that being a self-centered asshole just wasn't enough for you, as just a few hours after being timed out for a week, I woke up to find myself kicked– actually, no, banned– from EO, despite me clarifying that this was NOT an EO matter; because it wasn't. By and large, this was an issue between you and me, and aside from me getting the document to you, no one else from EO needed to get involved out in the open.

I was trying to follow the rules. I was trying to settle this privately as requested; keep it outside of the server to the best of my ability considering the ethical dilemma this document posed.

Quick sidebar: To the mod I contacted regarding this matter (and you know who you are), please feel free to DM me again if your “ears” are actually as open as you claim they were a few days back, because I’ll be happy to discuss the matter of Snowy harassing me in DMs for months on end– which you didn’t even give me the chance to explain one-on-one before blocking me– in greater detail!

Though I would suggest you read what I’m linking at the bottom of this post first before doing so. Don’t worry, its only, like 70-ish pages long and mostly screenshots (which is also much shorter than the approximately 300 page document Snowy handed off to me last week!). Still, take your time! I'll be waiting.

Anyway, let's take a look at the reason I got ousted from EO, shall we? (With a small addendum that I didn’t contact anyone I knew only from the server, and I had ample reason to believe that contacting them would be okay. Still, I recognize I misspoke in this message you never saw, and I apologize):

Huh. Interesting. Now, I’d ask to see copies of the DMs I sent people I knew only from EO to warrant a ban of that nature, but I know neither Snowy nor any of the other mods will be able to produce them. Because they don’t exist.

In fact, I resolved not to contact the single individual I recognized only from EO whose username and screenshots were used in the document (just to ask them how they'd like to have their information handled, mind you); I was going to simply censor it as a courtesy and leave it at that.

I was truly trying to do everything I could to stay within the letter of the law given the circumstances I had been put in to AVOID a ban on these grounds, as per the moratorium the mods placed on the subject on February 5th, 2025:

Still, while it’s upsetting to get ousted from a server, it's actually not my first rodeo in that regard; back in October, I (and about 60 other people) were kicked out of Simprock in what's been colloquially dubbed 'The Kickening'/[vaguely gestures] and I'm not gonna lie: It hurt. It still hurts. But this isn't about that; or at least, not at this very second.

Again: this is about you, Snowy, and your actions alone. Because even after all that, I was still willing to do everything I could to prevent bringing this out into the open; after all, you said it yourself: I wanted to maintain a 'guise of neutrality'. I didn’t want to get involved.

...that was, riiiiight up until the moment I checked our DM history, and saw that you had deleted every. single. message, in what I could only assume to be a blatant attempt to shut me up and destroy all evidence of your wrongdoing.

And just like that? You pushed my 'bitch' button. Sucks for you.

Because like I said: this is not my first rodeo; I knew to have the entirety of our interaction screenshotted and archived before I sent my final post. Of course, I hoped I wouldn't need those records but... well. When dealing with a near stranger who is oddly belligerent to someone I consider a friend, I knew it was best to be prepared. And– to the detriment of my free time at large for the past few days– I've since gone through and annotated said screenshots in excruciating detail, to provide context for my side of the story. Don't worry though! I censored stuff like your friend's real name out, because I agree– there are ethical considerations to apply.

Oh, and don’t even bother crying about them being faked; I have a video of me scrolling through our messages from top to bottom; two, actually! One from before you scrubbed your messages and one from after. Sadly, I can’t post them publicly at the moment because I haven’t had the time to scrub the sensitive stuff out– like your friend's real first name. Nor can I post the link to the document that you sent me (that I didn’t fucking ask for), because you were so right in that regard: It is NOT safe for the public to see in the state you sent it to me in.

Now, for those curious about what the 'Gerald Document' is actually about: For the most part, it details an interpersonal fallout between Gerald's wife's IRL friend group– people I have never even met, mind you, aside from maybe a passing interaction here or there in one case– thus, I can’t really pass judgement on the situation that led to the document's creation past… I dunno? "Everyone involved in this matter kinda sucks, but Snowy sucks infinitely more for passing people's personal and private medical information off to me without their consent."

There, you can jot that down as my official take on the matter.

So, tl;dr:

On January 30th, 2025 between the hours of 12:40 and 2:14AM CST Snowy exposed personal and private medical information on two people to me without their knowledge or consent via the document he is claiming to be his ‘receipts’ in his Twitter post dated December 12th, 2024. Additionally, he exposed even more private medical information on a third person via the ‘conversation log’ he was also offering up in EO on February 3rd, 2025.

Now, please keep in mind: I'm about to prove I never asked to see that document, I only requested and agreed to look over the chat logs he offered me over private message between him and my friend in the hopes of mediating a misunderstanding. And that request was only made under the unspoken understanding that he'd learned his lesson from the doxxing incident a few months back. Spoiler alert: He didn’t (and actually acknowledged he violated that agreement. Again!)

All in all though, Snowy sent the following to me completely unprompted on January 30th, 2025:

"Brown" and Jules’ private medical information (as well as Robyn's via unredacted chat logs)

"Brown" and Jules’ real first names

"Brown" and Kellie’s discord handles

Jac and Goot’s real names again via the SAME doxxing screenshot he posted on X on December 12th, 2024

Now, aside from the doxxing screenshot (and, unfortunately, “Brown's” real name, I later recalled), I didn't know any of that information before I read that document. Additionally, seven? (I say ‘?’ because I’m not actually done censoring the damn thing yet, so there very well could be more by the time I get through!) people’s usernames/pfp’s– who weren’t even relevant/involved in the issue being discussed– were left unredacted as well. Keeping those names in wasn't necessary in the slightest, either; most of the time they just happened to be around the conversation at hand.

And yeah, you read that right: I’m still gonna censor it myself. Because that’s the ethical thing to do. Now, what I do with it afterwards… well, you blocked me, so… I guess it’ll be mine to do with as I wish!

Great. A 300-ish page manifesto that wasn't even relevant to the situation at present, penned in Sno4wy's own hand. Just what I always wanted. (Like seriously, man, you couldn't even list the estimated page count right?)

A few final words:

To Jules, “Brown”, (and Robyn): I'm so sorry I learned all of this information because Snowy betrayed your trust and sent me this documentation unedited. If I had realized at the time, I swear I never would have blindly made a copy to annotate when he sent it over.

But in my defense: the document was NOT locked down in any way aside from requiring Snowy to grant access, and when I checked the history it had been last edited in July. I genuinely thought he had learned his lesson after December and sent me something that had already been scrubbed, but it’s clear enough now that he didn’t learn a goddamn thing.

What he did to you was morally reprehensible of him, and I promise to do everything that I possibly can to ensure your information is censored correctly. That said: Jules, “Brown”– if either one of you would like me to send you a copy after I’m done to ensure I didn’t miss anything, I’m sure we have mutual contacts who would be happy to make that happen.

To Snowy (even though I doubt you're actually reading this): I truly hope you're happy, because you finally got what you wished for– I got involved. Congrats, I guess! But now, aside from censoring the document and figuring out what the hell to do with it afterwards… yeah. I'm pretty much done. But let me make one thing VERY clear: this is not an escalation; this is not a ‘DARVO’; this is not an attack.

This is me simply doing what I’ve been pushed to do, in order to ensure my side of the story was heard after you wronged and harassed me for months on end, ultimately resulting in you turning multiple people into victims with just a click of a button.

A side of the story you tried to silence. Deliberately.

Additionally, if you or ANY of your so-called 'friends' try to harass/contact/include me, my family members, and/or my place of work in your ridiculous drama you dragged me into, I will be taking that as a threat and deliberate retaliation against me for speaking up after being wronged.

So on that note, before I link the document to my complete annotated chat history with Snowy spanning from May 19, 2024 - February 6th, 2025, I’d like to leave my final (censored) DMs here as well just as a summary of what’s to come because... well, what can I say? When my ‘bitch’ button gets pressed, I don’t fuck around. I make people find out.

Goodbye, Snowy. For what it’s worth, I genuinely hope you get the help you so desperately need, but I also hope you have the day you ultimately deserve.

Then again, why would you start caring about what I want now? I'm not 'anyone', after all.

#bark bark bark #this bitch speaks #and she says:#get fucked marmot-man.#mtas

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