#once again thank you for sending the ask ^^

[bruhstories]

Bet IV

p.1 here & p.2 here & p.3 here

mandatory mdni because things will start to get heated up in the following chapters.

summary: you're starting to feel things for the man who hired you to take care of his cat. but he's only being nice. that's it and nothing more. pairing: hwang in-ho/the front man x civilian!reader warnings & content: age gap, afab!reader, slightly detailed descriptions of reader’s background for plot purposes, red text for in-ho, purple for reader, pre 33rd squid game, canon divergent, domestic violence (reader gets slapped by her uncle), veeeery slow burn, reader's dad is dead w/c: 2.1k

a/n: if you would like to be tagged for the next part, please check this post! thank you for reading! please remember that if you asked to be tagged but i can't find your age on your blog, you will NOT be tagged. there will be smut and people dying lol.

"Where were you last night?"

You sighed at your uncle's question, sick and tired of explaining the same thing over and over again. He woke up earlier than he should have, especially for a man who worked night shifts at a warehouse. He did it on purpose, just to have more reasons to pick on you, and you knew that all too well. You lived through that hell for the past ten years.

"I told you, I was cat sitting." 

"Cat sitting." He repeated with derision in his voice. "You need to get a real job."

"I have two real jobs." You reminded him, and it took all your willpower not to raise your voice at him.

"Where's the money, then? Huh?" Your uncle grabbed you by the wrist, twisting it backwards.

"I'm getting paid today!"

"How much?" 

"660,326!" You cried out as his fingernails dug deeper into your skin.

"I better see that money on my nightstand by tomorrow morning." He let go of your wrist. "Keep the change."

How generous, you thought, rubbing the crescent-shaped dents in your skin. At least he didn't hit you, but your small victory crumbled when he turned on his heels, smacking you with the plastic fly swatter in his hand. Once. Twice. Thrice. 

You didn't cry, not in front of him. Never in front of him. 

But when you stepped through the doors of Mr. Hwang's penthouse, the dam broke, and tears streamed down your cheeks. They burned when they touched the cracked, swollen skin, courtesy of your uncle, but you still smiled at the sight of Eunjoo.

Instead of waiting next to the water bowl, like she had done before, the cat jumped on the countertop, her paw gently touching your wrist, where the imprinted dents of his fingernails were still visible. You didn't know why, but Eunjoo's gesture made you cry harder, heavy tears falling onto her plate. 

"Good kitty." You sobbed, daring to pet her, and she allowed it, nuzzling your hand for the first time since you met her.

Without wasting a single moment, you took out your phone to take a selfie of you and Eunjoo, and sent it to In-ho, with the caption 'Making progress!' You thought he might be happy to see her slowly lower her guard and get attached to you.

Who hurt you?

Stupid. How could you be so stupid to send a selfie when your cheek was grazed and puffy? Of course Mr. Hwang would ask about it, he was a nice man, one whose kindness you didn’t think you deserved.

I accidentally walked into a lamppost! Silly, right?

Hoping that the lie would be convincing enough, you carried on with your tasks after eating with Eunjoo, and to your surprise, it worked. It fooled him, but you weren’t proud of yourself in the slightest. 

You need to be more careful next time. If anything happened to you, who would take care of Eunjoo until I return?

It shouldn't have hurt reading his reply, and yet your heart ached. What did you expect? You were an employee, he obviously wanted his cat to be safe, not you. And how could someone like him even care about someone you? You came from different worlds that could never intertwine.

I will.

No thank you, no sad face — you were bitter, even though, rationally, you had no reason to be. Besides, you lied to him in the first place. Maybe if you told him the truth, he would have sent a different reply. It didn't matter. In less than five days he would come back, pay you and never speak to you again. Just like all rich people did.

You cleaned the bathrooms that morning, scrubbing the bath tubs, the toilets, the sinks and the floors until your fingertips stung and your head pounded from the bleach fumes. The vibration of your phone startled you, and you wiped your hands to check the notification.

Have I upset you?

Okay, maybe he did care. Or maybe he was just very observant and noticed your monotonous reply.

Not at all, I just have a lot on my mind. I'm sorry that you worried about me, or that I seemed upset! You're right, I need to be more careful next time.

Please don't take this the wrong way, miss, but I've never met anyone who apologised for making me worry about them. You're quite special.

You did a double take when you read Mr. Hwang's reply, and a wave of remorse crushed your heart. The man was too nice for you to lie to him, but you didn't want him involved in your family affairs, either. There was a strong internal conflict within you, a battle between honesty and dishonesty, but for the time being, dishonesty won, no matter how disgraceful it was.

Choosing not to reply, as time was ticking and the Abduls would be waiting for you soon, you swiftly finished tidying up the bathrooms and put away all the cleaning products so Eunjoo couldn't get to them. With the automatic feeder full, fresh water in the bowl and litter boxes clean, you left.

In all fairness, you didn't know what to reply to his text. No one called you special before, except for that one guy you dated who only wanted to sleep with you, and unfortunately succeeded. It wasn't your proudest moment, but you moved on since then. You stared at the text, typing a reply, then deleting it, then typing again, and you did that for the duration of the entire bus ride back to Guryong Village. By the time you knocked on Ali's door, you still hadn't come up with a response.

What could you even say? Thank you? Likewise? I'm sorry I lied to you, my uncle slapped me with the fly swatter? No. In telling the truth, Mr. Hwang would pity you, perhaps even offer you more money, or food, or clothes, and you didn't want to be pitied. You wanted your hard work to be recognised, not to use your social status or depressing background as an excuse.

Mrs. Abdul couldn't feed you that day, and that was fine. They needed to prioritise themselves, since they didn't live any better than you. Luckily, you saved enough money to buy a kimbap roll for lunch and a bag of rice crackers for dinner and breakfast. Resourcefulness was, perhaps, your strongest point and the reason you survived for so long.

The theme park was packed with tourists and locals, gathering to watch the parade, and you took the time to entertain children and take pictures with them, always on your feet, always working. Back in the dressing room, you took the comically large mascot head off, sweat dripping down your face and neck. Summers were worse — there were body parts you didn't think could sweat.

"Excuse me, Y/N?"

You looked up from your seat to a man around your age, a coworker named Donghyun. He had worked there for a few months or so, but you barely spoke.

"Yes?" You smiled, resting your elbows on the mascot head in your lap.

"We're getting paid today, and a few of us are going for drinks after work. I was wondering if you would like to come." Donghyun avoided looking into your eyes, nervously pinching the soft fur of his own mascot.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, but I have another job I need to get to. Maybe another time."

"Yeah, another time." He nodded. "Hey, could I get your number?"

"Why would you want my number?" You laughed, immediately pursing your lips when Donghyun frowned. "Sorry, yeah, of course I'll give you my number!"

You were such a people pleaser, it was ridiculous, but he seemed to feel better after saving your number in his phone. And there was no harm in making new friends.

"I'll text you later." Donghyun nodded with a smile and left.

What a strange interaction, you thought. It wasn't unusual for men to like you — you were pretty, smart, funny — but you just weren't interested in any of them. In fact, it was their age and maturity that didn't appeal to you. They acted like prepubescent pricks, trying to impress anything with a vagina and a pretty face by being obnoxious and loud and downright irritating.

Older men were different. They had manners, they were respectful and caring. They knew how to dress, knew how to speak to women, kind of like Mr. Hwang.

Oh. 

God, you needed to forcibly remove that thought from your mind before it spiraled into something worse. In-ho probably wanted nothing to do with you — no, he definitely didn’t want anything to do with you. He was just a nice gentleman who happened to not be married. Maybe he had a girlfriend that didn't live with him. Or maybe he worked so much he couldn't afford a relationship. 

Maybe he murdered people.

You laughed at that ridiculous idea — no one in their right mind would do that, especially not Mr. Hwang. He had a cat, for God's sake. Murderers usually killed animals, surely he was just a normal man with a lot on his mind, a workaholic, or a hermit.

Walking into your boss' office, you received your pay and counted the money — 662,326. You got more than you should've, completely forgetting about the pay rise. Your uncle didn't need to know about that, and you took the extra 2,326 and hid it in a small pocket inside your backpack, along with other money you saved. Unbeknownst to him, you secretly opened a savings account in the hopes that one day you would be able to leave and rent your own place, but you only had 1,094,463.60 won, which was barely enough to cover the deposit.

One day. One day you would leave all that abuse behind and have a fresh start. But today was not that day. 

Back in Gangnam-gu, you entered the penthouse earlier than normal and dropped your bag on the floor next to your worn and torn boots. You were hoping they would last through winter because you really couldn't afford a new pair. Eunjoo ran to greet you for the first time, and your heart was filled with joy at the sight of the cat rubbing against your leg. She was growing on you, and you soon realised how much you'd miss her when Mr. Hwang returned. Perhaps he'd let you visit her. 

You turned the TV on and played some songs by ABBA, the sadness of the morning gone, replaced only by joy and optimism. Things would turn out well, you just knew it. You grabbed In-ho's black clothes and placed them in the washing machine, all the while dancing to the beat of Money, Money, Money. It was a song you related to, but you didn't want to find a wealthy man. You just wanted to have enough money to survive without your uncle.

"It's a rich man's world." You sang to Eunjoo, who wiggled her butt, playfully attacking your feet. 

"All the things I could do if I had a little money, kitty. I would get my own apartment, I would donate to orphanages and charities. Oh, don't look at me like that." You frowned when Eunjoo stared at you judgmentally. "I would! There are people out there who need help. But you know what I would get for me? A hotteok! Ah, I would kill for that cinnamony goodness."

You placed the food on the floor and opened the pack of rice crackers. 

"My dad got me a hotteok on my seventh birthday. It was the best birthday ever and- oh my God, I'm talking to a cat." Laughing at the sudden realisation, you shook your head in disbelief. "Well, you're probably my only friend anyway. You don't judge me. You don't care if I'm rich or poor. You just listen and eat. Oh!"

Good evening, Mr. Hwang! Could I ask what your favourite dish is?

You decided that would be your gift. Cooking wasn't your strongest skill, but you were confident in yourself. And who didn't want to come back to a hot home-made meal? Maybe he liked jajangmyeon, or jjigae, or something sweet, like chapssaltteok. The possibilities were endless.

Beef Wellington. Why?

Your heart sunk to your stomach. Beef fucking Wellington? How on Earth could you even afford all the ingredients? The tenderloin itself was probably over 65,000 won. But you were going to do it for him, regardless of what it cost. You felt that Mr. Hwang deserved it. 

I was hoping to cook it for you when you returned. I'll admit, I didn't think it would be such a... fancy dish, but I'm sure I can manage. 

Have you tried it before?

I'm afraid not. Is it good?

Exquisite. You'll have to stay and try it when I return, yes?

Chewing on your bottom lip, your heart skipped a beat at his request. You knew he was just being nice, but you couldn't stop the sudden burning desire to just obey. 

Yeah, I'll stay. 

tagging: @ri1liane @anmert1 @syraxnyra @frshluvcats @lanyia @mettreads @nightdark-dreamdark @bridge-always @lovekm @audrey223 @ririgy @starkeyszn  @hobiesbrownsgf  @thoughtfulbelieverstrawberry @maria-trisha @akiqvq @10hrs26mn @tenzko @okaycharr @politicstanner @moonxknightx @googie-jeon @swthrtbyeol  @mariiestfu  @ratsnestinmyhair @missroro @talia-the-gemini @fortluocha @true-queen-of-mischief @ssa-callahan @bibliophile-yomna @wwastro @heartsforseo @marymun @glads-stuff @starryeddie @kisses2kanao @gagaga167 @l4venderia @scryi @lelisae @twicelover2 @ashtrosstuff @cruel-affair @cdej6 @veragrhm @nikos-a-clown @cchewhaz @pepsicolacoochie @lily-ann-b @red22wolf @nellabear @unabletonotlovesatoru @happiness2112 @waterjewelsspite @luna-looniesnlog @plan3t-plut0 @full-sunnies @houta-habtet-houta @alexisabirdie @riri53 @bluehourss

[euthymiya]

not a selfship but i am taking advantage to get more uncle sukuna content out of u lake. running into baby yuuji at a grocery store and sukuna's looking for him & finds u with him?

“Hi!”

You glance down, caught off guard by the little voice coming from beside you. As soon as you meet two bright, shiny little wonder-filled eyes, you can’t help but melt at the small excited, innocent wave the kid sends you.

“Oh, hello,” you murmur, turning to face him properly, “are you lost, little guy?”

“No,” he beams, “my Uncle Kuna is playing hide and seek with me.”

“In a grocery story?” You blink. (You have some choice words for this Unkle Kuna—what sort of caretaker plays hide and seek in a grocery store of all places? Children can be snatched up by strangers anywhere, and it’s by sheer luck alone that this child ran into you and not someone with…less than good intentions.)

Just as you frown at the idea, a sharp voice interrupts your thoughts. “Yuuji, get back here! I’m not playing these games with you.”

The child, who you assume is Yuuji, giggles, hiding behind your leg as a tiny fist grabs onto your pants.

“Shh,” he whispers (rather loudly) up at you, “don’t tell Uncle Kuna I’m here!”

Suddenly, a man rounds the corner of an aisle, pushing a cart and walking up to you quickly with a scowl on his face as he purses his lips when he sees the evidence of a tiny hand clasping around your leg. He looks a lot like Yuuji, in fact—same pale pink hair and same brown eyes. Except he has tattoos along his cheeks, and much sharper looking cheekbones that make his face a touch harsher.

Handsome, you think. Good genes must run in the family—he’s as handsome as Yuuji is adorable.

“Have you seen a runt about this tall who’s not getting fed dinner tonight and will be locked away in my dungeon?” He asks, giving a crooked smile when a soft, horrified little gasp comes from behind your leg.

“No!” Wails Yuuji, looking up at you with hopeful eyes. “Don’t let him take me!”

“Don’t listen to him,” the man grunts, “he’s gettin’ spoiled. Any more and he’ll be completely rotten.”

With that, he grabs Yuuji and hoists him up to sit on his hip, scowling at him before he gently takes the sleeve of his shirt and wipes Yuuji’s lips of the smeared remnants of ice cream.

You melt a little on the inside once more, the harsh scolding ready on your lips already forgotten.

“Thanks for finding him,” he mutters, giving you a brief glance. “Turned around to grab one thing, and he ran off before I could catch ‘im.”

“It’s…it’s no problem,” you breathe.

Handsome, you think again. What a painfully, stupidly handsome man.

Carina no one loves me like u my fave vehicle

[moonstruckme]

Pookie! I need you to write me something pretty please :)

Can you write Remus comforting a reader with an anxiety disorder when someone told them "there's nothing to be anxious about. You just want attention" ??? Pretty please?? Love you pookieeeeeee

Thanks for requesting!

cw: mean girl stuff, social anxiety

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 929 words

“Shh.” Remus holds you close to his chest, his hand moving up and down your arm now that your crying has slowed. “It’s okay. It’s just us, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you echo, croakily. You’re glad you can’t see your boyfriend’s face, for fear you���d die of embarrassment otherwise. The looming insecurity of your day stands over you like a grim reaper. 

You arrived home from a friend’s birthday dinner to find Remus sitting on the couch, already marking the page of his book as he turned to you with a soft smile. 

“Hi, sweetheart. How was it?” 

You replied, through a laugh that turned into a sob halfway through, “Not great.” 

The dinner had been an event of foreboding for you since your invite. You’d been determined to be a good friend by not bailing, but actually going had confirmed your worst fears; it was loud, crowded, filled with people you didn’t know and didn’t fit with. Your outfit wasn’t right, the menu was daunting, and conversation swirled all around you about things you weren’t a part of. The fallout was basically inevitable. 

You perhaps waited too long to excuse yourself. You were sweating buckets and breathing around a lump by the time you did, whispering an explanation to your friend before locking yourself into a bathroom stall to talk yourself down. You’re sure she didn’t mean anything by telling the people sitting closest to her why you were gone—you don’t think she’d do it to gossip, and she’s never talked down to you about that sort of thing, at least not to your face—but by the time you returned one of her friends—a stranger to you, who’s name you can’t even remember—had formulated a fairly decisive opinion and dubbed you an attention seeker. 

You stayed only a little longer after that. Just long enough to avoid attracting more attention. And you worked yourself up well enough on the way home that all it took was one innocent question from Remus to send you crumpling into his arms. 

You’ve tried to steel yourself more than once, but any attempts at stoicism have been foiled by your boyfriend’s tender looks and whispered placations, which only make you cry harder. If you’re an attention seeker, Remus is your holy grail. Self loathing sits lodged in your throat like a stone. 

“Whose friend was it, again?” Remus asks, stroking your arm gently. 

You take a breath, trying to steady your voice. “Does it matter?” 

“I don’t mean it’s your friend’s fault, sweetheart,” Remus says. He’s all softness and patience, better than you could ever deserve. “I just thought you might talk to her, if you want to. She ought to know her friend is going around saying cruel things.” 

“She was there.” Your throat tightens at the memory. 

“Oh. Then I don’t suppose you need to say anything; I’m sure she’s already very upset for you.” 

You try to laugh, frustrated with yourself when it only seems to spur another wave of tears. “Rem. You’re biased.” 

“What?” Remus sounds genuinely surprised. “You don’t think she’s angry with that other girl?”

“She’s her friend.” 

“So are you.” His arms tighten around you protectively, chin bumping your head. “I may be biased, but the other girl was clearly in the wrong. There’s no excuse for the way she acted.” 

A dozen rebuttals fly about your head, but you keep your mouth shut. You don’t have the energy to argue. Unfortunately, Remus hears your argument in the silence anyway. 

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, “no one puts themselves through what you do for attention. You don’t choose to feel that way.”

You hunch your back, tucking your head underneath his chin. “I do get attention for it, though.” 

“That doesn’t mean you want it.” 

“But I—”

“Do you want it?” You can’t see Remus, but you hear the hardened edge to his tone. “Did you like it, when that girl called attention to you in the middle of the dinner?” 

Your voice smalls. “No.” 

“Right.” The gentleness returns. Remus puts his lips to your head. “I know you didn’t, dovey. So don’t torment yourself, please. She doesn’t know anything about you.” 

You push your lips together. He lets you chew on your next words for a while, his thumb swiping softly back and forth over your upper arm, the sleeve of your top shifting slightly with the motion. 

“What if…” You gnaw the inside of your cheek. Remus waits. “What if everyone thinks that?” 

“Mm. Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think most people would. Surely not anyone who knows you, or anyone worth being around.” He takes a breath, thinking. “You can’t always control what people think. I know you say I’m biased, but anyone who thinks something like that really isn’t worth thinking about at all. You’ve got enough going through that head of yours, yeah?” He kisses your hair fondly. 

“I guess so,” you admit. 

“Yeah,” Remus decides. He pulls away to see your face, pushing hair away from your tacky cheeks. “I’d say so.” 

You wonder if you look as horrendously in love as you feel. You think you must, because your boyfriend’s expression softens impossibly further as he turns his head to give you a proper kiss. You feel raw but comforted, and suddenly, totally exhausted. 

“Let the bullies worry about themselves.” Remus gives you a tender look. “I’ll worry about you.” 

You let a small smile tilt your lips. “And what am I left to worry about?” 

“Nothing,” he says solemnly. “Think you can manage that?” 

“Nope.” 

“Mm. Well, try.” 

[ofbatsandballads]

please take this. I made myself cry writing it and I have nothing to say except that putting ya’aburnee and darling by halsey on my jason playlist was a brutal choice. also look up flower language if you want additional feelings.

There’s so many things you want for Jason Todd.

You want him to get a good night’s sleep for once. You let him close his pretty seafoam eyes and lay his head in the crook of your neck as you scratch gently at his scalp. It always calms him down, grounds him in the here and now. Your arms around him, your fingers carding through his hair, the rise and fall of your chest that’s synced with his–it all reminds him that he’s safe, that he’s home. You want that feeling to follow him into his dreams, to let him find true rest. So when his body goes tense and his breathing gets labored, you hold him closer and hum gently into his ear until whatever haunts him in his sleep is chased away by the comfort you bring.

You want to make sure he’s protected. You wish you could deflect every hit, blade, and bullet away from his body. You wish he would see his body as something worth protecting. He would stop if you asked, would settle into a normal life as best as he could. You would never ask because to do so would be to deny the part of him you love most: his heart that beats to help others. So you protect him in the ways that you can. You stitch cuts and treat burns, you mend his jackets and help clean his guns. More than anything, you guard his peace of mind like it’s the most valuable thing in the world. You’re never cruel to him, never scream vicious words or toss him out into the cold night. You call Bruce and thank him for the first edition Jane Austen novels that arrived on your doorstep on August 16th when Jason just…can’t. You let him grip your hand brutally tight under the table when you go to the manor for Thanksgiving for the first time. And when it gets really bad? When he feels the burning of green waters that breathed life into him that he didn’t want, when hideous laughter echoes in a place it’s never been? You do something no one has ever done for him. You wait. You stay. You stay by his side until he can breathe again, until dawn breaks and he can see the light again. And always, always you, haloed in it like an angel he doesn’t think he deserves. He does.

You want him to have a good cup of hot chocolate. He told you about it once when he came home after a long winter patrol. Half delirious from exhaustion, he reminisced about how Bruce would make them both a cup of hot chocolate after particularly rough or successful patrols in December. How this specific hot chocolate had no equal—even Alfred couldn’t replicate the richness and warmth. You noticed the fondness in his voice, the longing so intense that it still makes your heart ache for him. So you do some light stalking and hunt down Tim Drake, demand that he give you the information you want or else you’ll disclose how he really lost his spleen to Bruce (why he was dense enough to tell Jason, you’ll never know). And that is how Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist single father and the Batman, receives an email with the subject line “URGENT: Recipe Request” that reads as follows:

To whom it may concern,

I have been made aware that you have a remarkably compelling hot chocolate recipe that is hitherto unparalleled by cafes, franchises, and butlers alike. I am emailing you to inquire about my being sent this recipe post-haste. This is less a request than a demand. I will do my best to ensure that you, at some point in time not specified (it will take great effort on my part), are able to witness the consumption of the hot chocolate by the individual that will be receiving the product of the recipe.

Best regards,

Someone who loves your son.

Bruce sends the recipe the second he receives the email. He has to sneak his phone under the conference table at the Wayne Enterprises board meeting to do it, but he still manages to reply in two minutes and forty-seven seconds. And you make good on your promise. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Jason shine as brightly as he does that Christmas, lit up by the lights on the twelve foot tree as he sips his hot chocolate from the same red mug that’s been sitting in the kitchen cabinet since he last drank from it. The matching black mug is clasped in the hands of the hot chocolate connoisseur himself, who smiles softly like the magic of the season has returned to his life for the first time in ages.

You want him to heal. It’s a big ask; you know that. But you’ve never been one for giving up hope, and if anyone can manage to achieve the impossible, it’s Jason. So you tell him it’s a great idea when he jokes about getting a therapist. You wait for him in the car the first time he goes and you let him open up to you in his own time when he comes out of the appointment body tight as a bowstring and eyes bloodshot. You watch quietly and celebrate the little victories you see him win. He can call his father first now; he doesn’t do it often, but he can. He can talk to his younger brother without hating his hands and the blood that’s been spilled on them, without going out on patrol and intentionally letting all the worst hits make contact. He can go out to lunch with his older brother and his youngest, can laugh with them over that ridiculous thing Bruce did at a gala once to make them all laugh. He can bear his birthday a little bit better now, can accept the cake you bake and actually make a wish when he blows out the candles. But you’ll never know about the moment that you start to get what you want. Jason goes to visit his own grave on the anniversary of his death and finds a bouquet of red carnations, baby’s breath, and honeysuckle with a note in your handwriting that reads “Someone told me once that you were magic, that that was the best thing about you. I think it’s far more important that you were loved. I don’t know what you could’ve been. I don’t wonder about it like those that loved you did because all I know is who you became. He’s wonderful. He’s still magic. I think you’d be proud of him. I’ll do my best to take care of him for you.” He sits there for an hour in tears. Then he takes one bud of each flower and the note, goes home and presses them into the pages of his favorite book. He holds you in his arms in bed that night and feels, for the first time in a long time, a sense of peace down to his very bones.

You want—above all else—Jason Todd to feel loved. You want him to feel so cherished and wanted that he cannot possibly look at himself without realizing that he is something precious, something beloved. So you tell him that you love him and you accept his warm embrace as his way of saying it back. You make him chocolate chip cookies and sneak one into the pocket of his tactical pants when he goes on patrol (they’re soft, they don’t get crunched when he’s thrown from a roof). You read his favorite books to understand what he’s saying when he goes off on tangents about class and social hierarchy and how they governed life in the 19th century. You trace his scars and kiss away his tears when he can’t believe that he could be transformed from a being marred by brutality into a man revered with gentleness. You will love him until the day you both die. You will love him in death, until whatever atoms made up you and him come together again. You will love him until everything that ever is or ever was ceases to be in a supernova of light. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll love him in whatever is born after.

[missarchive]

ok ok ok!! what about spencer getting head from reader for the first time, and it's her first time doing it, so she's nervous and he teaches her and he has to try sooo hard not to cum immediately because he is just GONE for the innocence with which she does it/tries things out 🤭 you choose what season spence!!

Decided to do one more for tonight!! (I’m feeling generous)

thank you for the request!! im always writing munch!spencer but it's nice to write things the other way round for once

cw; +18 minors dni, inexperienced!reader, tiny bit of dom!spencer if you squint, oral (m. receiving), cum swallowing

When you first kneel before him, his breath catches in his throat, and he’s certain he might lose himself right then and there. The sight of you—so eager, so nervous—renders him utterly helpless. Your hands reach for his belt with a mixture of determination and trepidation, your cheeks flushed a rosy hue that makes you look impossibly innocent yet utterly intoxicating. His jaw slackens as he watches you, his heart pounding against his ribs like a war drum.

Your wide eyes flicker up to meet his, glinting with excitement and a touch of uncertainty. He’s been dreaming of this moment for what feels like forever, and now that it’s unfolding, every muscle in his body tenses, locked in an unbearable anticipation.

Your fingers fumble with his belt, the clumsy motions endearing rather than frustrating. He doesn’t mind the delay; in fact, it only heightens his awareness of you—of how genuine, how completely you this moment is. He knows this is your first time. Not just with him, but ever. You’d told him, shyly, how you’d researched, how you’d prepared for this, even asking friends for advice. Still, the vulnerability of trying it now, with him, makes his chest tighten.

His hands find their way to your hair, almost of their own volition. The silky strands slip through his fingers like water, grounding him. You haven’t protested, haven’t pulled back, and the faint smile on your lips reassures him that you’re okay with this—more than okay. You glance up at him again, brow furrowed slightly in concentration, and the sight makes his heart stutter.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, his voice rough with emotion. He needs you to be comfortable, to know that he’ll stop the moment you ask.

You pause, your hands stilling, and you smile at him, a gentle curve of your lips that speaks volumes. “I’m okay,” you whisper.

Finally, you manage to undo his pants, your small hand brushing against his erection as you pull down the zipper. He groans at the brief contact, the sound guttural and raw. When your fingers wrap hesitantly around him, his breath hitches, and he can’t stop the way his hips shift forward, seeking more of your touch.

“God,” he murmurs, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Your touch is tentative, exploratory, and it sends jolts of pleasure straight to his core.

You look up at him, startled by the intensity of his reaction. “Is that... okay?” you ask, your voice laced with innocence and curiosity.

“It’s more than okay,” he rasps, his hands moving to your shoulders, needing something to hold onto, to anchor himself. “You’re perfect.”

Encouraged, you start to stroke him, your hand sliding up and down his shaft in slow, deliberate movements. He watches you, his gaze locked on the way your small hand moves over him. The sight alone is almost too much.

When your tongue darts out to wet your lips, he groans deeply, his head falling back for a moment as he imagines that mouth on him. The vividness of the fantasy sends a fresh wave of arousal coursing through him.

“Baby,” he says, his voice strained, “I’m not going to last much longer like this.”

Your eyes widen slightly, disbelief flickering across your features. He chuckles softly despite himself, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he confesses, his voice heavy with sincerity.

“I just... I’ve never done this before,” you admit shyly, your cheeks flushing deeper. “I don’t want to mess it up.”

“Baby, you’re not doing anything wrong,” he assures you, his hands moving to cradle your face. The warmth of your skin beneath his palms soothes and excites him all at once. “Can I show you?”

You nod, your expression curious, and he takes a steadying breath, his restraint hanging by a thread. Gently, he guides your hand away, needing a moment to compose himself before he completely unravels.

“Like this?” you ask, your voice so soft it’s almost a whisper. The innocent question makes his chest tighten with affection and desire.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “Just like that. Only with your mouth.”

His hand moves to the back of your head, not to push or force but to guide. He’s desperate for this but careful, wanting you to feel safe, to enjoy it as much as he knows he will.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he urges, his voice gentle but firm.

“Okay,” you reply, nodding.

When your lips part and touch the tip of his cock, he shudders violently, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat. The wet heat of your mouth surrounds him, and it’s so much better than he ever imagined.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his head falling back as you take him deeper, your tongue flicking against him experimentally. His hands clutch the sheets, desperate for something to hold as his hips jerk involuntarily.

You pull back slightly, looking up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Was that okay?”

“More than okay,” he groans, his voice thick with need. “You’re incredible.”

Bolstered by his praise, you take him in again, this time with more confidence. Your mouth moves over him slowly, tentatively, and the sensation is almost overwhelming.

“God,” he groans, his voice ragged. “I’m going to come.”

His hand returns to your hair, fingers threading through it as he fights the urge to thrust deeper into your mouth. He doesn’t want to push too far, to take too much.

When he finally lets go, the release is overwhelming, a rush of pleasure so intense it leaves him trembling. You stay with him through it, warm spurts of cum painting the back of your throat.

As you pull back, you wipe your mouth with a shy smile, and he reaches for you, pulling you into his arms. He presses a soft kiss to your cheek, his heart still racing as he holds you close.

“Was it... good?” you ask, your voice small and uncertain.

“It was amazing,” he says, his voice hoarse with emotion. “You were amazing.”

Your giggle lights up the room, and his chest swells with affection. “I thought I did it wrong at first,” you admit, laughing softly.

“You were perfect,” he assures you, kissing you again. “Better than I ever imagined.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Death Wish 14

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

When Castro leaves, there’s no buffer left to you. As usual, you have no defense against this man. You feel Bucky watching you as you avoid him.

You take in the decor. As nice as it is, it’s just another reminder of the distance between you and this man. He has everything and you have nothing. You are entirely at his whim. 

He sighs and you sense the subtle shift behind you as he stands. You glance over your shoulder as he strips off his jacket. He stretches his neck to either side and it pops. 

“May as well get settled, doll, too late to send you off now,” he drawls. 

You face him entirely and nod. Resignation isn’t such a new feeling to you. He looks at you with a fire in his eyes. He comes forward and you plant your feet. 

“Are you excited? At all? A wedding? A wardrobe? The most powerful man in the city?” He stops before you and tilts his head. 

You stare at him and open your mouth. You should lie to him but you can’t force the words out. Despite your speechless gape, he doesn’t appear disappointed. He cups your cheek and his tongue peeks out over his lip and he considers you. 

“I respect that. You’re too honest for your own good.” His thumb brushes up to your temple. “So I’ll ask the big question, do you think... do you think I’m handsome, doll? I have been told I got nice eyes but I got a lot of people around me who will tell me whatever I wanna hear.” 

You flinch and narrow your eyes. You feel a dimple pinch. He smirks. 

“You think that’s funny,” he states. 

“I guess. You don’t need me to answer that, do you?” 

He takes a breath, “maybe not but I’d like to hear it from you.” 

You look down then flick your eyes back up, “yes, you are handsome, Mr. Barnes.” 

He snickers and brings his other hand up, cradling your head gently. “And you’re gorgeous, baby.” You scrunch your face and clucks, “don’t make that face, you know it too.” 

“Barnes--” 

“Bucky,” he insists. 

“Bucky,” you echo wistfully. 

“Hey, I know I gotta treat you right or one day you’ll find someone to take care of me--” 

You shove him, not thinking. His words lash you like a fiery whip. He takes a step back, though you know that you truly can’t impact him that much. 

“Don’t you dare—How could you say that to me?” 

His eyes drift placidly then spark as they fall on you again, “you play innocent with everyone else. It’s perfect, but not with me. I know what you’re capable of.” 

Your nose tingles, “you don’t understand--” 

“I don’t?” He arches a brow. “I don’t understand the bruises on your neck or the desperation in your voice? I didn’t deliver you exactly what you wanted on a platter?” 

“Why are you doing all this? What—do I have to get on my knees and thank you?” You step forward then stop. You sneer and drop to your knees. You clasp your hands together with a clap. “Oh, Bucky Barnes, the King, thank you for putting that gun in my hand. Thank you for taking those years of abuse and twisting them into your prize. Thank you. Is that good enough?” 

He looks down at you. His expression is clear, calm. He holds out his hands. 

“Get up,” he demands. 

“No, you want me on my knees. You want me beneath you. To know that I owe you this life.” You tug but he doesn’t let go. “I don’t want it. I never did. I just wanted... I wanted my sisters to be free.” 

He slowly bends his knees and lets you go. He comes eye level with you as you take a breath. He scoops you up in a single motion and you cry out. He hikes you up, turning you sideways in his arms. You push on his chest, your other arm stuck against him. 

“Barnes--” 

“Why don’t you just call me James then? If you’re going to act like my mother,” he growls as he marches past the sofa. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t--” 

“You meant it. Goddamn it, doll, that’s as genuine as you’ve been with me. Don’t think I’m stupid,” he takes you into the foyer and turns up the large staircase. You wriggle as panic swells in me. 

“Please, I’m... I don’t know what I’m doing. I told you--” 

You voice fizzles as he remains silent, his expression stone. You look down and shudder in his embrace. He carries you to the second floor and down a hallway. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the four-postered bed, dropping you onto the plush cushion. 

“All you need to worry about knowing how to do, is keeping me happy,” he snarls. “That’s it.” He glares at you with a fearsome leer. “I told you, all I want is you. Not your lies, not your groveling, just you.” 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, “I...” you search his face. “I don’t know how to give you that.” 

He steps closer and bends over you slowly. A hot breath plumes from his nose as he plants his hands on either side of you. You drag yourself up on the bed and he lowers himself to trap you there. He leans in until his nose touches yours. 

“You don’t gotta try so hard,” he brushes his nose on your cloyingly. “You just gotta... be...” his traces down to your cheek, nuzzling you. “Doll,” he tilts his head to nibble your lower lip. He growls and pulls on it until it slips free. 

He frames your chin as he comes down onto an elbow. He crushes his lips to yours and you hum in surprise. His tongue begs for entrance and you easily abide his plea. His hand slips down to your throat as he invades your mouth. Like everything he ever taken, he claims you with brute force. 

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tangerine x stripper fem!reader

Mini-series summary: When Tangerine opened an underground strip-club to cover for his murder-for-hire business operation, he wasn't expecting to become so easily distracted by one girl in particular.

Chapter summary: Accidentally walking into something you shouldn't have causes you to learn about Tangerine's real business, effectively creating a rift between you and him (4.8k) + epilogue (1.6k)

Warnings: blood, violence, slut shaming, murder, drugs, alcohol, guns, illusions to sexual assault and mentions of death but nothing happens, still a happy ending!

credit : @little-miss-dilf-lover 🤍🤍 thank you endlessly!

BAD FOR BUSINESS MASTERLIST

You're sitting on Tangerine's desk during your break. He's working on his laptop, listening to you blabber with intention, only half focused on his work. Instead, his focus is drawn to the way you cross your legs, the baby-blue babydoll dress you're wearing tonight hugs your curves and that bow in your hair is making him lose focus. 

You've barely touched your yogurt and Tangerine flips a page, interrupting you: "You should eat, love." He reminds you and you nod, taking another spoonful. 

"And then Nicola told him to fuck off," you continue, through your mouthful, "which was hilarious. You should have seen his face! Scummy bastard! Annette and I were laughing so hard," you laugh at your own story. Tangerine seems a little less amused. 

"Is Nicola okay? Customers should not be making comments like that."

You smile a little, placing your yogurt on his desk and leaning closer to him. One of your heels rests on his chair now, your hand playing with his hair. "She's fine, babe, you know we can take care of ourselves."

Tangerine looks up now, his gaze stern. "Yeah, I know," he says and then sighs, "I just worry."

"I know," you laugh and kiss his cheek. You sit up and jab your spoon into your yogurt again. "Honestly, I don't even know why you do this job. You hate anything to do with this business."

Tangerine is quiet. He turns to his laptop again, your words sinking in. If only you knew, he thinks.

"I don't hate you," he says softly, almost embarrassed. He feels shitty. He wishes he could tell you the truth about what this is, and he wishes he could officially ask you to be his girl. He wishes for a lot of things he can't fulfill. 

Not now. 

You smile, opening your mouth to say something else, when the door suddenly swings open. Startled, you stand up and adjust your little dress, suddenly self-conscious at being caught in your boss's office during your break. No one usually comes in, especially unannounced. 

Tangerine stands as well, discreetly putting himself in front of you as a tall, lanky man dressed in a grey suit walks in. His hair is jet black and he has rectangular glasses perched on his nose that hide a dark pair of eyes. He looks a little older than Tangerine, maybe mid-thirties, and he pauses when he sees you. 

"Fucking our employees now, Tangerine," the man smirks. You recognize him as the other boss. He's barely around anymore, but you remember meeting him on your first week.

Unlike Tangerine, this man has always make your stomach feel queasy. 

You tense a little and grab your yogurt from the desk you now realize Tangerine most likely shares with this man. Tangerine looks even tenser than you are and he turns to you, sending you a look that you read as "Go. Please." 

You nod, quickly walking to the door and down the stairs. Tangerine relaxes a little once you're out the door but he continues to glare at Leo.

"No one is fucking anyone," he says as calmly as he can. 

"In that suit, I'm not surprised you can't get a girl like her," Leo whistles, dropping his briefcase as he hangs his coat. "Which one was that already? Candy? Diamond? She's smoking hot."

Tangerine holds his tongue. He doesn't want Leo to know of his feelings for you so he just corrects him. "Angel. You should really know our employees' stage names by now."

Leo rolls his eyes as he walks over, picking up a folder. "They're strippers. Who cares?" He reads over the documents and then looks up at Tangerine. "Thanks for taking over when I was away, mate, why don't you go take a break, hm?"

Tangerine's jaw clenches. He hates how Leo thinks he can boss him around when he's always the one doing the work. He hesitates for a moment. Usually, he isn't afraid to call Leo out on his bullshit but he has more important things to worry about than his ego. He wants to check on you. 

He didn't even get to kiss you goodbye. 

"Oi, T," Leo calls just as Tangerine walks out the door. Tangerine groans and peeks his head back into the room, an annoyed look on his face. "Meeting tonight, remember?" Leo's words ring in Tangerine's ears and his expression falters for a moment. 

He'd completely forgotten. 

"Ya, I remember," he says roughly, his voice strained as he ignores the impending doom he feels in his stomach as he turns to rush down the stairs to find you.

* * * 

You slip on your mary-janes, grab your woolen coat, and hurry out the door. It's late and you're the last girl here. You've been having this awful habit of daydreaming lately, your stomach filled with butterflies as you remember Tangerine's lips on yours, his hands caressing your skin. You shake the thoughts, turning to lock the backroom with the spare keys you have. 

You hum, thinking back to the words Tangerine had whispered in your ear when he'd found you after you'd hurried from his office. You make me happy. You feel your cheeks warm as you remember the quick kiss he'd given you in the dark corner near the bathroom and how stupid it is that he manages to make that sketchy corner into something so romantic. 

You'd usually leave from the backdoor, but tonight you decide to walk through the lounge in case Tangerine hasn't gone home yet. Sometimes, he waits for you without even needing to be asked. However, this time, the lounge is empty.

You look up, seeing that the blinds to Tangerine's office are shut but that the light is on. You can see faint movement behind the blinds and the movements pique your interest. 

Is Tangerine working late?

It hadn't even crossed your mind to remember Leo's arrival just a few hours earlier. 

You walk up the stairs, holding your bag over your shoulder. You can hear hushed voices; multiple male voices you don't recognize and your stomach flips with nerves. You know you should turn around, you really should, but you don't.

You're too curious. 

The office door isn't fully closed and without thinking, you gently push on it with your open palm, freezing when you peer inside. There are four men in the room; all of them are large and scary with various guns displayed on their bodies. They're laughing obnoxiously, discussing something about a latest kill.

You bite the inside of your cheek, scanning the room as you listen in. You see Tangerine and Leo in the center, leaning over the desk as they look at what appears to be plans of some sort. More guns lay on the desk and the entire room smells like smaok and drugs. 

"40 million quid for three men dead, easy," one man laughs, flicking his cigar into the ashtray. 

Leo chuckles, clapping Tangerine on the back. "What do you say, mate? Sounds like a good one, hm?"

Tangerine nods, still looking over the plan, his eyebrows pinched. "I suppose three kills is simple."

You're frozen in shock. Kills? 40 million? Your mind can't seem to wrap your head around what's happening. You look at Tangerine and for the first time in weeks, you don't recognize the man you're looking at. You back up, holding your breath. 

You need to get out of here. 

"Bloody hell, who do we have here?" A man's hoarse voice echoes around the room and suddenly, his hand is wrapping around your arm and dragging you inside.

Your bag falls to the ground. You let out a gasp, squirming in the man's grip but he holds you still. He's much taller than you and much stronger. He smells like alcohol and you can see the gun on his hip and you hold your breath in fear. 

The men whistle at your entrance, laughing amongst themselves. The only man who isn't finding this amusing is Tangerine; he's tense, his dark blue eyes locked with yours as he wears an expression you can't read, but his chest is rising and falling rapidly. 

"Oh, look who it is, it's Angel again," Leo barks a cruel laugh, sauntering around the desk as he approaches you slowly. His hand raises and he caresses your cheek with his knuckles. You wince, pulling away from his touch as if he's burning you and Leo pouts, faking pity. 

"This one of yer strippers?" a man asks. He's much older than the others, his hair whitening, and he's grinning at you like one of your customers would. 

Leo nods, wrapping his hand in your hair to keep you from squirming again. "Yup," he pops the "p" and grins, "Isn't she just a prize? Tangerine sure knows how to pick 'em."

Tears brim in your eyes at the implication. What had he told them? You look at him, watching him just stand there. He hasn't moved or said a word.

You're shaking now, terrified at being trapped in this situation. You aren't usually helpless but they're outnumbering you, and they have guns. 

Leo pulls on your hair a little, making you gasp in pain again. The other man wraps his arm around your waist, grinning. 

"You shouldn't have wandered in here, little mouse," Leo whispers. He smiles when he sees the tears on your cheeks. "Because you know what this means, hm? Can't have you scurrying off and snitching on us—"

Your eyes widen and you squirm harder. "No-no-no please, I won't tell anyone! Please. Tangerine!" You sob, angling yourself towards Tangerine as you try and yank yourself out of the man's grip.

The other men look towards him. "Ya close with the stripper?" One snarls, his smirk evident.

Leo keeps his hand in your hair, pulling on it to shut you up. You muffle your sobbing in fear of angering them anymore. Tangerine doesn't speak, his gaze intense, and the men take that as a no. Leo turns to you again and laughs. "Such a shame. She's so pretty. She must bring us a lot of money."

"Can I have a turn with her before we kill her?" The man holding your waist asks, earning some raucous laughter and agreement from the others and you feel defeated. You keep looking at Tangerine, pleading with your eyes as you cry softly.

Leo untangles his hand from your hair and nods. "Sure, have your fun, boys. I don't fuck used goods," he laughs cruelly and embarrassment washes over you. "Now, where were we?" He looks at the plans again, clearly disinterested in what's happening to you.

The man holding you slides his hand up your stomach but before he can touch you more intimately, Tangerine's voice interrupts; "No," he says plainly. You sniff, struggling weakly now as it hurts to move in the men's arms. You watch him take his gun and slide it into the waistband of his trousers behind him. Leo looks up, confused. 

"My turn," Tangerine says, walking over and snapping his fingers. The men release you, making it clear Tangerine has authority. Your stomach sinks. Why hadn't he helped you then? You glance between him and Leo, not completelyunderstanding the dynamic, but as soon as you're not being held, you make a run for it. 

You don't get very far because Tangerine grabs you and holds you close to him. You cry, hitting him as you scream and thrash against his body.

"Let me go! Please! Please!" Your head is spinning and everything begins to hurt. You can smell his cologne, a smell that was so familiar and reassuring now feels tainted and wrong. When he wraps his hand around your mouth, you gasp for air and dig your nails into his wrist, drawing blood. He hisses in pain but only tightens his hold on you. 

"Shut up," he growls in your ear. You can hear his heart thumping in his chest and you begin to calm down so that you can breathe properly. 

The other men watch in amusement. "Feisty little mouse," one exclaims. They all laugh.

"I'll take care of her," Tangerine says hoarsely, breathing heavily, still holding you so you don't move and the more he speaks, the harder you want to cry, "This little slut has been teasing me for weeks. She owes me," he pauses, and his voice is a little shaky, "and then I'll get rid of her."

The other men seem disappointed but Leo smirks, "No funny business, hm?"

Tangerine nods, his voice steady. "No. I'll be back in an hour." 

The men all laugh and whistle and Tangerine presses his lips to your ear. "Don't scream when I move my hand, okay? Please." He whispers the last part for only you to hear and your chest tightens. Your vision is blurred with tears but when he removes his hand, you find yourself obeying him.

Some desperate part of is still hoping he'll save you. 

He's rough as he yanks you with him down the stairs. Dread fills you and you start crying again, trying desperately to run in the opposite direction. Tangerine doesn't reprimand you for the noise as he pulls out outside and into a small alley near the bulging, the door slamming shut behind you. You're not screaming anymore, only crying. 

"Please don't hurt me," you sob, trembling as he pushes you against the brick wall. "Please," you plead with him. Tangerine doesn't answer but his gaze is dark. He reaches behind him and grabs his gun, unlocking it. You break down in tears, your hands shaking.

You squeeze your eyes shut, expecting him to press the barrel to your head, but instead, you feel his familiar warmth as he rests both hands against the wall near your head, and his forehead hovers over yours as he inhales shakily. You hiccup, still very obviously terrified. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his hands curling into fists on the wall. "I'm so sorry." 

You choke on a sob.

Tangerine pulls away, his hand hovering over your cheek as if he wants to wipe your tears away but instead, he drops it to his side and looks into your eyes. "Run. Go home," he pauses and you can see that his own eyes look glossy with tears. "Don't come back. Please. Stay away. I'm so fuckin' sorry, angel," he says.

Your voice is caught in your throat.

"I love you," he continues and you just stare at him. You're unable to move. You don't know how to process any of this information. 

Tangerine panics and slams his hand on the wall. "Go! Now!" he screams and you gasp, tears falling down your cheeks as you push past him and run down the dark street, not even knowing where you're running to and you don't look back. You feel queasy and you can't wrap your head around what just happened as the scene replays in your head. 

Isn't she just a prize? Tangerine sure knows how to pick 'em.

I don't fuck used goods.

Don't come back. Please. Stay away. I'm so fuckin' sorry, angel.

I love you.

Back in the alley, Tangerine punches into the brick wall with a quiet shout. 

* * *

Tangerine slams the door to his apartment, cursing loudly as he throws off his blazer. His eyes are bloodshot and he sniffles, sinking into his favorite armchair and holding his head in his hands. Tangerine doesn't cry. He hasn't cried in years, but for the first time, he can't help himself. 

"What happened?" Lemon yawns, clearly having been woken up by the door slamming. When he sees the state his brother is in he pauses, his expression twisting. He stands in front of the armchair, unsure how to deal with this. 

"T," he begins. 

"She walked in on us," Tangerine states, his voice trembling. He fists his hair in his hands, clearly frustrated. "Y/n. She heard everything and they– they– scared 'er. They hurt 'er and I- just stood there and did absolutely fuckin' nothing!" 

Lemon is quiet as Tangerine stands and begins to pace the living room. He doesn't know how to help. "Tangerine," he tries again, walking closer, "It's okay. You couldn't have done anything– not with Leo and the others in the room—she'll understand—"

"Understand?" Tangerine spits, his anger only directed at himself, "She can't come back to work, because of this. I had to make the think I- I- killed her. God, Lemon, I can never see her again. I ruined everything. But, I couldn't hurt her. I could never hurt her. I- she– she might call the cops on us—"

Lemon grips his nape, holding him still. "Y/n wouldn't tell anyone." 

Tangerine stares into his brother's eyes. "She would have every right to, Lemon. And that's not the point, I— They– fuck–"

He breaks down, remembering your scared expression and how he had done nothing, and leans his head on Lemon's shoulder. "I ruined the only good fuckin' thing I had going for me. I really fucked up."

Lemon just holds him, not sure what to do or say to make this better. 

* * *

You've been spending the last four days in bed, crying your heart out. You've shut your phone off. You've been ignoring all the worried texts and calls from your friends, missing all your uni classes and of course, missing your job. 

Don't come back.

Tangerine's words ring in your ears and you press a pillow against them, curling up in a ball. You've been feeling sick since the encounter, remembering the men and their words and the implications of their words. The way they looked, the way they talked, how they tried to touch you.

Tangerine was a criminal, they'd been preparing a kill. He kills people. You can't seem to wrap your head around it. Sure, he was always a little cold and he seemed extra gentle with you as if he was making up for something, but you would have never imagined this. 

You sob harder into your pillow, your heart breaking. 

A few hours later, you're in your kitchen when you hear the knock on your door and you pause. Your heart leaps. You're in an old, paint-stained shirt, and some worn-out sleep shorts. You hear the knock again and pause again. This time, you hurry across the floorboards and peek through the peephole. Your breath hitches in your throat and you frown. 

You unlock the old latch from your old apartment door and open it. "Hello?"

Lemon tilts his head, catching your eye, "Hey," he says sheepishly, holding up a box that you assume contains a pastry. "Can I come in?"

You hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Lemon wasn't in the room that night. He might not be involved. You know that's probably bullshit but curiosity gets the better of you again.

Plus, he has food and you're starving.

You open the door and let him in, holding out your hand for the pastry. Lemon smiles and hands it to you. He motions to the dining room and you nod. He follows you and you grab a fork silently, sitting down at your small table and opening the box.

You read the label; it's from your favorite bakery. The one you'd taken Tangerine to one weekend, on one of the outings you'd never outwardly said was a date. Inside is a chocolate croissant, your favorite, and your stomach twists. 

You look up at Lemon who sat down in the chair opposite yours and he sends you a small smile. "He sent you, didn't he?"

Lemon nods. "He didn't think you'd want to see him."

You fiddle nervously with the box. "I don't want to see him," you say, your voice shaking a little. 

Lemon nods again, clicking his tongue and looking down. "Listen, I know you're scared but my brother isn't a bad guy. He isn't. And he cares for you. A lot." 

Tangerine's three-word confession rings in your ears and you can't deny the truth in Lemon's words. Still, you don't succumb that easily as your eyebrows crinkle. 

"If he cares for me, as you say, he would have spoken up for me in that room."

Lemon sighs, "It isn't that simple. Tangerine and Leo–they have a complicated history and it would have been even more dangerous to speak out in a room full of—"

"Criminals," you finish for him, nodding. You close the pastry box, staring at Lemon with a hard expression. "You weren't there, Lemon. You can't understand how scary it was to be surrounded by a bunch of dangerous men, realizing you can't even trust the one man you thought you could."

Lemon listens, his gaze stuck on yours.

"Frankly, I don't think even think he meant it when he told me he loves me—"

Lemon's face twists and he shakes his head, clearly confused. "He told you he loves you?"

You pause, fiddling with the box again. "Yeah he did but—"

"No—no, my– my brother, he doesn't just say that to anyone. He doesn't say it if he doesn't mean it," Lemon says and you become quiet, hearing the solemn and serious tone in his voice, "And I know he fucked up, but now i really fuckin' think you should hear him out. He's outside, by his car. You should talk to him. And if you never want to see either of us again after, I promise we'll leave you alone. I promise, Y/n." 

You ponder his words, looking up at him. Some part of you wants to ignore the knowledge that Tangerine is downstairs, waiting for you. You want to push him away, tell Lemon to fuck off and to never think about them again, but that's impossible. 

I love you.

Tangerine's words are engraved in your memory. You can still feel his lips on your skin, the way he touches you with care, the way he looks at you like you're the only thing that matters. Your heart warms, just remembering how sweet he was.

And then you remember his hand covering your mouth, his harsh words, and your stomach drops.

You take a breath, grounding yourself. You don't know what to do, but some twisted fucked up part of you knows that if you don't go down and at least talk to him, you'll regret it forever. 

"Okay," you say seriously and stand, walking into the living room and grabbing a hoodie. "One chance," you add, grabbing your keys. You lock your door behind you and then walk down the stairs behind Lemon.

Once the outside air hits your skin, you pause. Tangerine is standing by the car, just like Lemon said, and when he hears the door open he turns expectantly. 

"What did she—" his voice falters when he sees you behind his brother. "Oh."

You're silent as you keep a distance from him. Lemon senses the tension and clears his throat. He excuses himself and turns to take a walk. Tangerine watches him leave, half hoping he'd stay. He turns to you again and shame contorts his expression. He walks forward only to have you back up against the building. 

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Tangerine whispers, his voice quivering. 

You glare at him, tightening your arms around you. The noise of the city fades into the background as you process his words. You shake your head, your voice is strained and you hope he can't tell you might burst into tears at any moment. 

"How can I believe you? You lied." 

Tangerine shakes his head. "I never lied to you."

"Well, you kept something from me! Something big!" you argue, your sadness turning into anger and when he walks forward again, you meet him and stab your hand in his chest, "Don't pretend you didn't have any opportunities to tell me! And don't pretend you didn't think I would have liked to know this is who my boyfriend really is!" 

Tangerine blinks, his tongue skimming over his lips at the word boyfriend.  

You stutter, "Potential boyfriend. Someone I was seeing—"

"I know," he interrupts you, running a hand in his hair. "I know I should have told you. I should have warned you before I started to become involved with you, okay? But can you blame me?"

"Well no," you interrupt and roll your eyes, "if I was a killer I wouldn't want anyone to know—"

Tangerine shakes his head, his gaze hard. "Y/n. It was never about me. I couldn't care less what happened to me. I mean, sure, it would hav' sucked and it will if you do tell anyone, but I truly don't care what happens to me—" his voice sounds stern again and your eyes are locked on his as you listen.

He walks closer and this time, you don't move. "I only cared for you. I care for you. I stayed awake at night dreading the very scenario that fuckin' happened. Imagining you looking at me the way you are now; with fear. Imagining worse— and it tore me up, darlin'." 

You soak in his words, swallowing a lump in your throat. "Then why didn't you stop them? Why pretend to want to hurt me if you love me so much—" The word love falls from your lips and Tangerine's expression visibly tenses. Still, he tries to explain. 

"Love, I had no choice," he says softly, "I was frozen in shock and I couldn't go against everyone in that room. You don't realize how worse that would have made the situation. I'm sorry. I wish I could have done more."

You shake your head, your voice low because of the morning crowd in the street, and add, "No. You had a choice. You always have a choice. You chose to just stand there and then pretend to want to hurt me? Do you realize how fucked up that is?"

Tangerine's jaw tenses and he holds out his hand as if he wants to caress your cheek but he pauses, frowning. He drops his arm.

"You're right. I did make a choice," he admits after a moment, reflecting on your words, "and I did what I thought was my best option in the worst possible situation. I'm really sorry I wasn't what you needed at that moment, and darlin', if I could go back, I'd do anything to prevent you from walking into that room—anything to keep you safe—but I was trying to protect you, even if you can't see it—"

He pauses and you glance at his lips, your gaze flickering to his eyes once more. "And you don't have to forgive me. You can even keep being angry with me. I can live with anger, but I'm here because I don't want there to be a single part of you that thinks I didn't care for you. That I don't care for you, because I do. I just- I want you to know how much I care. How I would never hurt you like they wanted to. Never. I- I adore you, everything about you; how you drive me absolutely mad when you're away and how you involuntarily draw me in with your laughter whenever you're around—

And I'm a smitten fool to think I ever deserved you," Tangerine continues and his voice becomes softer, "I just, please know that my feelings for you are very real. Please know that hurting you like this was the last thing I ever wanted and it will haunt me forever because I love you. I love you so damn much it hurts." 

There is that word again and you pause, heart beating as you listen to him. You find yourself leaning into him and you can clearly see tears in his eyes, threatening to spill at every word. They mirror your own and yet you can't find the words to answer him. 

At least not until he sighs and turns to leave, and your chest tightens;

"No wait," you gasp instinctively, grabbing his wrist so he turns around. When he does, you wrap your arms around his neck, practically throwing yourself into his arms.  

Tangerine's arms tighten across your middle, burying his face in your shoulder as he lets out a shaky breath. "Angel," he whispers as you tighten your hold on him too. 

"I don't forgive you, not completely, not yet," you admit breathlessly, but hold onto him anyways. "But you promise you love me?" You ask in his ear, sounding insecure. "You promise you'll keep me safe? Promise it. Please."

"I fuckin' promise," he says instantly with no hesitation, as he strokes a hand down your hair to soothe you. "I love you. I promise I mean this."

You nod, taking a moment to pause and inhale his cologne. Your mind fills with words from his apology, words that don't feel like empty promises, and instead of the memories from that night, all you feel is safe again.

You pull away and look at him seriously. "And no more pretending you don't want me to be yours, okay? No holding back this time, not now that I know—"

Tangerine nods, his warm hand cupping your cheek, "No more pretending. You're mine. My girl. If you'd still like to be? If you'll have me?" 

You crack a small smile, nodding, "I would like that," you say wearily, still holding back those three little words.

Tangerine understands and doesn't press you. His heart beams, threatening to leap at you as if offering himself. He drops his arms, tightens his hands on your hips, he pulls you in and he presses his lips to yours.

It's delicate and loving and he's taking his time, savoring you. You relax in his arms, cupping his cheek. You can't help but smile against his lips, which causes the same smile from Tangerine and you laugh as he rests his forehead on yours.

"I love you," he whispers again and deep down, you know he truly means it.

FIN ♡

Epilogue - 6 months later

It took a while for your relationship with Tangerine to return to normal. In fact, it took a while for anything to feel normal again. You'd lost your job, having to lay low for three months or so because Tangerine needed Leo to keep thinking you were dead. But he had promised it was going to be easy and over with. He was the one who had records—your real name—Leo didn't, he never did. Tangerine promised there was no way that bastard could reach you. That he wouldn't let him. 

"He's not very bright," Lemon had promised you, not hiding his disdain for the man. 

And you chose to believe them.

It had taken a few months to fully digest Tangerine's career. He's tried to explain the best he could that it wasn't fun for him. That is was his work and he was good at his job. He was good at taking down bastards who deserved it, for one reason or another.

"Think of it like a more illegal version of your future job—executing bastards who deserve it," Tangerine had said nonchalantly.

"A fucked up illegal version," you retorted, sending him a dirty look and Tangerine shrugs, holding your hand and squeezing.

It definitely took a while but eventually, you came to terms with his profession.

Because you'd lost your income, Tangerine had also promised to take care of you until you finished your studies. You ended up staying with him and Lemon after the first two months, and luckily the commute to the university from his apartment was far less distance than from yours.

And anyways, living with Lemon and Tangerine was proving more entertaining than you'd expected.  

"Who hid my toothbrush?!" Lemon grumbles one evening, storming into the kitchen where Tangerine is making his famous pasta sauce. You're reading him your essay and pause, looking up from your laptop. 

"You need it now? We haven't had dinner," you say, glancing at Tangerine with a small smirk as he cuts up some tomatoes. 

Tangerine just rolls his eyes, ignoring his brother as he focuses on not chopping up his fingers. "No one hid your toothbrush, Lemon. We're fuckin' adults, not children," he says and glances at you, reaching over and tapping his finger on the counter near your laptop, "Wanna continue, my love? I'm really liking this one."

You laugh, looking at him with a cheeky grin. "Yeah, I bet you do, babe. It's on organized crime," you turn to look at Lemon, who seems a little less distressed over his toothbrush and now more invested in the conversation as he leans on the counter.

You turn back to Tangerine as he pours the tomatoes into a pan. "Y'know, if I end up working as a lawyer and you got caught for being some criminal mastermind, I could prosecute you."

Lemon barks a laugh, "Oi, don't jinx him!" 

You frown, shaking your head. "I'm not! I'm just saying!"

Tangerine comes up and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Or you could represent me. Y'know, be my lawyer," he says and winks.

"How romantic," Lemon teases and walks over to read your essay over your shoulder. "This shit seems complicated as fuck."

"It is," you say and chew on your pencil as you read the notes you have next to your laptop.

"My smart girl," Tangerine hums, stirring the sauce now as he wipes his hand on his apron. Lemon smirks at him and walks behind him, ruffling his hair a little just to tease him for being such a softie for you. Tangerine pushes him off. 

You're lost in thought, re-reading your essay in your head as the brothers argue playfully in the background. 

Later that night, you're brushing your hair in the mirror while Tangerine trims his mustache. You're unusually quiet and he knows instantly that something is up. Still, he doesn't mention it until the lights are off and you're snuggled against his chest, his arm under your head as he plays with his hair and listens to the ceiling fan.  

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours, love?"

You hum, circling hearts on his chest as you snuggle against him. You hold your tongue until he taps your head, prompting you to answer him. "It's nothing," you whisper. 

"Try me," Tangerine says into the darkness, his voice soft. 

"I was joking back then but—what if it happens? What if one day, I have to represent you," you say after a moment of silence, your voice strained. "Or I have to actually prosecute you—"

Tangerine chuckles slowly, still stroking your hair. "I doubt you'll have to do any of those things, darlin', considering we're together—isn't that against your rules?"

You pause, holding him closer. "I mean yes and no but—" you pause, "what if, y-you don't come home because something went wrong or—you actually end up in prison," your voice fades and you go quiet again and Tangerine understands what this is about. He's never actually stopped to think about how you worry for him. How it must weigh on you, learning what you do, and to know all the things that could happen to him. 

"Hey," he says and sits up to turn on the bedside lamp. He pulls you up with him and turns to look at you. "Sweetheart, nothing is gonna happen to me. I'm careful, ya know that." He strokes your cheek, wiping under your worried eyes as he taps your nose. "You have nothing to worry about."

You look at him, still worried. "But, how can you be so sure?"

Tangerine smiles and nuzzles his nose against yours, kissing your lips sweetly. As much as he doesn't want you to worry about him like this, it's kind of endearing. He pulls away and pulls on your bottom lip, smiling. "Because there is nothing in this world that could keep me away from you. I won't let it happen."

His words warm your chest and you smile, leaning into his touch as you kiss him. His hands cup your face as you climb onto his lap, straddling his hips. Your hands find his hair as you kiss him, tasting him as if you're starved of him.

"Promise?"

Tangerine nods between kisses. "I promise, angel." 

You continue to kiss him, occasionally rocking your hips into his as he groans softly into your lips. It's sensual and soft and you're both exhausted. Tangerine runs his hands up your back, holding you. "I love you," he says, sucking love bites onto your neck. 

You hum and say, "I love you," back as you kiss him again and dip down to give him your own set of marks. He groans, happiness filling him as he reaches back for the lamp and manages to turn it off again, plunging you both in darkness again. 

"Mine," he whispers against your hair and you nod. 

"Yours."

* ~ *

my dear reader, this was such a fun mini-series and i am incredibly proud of the writing in this. i really hope you enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed writing it and sharing it with you all! xo

[sammywr1tes]

picking the lighter option

和 ー you give your best friend a makeover. he falls in love with you a little more.

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字 bsf!idol!han と crush!gn!reader 《w.c・0.6k》

DRABBLE, humour, fluff, makeovers, 3rd person perspective. ft. hyunjin and felix

sammy note ★彡 - my best friend suggested i write a random hair dying crack fic, but in true me style it ended up involving pining too. good times. also i’m trying out a new layout thing!! kinda exciting. as usual, requests are always welcome and if you’d like to be added to my taglist then please send in an ask/comment. for more fics, check out my masterlist, and for commissions take a look at my ko-fi :)

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“y/n, i don’t think this is a good idea” jisung says, watching your reflection in the mirror. you’re standing over him, wielding a dye brush between your gloved fingers. your other hand holds a normal hairbrush, combing through the knots in his hair. “the stylists will hate me if you screw this up. ”

“trust me, sung, i know how to do this.” you give him a grin through the mirror that only amplifies the fight-or-flight response his brain provides. he shivers a little as you spread the cold dye over his hair, feeling it sticking to his scalp. your steady hand guides the dye down to the ends of his hair, making sure the colour coats the locks thoroughly.

jisung watches the mirror as you work. your hand that isn’t holding the brush moves his hair to paint the layers closer to his scalp. he’s easily distracted by your fingers smoothing his hair out, running through his hair to check for knots, and the sound of the brush’s rough hairs sweeping against his own soft locks.

the mirror lures him away with a reflection of your concentrated expression, pink lower lip tucked between your teeth. your eyes are focused on the movement of the brush, making sure to not miss a strand.

after a short while, you finally put the brush down with a soft sigh.

“okay, you have to keep it in for half an hour before you wash it out. “

he nods, taking in his own reflection in the mirror. the dye sticks his hair to his scalp, making him look like an alien. he chuckles a little, picking up his phone for a silly mirror selfie. the two of you pass half an hour debating if you can dye body hair a different colour with hair dye or not.

afterwards, jisung shoos you out of the bathroom to wash the dye out, then lets you blow-dry his hair. “you should run a salon. you’re very good at hairdressing” he comments offhandedly, feeling the hot gusts of the blow-dryer over his face, warming his skin. you laugh at his words. the soft sound warms the mush under his skin.

when jisung’s hair isn’t damp anymore, you comb through it, leaning over him, close enough that he can feel the warmth of your skin beckoning him towards it. finally, you let him see your self-proclaimed masterpiece, pushing him to sit in front of the mirror.

at first, he can’t find words to say. he stares at his reflection, taking in the sea-foam coloured strands framing his face. you suck your lower lip between your teeth, watching his expression nervously.

“do you not like it?”

“i love it.” he whispers, a hand slowly rising to run through the locks.

you grin. “you look like an underwater deity.”

he chuckles softly, giving you a smile through the mirror, reaching back to take your hand gently. “thank you for making me into one,” he jokes, catching your eye in the mirror. for a moment, neither of you look away, but you break eye contact when you hear the excited knocks of felix and hyunjin on the other side of the door.

“is it done? does it look good?” “can we see, jisungie?”

you roll your eyes and move to open the door for them. jisung’s eyes follow you, then glance towards the mirror again, taking in his appearance once more. he looks completely different to his usual self, but he can’t help but like it, thinking about how you complimented him. his heart warms.

maybe the underwater deity in the mirror will have the confidence to ask you out, sooner than later.

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[chrissturnsfav]

Can you do a fic about you going on a date with a guy you met, and you go on this date and have to call Chris to save you in the middle of it because the guy starts to make you uncomfortable. Chris ends up confessing his love for you and you do the same ?

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘

chris comes to your rescue after a discomforting date, confessing his love to you.

ᰔᩚ fluff, kissing

ᰔᩚ w.c. 777

you thought it might be nice to try something new. dating apps were an experiment, and swiping through profiles felt more like a game than anything serious. when ryan asked you out, you figured, why not? his messages were clever enough, and he seemed normal—or at least, normal enough.

but now, sitting across from him at this dimly lit bar, you're regretting every decision that brought you here.

his jokes are off. not funny, just off. the kind that make your skin crawl, like he’s testing boundaries just to see how far he can push them. you fake polite laughs at first, but it only seems to encourage him.

then there’s the way he keeps leaning in, closing the space between you like he’s daring you to pull back. your drink sits untouched while you nod along to whatever he’s saying about himself—something about his ex, or maybe his job.

why the fuck was he telling you about your ex? absolutely not.

your phone feels heavy in your pocket, a lifeline you’re too nervous to grab. when he brushes your arm, the touch lingers just a second too long, and that’s it for you.

"excuse me," you mumble, slipping out of your chair. "just gonna use the bathroom."

in the cramped stall, you fumble for your phone, your hands shaking slightly as you type out a message to chris.

you hey can u call me?? this date is fucking horrible i need out read, 8:34 pm

the three dots appear almost immediately.

chris wya? read, 8:34 pm

you send the address. no hesitation.

chris i'm on my way j relax for now kid read, 8:35 pm

you exhale, leaning against the stall door. it’s going to be fine. chris always has your back.

back at the table, ryan’s irritation is thinly veiled behind a smile. "you okay? thought you ditched me for a second there."

"just a quick call," you say, forcing a smile. your phone buzzes on cue.

"sorry, gotta take this." you step away again, answering without hesitation.

"i’m outside," chris says, voice calm and steady.

the relief is instant. "okay, thanks, be right there."

you grab your bag, muttering an apology to ryan. "friend emergency. i have to go, i'm sorry."

he starts to protest, but you’re already heading for the door, your heart pounding as you step outside and spot chris sitting casually in the driver's seat.

"hey," he says once you climb into the passenger seat, his eyes scanning you like he’s making sure you’re really okay.

"hey," you reply, and just like that, the tension eases.

the car smells faintly of his cologne, familiar and grounding. "what happened?" he asks as he pulls onto the street, his tone neutral but his grip on the wheel firm.

"he was...weird," you say, shrugging. "too much. i didn’t feel safe."

chris nods, jaw tightening. "idiot," he scoffs.

you glance at him, surprised. "what?"

"him," he clarifies, glancing at you briefly. "for thinking he could get you."

you laugh, a short, nervous sound. “c'mon. it’s not like that.”

he doesn’t respond right away, just keeps driving. finally, he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment and turns to face you, one arm draped over the steering wheel.

"nah, it is like that," he says, voice low but steady. "you deserve better. someone you didn't randomly meet on tinder, who probably just wants to fuck. need someone who actually sees you."

you blink, unsure how to respond. "chris..."

he shakes his head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "i mean, i’ve been your best friend for years, and i’ve tried to play it cool, but i kinda can’t anymore."

the words hang in the air, heavy and electric.

"say something," he says, his confidence faltering just slightly.

you stare at him, heart pounding. "i think...i’ve been waiting for you to say that."

his smirk softens into a real smile, the kind that makes your chest ache in the best way. "yeah?"

"yeah."

he leans in, slow enough that you can stop him if you want to, but you don’t. when his lips meet yours, it’s not rushed or hungry like all the other kisses you've experienced with men you've met on dates. it’s warmth, steady and sure, like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

when he pulls back, his eyes are brighter, his smile a little smug. "took you long enough," he scoffs.

you laugh, shaking your head. "shut up and drive me to get ice cream."

he chuckles, throwing the car into reverse. "whatever you want."

and for the first time all night, you feel completely at ease.

thank you for reading!! <3

tags: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart

@chrissturnsfav ™

[candykenma]

Hi, can I pls request Haikyuu pretty setter squad when their s/o is struggling from writer's block or artist's block please?? Thank you =D

I LOVE THIS. PLEASE MARRY ME???

Oikawa

• Honest to god oikawa couldn't careless not in a mean way but hes missed his s/o all week now.

•He literally drags his s/o from the desk and just cuddled them despite the complaints and protest

•when he realizes it's actually getting to his s/o he'll buy they're favorite ice cream. Probally door dash it along with dinner bc if he lets his s/o go it'll be right bk to work for them.

• has his s/o shower with him and face care stuff to distract them.

Sugawara

•HE SIMPLY GIVES YOU IDEAS.

• This man will read what u got and be like "hey do you wanna like have sex at a carnival?" Or whatever random thoughts come to mind after reading and his s/o will go "THATS A GREAT IDEA"

• not referring to doing but instead writing a detailed chapter Abt whatever random thoughts came out of his mouth

• if that doesn't he work he'll sit u down on the couch and make u watch movies with him trying to secretly help u get ideas

•hell show u random stuff on Pinterest or tell u stories that his kids at school told him just to try and give u something to right about

•🥰

Akaashi

• this man right there frustrated wit u

•yall both got deadlines , both got writers block , both starving bc y'all forgot to eat.

• Akaashi probally stops for ant 10 minutes to cuddle with u and rub his fingers through your hair then straight BK to work

• they're was this 1 in incident where you were complaining Abt how cringe everything you wrote sound and he looked dead at you and said "why r u making it cuddly and innocent? You aren't either of those things" 😭

Kenma 😋my baby

•once again he doesn't gaf

• if u ask him for help he'll probably tell u the BK story of a character from one of his games he likes, or just tells u to put it down and he can't help u bc he doesn't read books unless he has too😭

• The definition of no fucking help. He tried and it's cute but baby no....

• if he sees it's affecting your health he'll butt in putting u to bed or taking u put to eat reluctantly,

•he'll offer to run you a bath as well but that's Abt as much as u get

Atsumu

• just as unhelpful and ANNOYING Abt it

• it's not that I have writers block it's that u can't write or think with him in you guys room. Your actually spazzing out so much so u send him to the store with a list of things you need and want jus to write

• he doesn't mean to and u never tell him that but he definitely makes your job harder.

• though u realize u can't write when he's not around either, his crazy stories and random thoughts he blurts out are the material and foundation for ur writing

•He comes BK home and you shower him with cuddles

Kageyama

• Also not very helpful

• I imagine most of the books you write would be smut related, you'd probably be letting out all that untapped pent up energy

•he probally read one of your books once and was like "u wrote this....?" And u jus were like yeah not think Abt the fact all your books are porn on paper with some good plot here and there

• He probally started doing things a bit different like playing into the books uve read in order to give you more content. He'd take you on more extravagant but intimate dates to help the creativity 🤷

I TRIED ITS 2:45 AM.....HOPE U LIKE???

[bonezone44]

hello, my dearest Rad 💛

with this ask I challenge you to write a ficlet (or anything bigger if you want) inspired by this screenshot:

may the writing muses be with you,

kissing you on your forehead (if you allow it not then just waving you from the distance!)

a/n: please forgive me, lol! Idk why I wrote Reader like this. thank you for this prompt @iamasaddie from like... last month, lol!

tags: brat tamer!Jack, step-dad!Jack, unprotected p-in-v, spanking, overuse of the word "whore"

!!This story is for ages 21+!!

-----One look from your Uncle Jack could send anyone to their knees. The man had an effortless smolder that weakened even the strongest of bulls.

But you weren't as easily influenced by his wily expressions. Not to say that you weren't weak for the man--you certainly were. But it took more than a stern eye to make you surrender to his whims.

It was spring time and your mother was hosting a garden party. It was any excuse to round up your mother's colleagues and show off her skills (paying people with real skills to do all the work). And while she was parading around the manicured lawn in a tailored linen dress that accentuated her petite hourglass figure, you wandered out the back door half-asleep in cut-off jeans and flip flops, aching for a cold can of brewski.

"Oh my heavens!" Your mother exclaimed with a weary breath, her hand pressed delicately to her chest. She hurried gracefully to her new beau, the man you called Uncle Jack "Jackie!" She cried out in a hushed whisper, tugging him away from his socializing.

Jack did his best not to wince at the sound of your mother's affectionate nickname for him, and just follow along. He learned it was best to do whatever the woman said. "Whats wrong, darlin?"

"Why is she doing this to me?" Your mother cried.

"Who?"

"My daughter!" She pointed one long dainty finger in your direction.

You scratched your belly beneath the crop top loosely covering your chest. You nudged a few party-goers out of the way so you could dig through the cooler that was reserved for the more masculine revelers. You pulled out a silver can, popped it open, and started chugging.

Jack took one look at ya and sighed. 'There ain't no rest for the wicked, is there?'

"Alleged daughter, anyway," your mother huffed and shook the hair from her face. "That child must have been switched at the hospital," she murmured. "No daughter of mine would ever disgrace her mother like that. No, sir!"

Jack rested his hand on your mother's trembling shoulders. "Want me to go talk to her for ya, darlin'?"

"Of course I want you to go talk to her, you imbecile!" your mother strained to keep her voice low. "Take her upstairs and put some decent clothes on her!" She paused, rolled her shoulders back, and plastered a poised smile on her face. She turned about-face and rejoined the party.

Jack sighed again, jaw twisting. With a flurry of conflicting thoughts racing through his mind, he stomped resolutely in your direction.

---

You didn't know what the hell was going on. You had been out all night with your friends and suddenly you wake up and there's a bunch of people at your house. Once you made it downstairs, you figured your mom was having one of those little shindigs she likes to have sometimes and you figured you'd stay out of the way like you usually do.

But hey, if they were all gonna day-drink, you might as well join 'em. So you went and grabbed a Coors from the cooler next to the barbecue and suddenly Jack's got his big hand wrapped around your arm and he's tugging you back inside.

"Ow! What the hell, man?"

"What the hell is right," he growls in your ear, but nods quite politely to the people he passes by in the kitchen with you in tow. He yanks you all the way up the stairs while you desperately try to keep the beer in your hand from spilling on the carpet. He shoves you into your bedroom and slams the door behind you. "What is goin' on in that silly li'l head o' yours, sweetheart?" He points toward your window. "Your mother is entertaining guests and you show up lookin' like you just got ran through by some good for nothin' in the back of his pick-up truck."

You smirk. "Well, I see where your head is at, Uncle Jack." You giggle. "Picturin' me gettin' ran through." you flick your hips back and forth.

"I don't know what you're talkin' 'bout, li'l missy, but you better hurry up and get changed before comin' back down to this party." He stands there, between your bed and the door, with his hands on his hips. He doesn't move. He doesn't turn around. He's not leaving the room to let you change your clothes. He plans on watching you do it.

And you decide to let him. You've been teasing him for long enough. The poor man deserves it after all he's been through (putting up with your momma for the past 2 years).

You release an exaggerated sigh. "If it'll make you happy, Uncle Jack--"

"Oh it will," he spits. his nostrils flaring.

You shrug. "Then okay." You lock eyes with him and grab the hem of your crop top. He still doesn't move. You slowly bring the shirt over your head and toss it to the floor.

His chest puffs up. "You were down there around all those people in half a t-shirt and you weren't even wearing a bra?" He snarls.

You cup each breast and pinch at your nipples. "What? A grown man like you has never seen titties before?"

He stomps closer to you. His breaths start heaving. You think he might strangle you with how wild his eyes get. It's kinda cute when he gets all mad at you. "Get. Dressed."

"Well, I'm guessin' Momma doesn't like my shorts, so I gotta take these off, too." Your eyes never leave Jack's. Your gaze is tethered to one another. It keeps you both from looking elsewhere. You know he's hard. You can see it out the corner of your vision. You wonder how far you can push him before he does something about it. You undo your shorts and shimmy them down below your hips--enough that they fall to your feet and allow you to step out of them.

Jack's eyes finally shift down. He turns livid. "And what the hell is this?" He grabs the red strap of your underwear and snaps his against your skin. "What is wrong with you walkin' around like some two-cent whore?"

"Uncle Jack!" you roll your eyes and laugh. "I only wear 'em 'cause of how good they make my ass look." You turn around and bend over onto the bed, sticking your rear in the air. You look at him over your shoulder. "See?"

Next thing you know, your yelping and falling forward from the powerful smacks of Jack's hand against your ass--slapping you again and again. "WHAT. IS. WRONG. WITH. YOU." His fingers grapple your g-string and he rips it off your body. "After all your momma's done for you?" He growls in your ear, his warm body heavy on top of you. You feel his hard cock pressed against your leg. "This is how you treat her?"

You try to shove him off, but he's too heavy. Your ass stings and all you can do is turn your head to the side and growl at him back. "You have NO IDEA what my momma's done to me!" You cry, tears prickling out.

He yanks you by the hair so he can look you in the eyes again. "I know there ain't no mother on God's green earth that deserves an ungrateful whore of a daughter like you."

Your tears turn into outright sobbing.

He shoves your face into the mattress and gets off of you. "Cryin' don't work on me, little girl. Not no more." You hear his belt buckle jingle and turn over on your back. Your soft sheets feel rough on your sore bottom. "You need some goddamn discipline fucked into you." His zipper is loud as he undoes his pants and pulls out his raging cock. He strokes it above you and your pussy drools. You go to touch yourself and he slaps your hand away. "Goddamnit!" he spits. "Turn over! I can't even stand to fuckin' look at ya right now." You do as your told and he wastes no time spearing himself into you. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," he curses and sets a relentless pace. "Your cunt's wetter than a goddamn slice of tres leches. All that spankin' just turned you on? Huh?" You moan and whimper into the thick of the bed beneath you. He stops thrusting and pulls you up again by the hair. "Hey! I'm talkin to you, girl! You better answer if you know what's good for ya!" You nod fervently, scared by the crazed look in his eyes. "No, no. I need to hear it, li'l missy!"

"Yes, Uncle Jack," you blubber through your tears.

"Yes, what?" he grits his teeth. his cock pulses as it sits inside of you. your insides burning deliciously as they accomodate his girth.

"Yes, I--" you swallow your spit. "Yes, a-all that spankin turned me on."

He shakes his head and huffs. "Nothin' but a two-cent whore," he mutters and goes back to fucking you. "Fuckin filthy," he says as one of his hands wraps around your chest, groping and pinching your breasts with imprecision. "Let Uncle Jack's big cock get you right, darlin'." He grunts, his cock stroking your walls and waves of pleasure coursing through your body. "I'll give this tight little cunt what it needs." He groans and leans back. His hands grip your hips and you can feel his balls slapping against you. You wanna reach back and hold them in your hands, lick up the seam of skin in the middle and glide your tongue along his dick. "Goddamn. That cunt's got me lassoed up real tight." His fingers dig deep into your flesh as he hammers into you. "'M 'bout to shoot. Nnnggh--"

"Yeah?" you whimper, excitedly.

Jack's quick to react. His body falls on top of you, wrapping a hand around your mouth, the other around your waist. His thrusts grow deep and erratic. "You shut your goddamn mouth, little whore. This ain't about makin' you feel good. This is about makin' you shut up and do as your fuckin' told, alright?" He doesn't wait for your answer. He's got you wrapped up so tight you can't even move if you wanted to. He stops speaking and all you can hear is him hissing and his teeth clacking together every so often. Then with a loud, deep groan, his hot spend begins pumping inside of you and coating your walls. His grip on you loosens and before you know it, he's gone. Your body is cold. All the goodness you had been feeling has disappeared.

You turn over and see Jack tucking himself back inside his jeans. You both watch as his sticky white cum leaks out of your hole and soaks into the bed sheets. He buckles his belt and asks, "Now what do you say, huh? For makin' Uncle Jack put you right?"

He won't look you in the eyes, still staring between your legs. So you reach down with two fingers and scoop his cum back inside of you. "Thank you, Uncle Jack."

He clears his throat. "That's right." He turns around and before leaving your room he says, "Next time you need to get put right you come find me." He looks over his shoulder. "You don't wanna find out what's gonna happen if I gotta find you first, li'l missy. Now, get dressed." He adjusts his t-shirt in your doorway and the next thing you hear are his bootsteps echoing through the hall and down the stairs.

-------------------

additional tags: @xdaddysprincessxx

[woozinhos]

Hello !! How are you doing? Can I ask you how Jun dominates me PLEASE I THINK A LOT ABOUT HIM

I’m okay thanks anon slipped on some ice today so not the best my fic writing is cheering me up!

Suck me

Jun has always had a certain presence that you can't help but be drawn to. He's confident, assertive, and exudes an air of authority that leaves you feeling both intimidated and excited. One day, as you're sitting on the couch, lost in thought, Jun walks in and immediately pins you down, straddling your waist and holding your wrists above your head.

"You look like you're thinking too much," he says, his voice low and husky.

You gasp as Jun pins you down, your heart racing in your chest. You've always been attracted to his dominance, and having him so close, so in control, is sending a thrill through your body.

"Jun..." you murmur, trying to squirm out from under him.

He just smirks down at you, his grip on your wrists tightening. "You're not going anywhere," he says. "Not until I'm done with you."

You stop struggling, a mixture of excitement and anticipation coursing through your veins. Jun's eyes darken as he looks down at you, his gaze filled with desire.

"Good girl," he says, his voice rough with lust. "You're going to do exactly what I say, aren't you?"

You nod, unable to form words under his intense gaze. Jun's smirk widens as he sees your submission.

"That's right," he says, leaning down to whisper in your ear. "You're mine to use however I want."

He releases your wrists and moves his hands down your body, his touch sending shivers down your spine. He starts to undress you slowly, his eyes roaming over your body as more skin is revealed.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing over your curves. "And all mine."

Once you're fully undressed, Jun takes a step back to admire the view. His eyes rake over your body hungrily, taking in every inch of your skin.

"On your knees," he commands, his voice firm.

You quickly get down on your knees in front of him, your heart racing with anticipation. Jun looks down at you, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"That's a good girl," he says, running his fingers through your hair. "You know exactly how to please me, don't you?"

You nod, your eyes fixed on his face. He looks so powerful standing over you, and you feel a shiver of submission run through your body.

"Use your mouth," he says, his hand tightening in your hair. "I want to see how well you can please me with that pretty little mouth of yours."

You lean forward, your hands on his thighs as you start to mouth at his bulge through his pants. You can feel him growing harder under your touch, and it only serves to fuel your own desire.

Jun groans, his fingers tangling in your hair as he looks down at you. "That's it," he says, his voice rough. "Just like that."

You continue to mouth at him, your tongue tracing over the outline of his cock through his pants. He's fully hard now, straining against the fabric, and you can feel his hips starting to twitch with impatience.

"Stop teasing," he growls, tugging on your hair. "I want your mouth on me now."

You look up at him through your lashes, a coy smile on your lips. "Are you sure?" you ask, your voice innocent.

Jun's eyes darken with lust, his patience wearing thin. "I'm not going to ask again," he says, his voice low and commanding. "Take me out and suck me."

You quickly unbutton his pants and pull them down, his cock springing free. He's already hard and leaking precum, and you can't help but lick your lips in anticipation.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his fingers still tangled in your hair. "Now get to work."

You take his cock in your hand, stroking him a few times before taking him into your mouth. You start slow, swirling your tongue around the tip and tasting his precum.

Jun groans above you, his grip on your hair tightening as he watches you. "Fuck," he breathes, his hips bucking slightly. "That feels so good."

You take him deeper into your mouth, your tongue working along the underside of his shaft as you start to bob your head up and down. He's thick and heavy on your tongue, and you can feel your own arousal building with each passing moment.

"That's it," he says, his voice ragged. "Take me deeper. I know you can."

You try to take him deeper, your jaw aching slightly as you try to accommodate his size. You look up at him, your eyes watering as you struggle to take him all the way down.

"You're doing so well," he praises, his hips starting to move in time with your movements. "You're taking me so deep, baby."

You keep going, your tongue working over his length as you try to please him. He's moaning above you, his breath coming in short gasps as he gets closer to the edge.

"I'm going to come," he warns, his grip on your hair almost painful now. "Swallow it all, baby."

You nod as best you can with his cock in your mouth, determined to do as he says. You can feel him tensing up, his body going taut as he nears his climax. With a deep groan, he spills himself into your mouth, his hot cum flooding your throat. You swallow it down, milking him for every drop until he's spent. He slumps back against the wall, panting heavily as he tries to catch his breath. "Fuck," he breathes, looking down at you with a mixture of satisfaction and desire.

"You're amazing," he says, pulling you up onto his lap. "I could get used to this."

[fe-fictions]

I am once again asking for a fredrobin fic where Robin drinks poisoned wine meant for Chrom because she couldn't tell anyone in time, and it was the only way she could think of to save him. (She'll be alright but the Angst for our dear freddybear)

(So my plan to write 100 Fredrobin stories by the end of 2024 was immediately ruined when I started this prompt...so here's a 20+ page angst-filled dramafest to kick off 2025 instead! U V U )

A banquet was set to be held with Plegian envoys in the name of goodwill. Aversa, who had found herself the unwitting ruler of the desert kingdom, would be reuniting with you since the defeat of Valm and the subsequent death of Grima.

While you and the fellow Shepherds who had fought arm in arm with her were looking forward to a feast for the ages, others felt quite the opposite. Frederick himself had his concerns; although he trusted Aversa, it was the nobility none of you had met that had him on edge.

Well, him and every other Ylissean member of the court who would also be in attendance. You had your own concerns, considering tensions were still bubbling despite the past few years’ attempts at forming a peaceful bond between nations.

But in spite of the wariness, you still felt excitement in your heart as you readied yourself for the grand meal, set to take place only an hour after noon.

“Darling, have you seen the necklace you gifted me in Ferox during the first war?” You called to him from the bedroom, while fastening a handsome pair of earrings. 

You received a hum in response, his voice carrying from the washroom. “Are you certain that’s the necklace you want to wear today? I’m not sure Plegia would appreciate you wearing jewelry forged during the war we defeated them in.”

“Nonsense. They won’t know that. I wanted to wear it because Aversa always liked it. She said it was rather attractive; and was impressed that you had bought something so ‘sickeningly perfect’. I think she’d appreciate the callback.”

“Hmm…now I am even less certain it is a good idea.” He appeared from the washroom, holding a familiar, delicate chain in his hands. “That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

“It was, I promise.” You reassured him while you pulled your hair to the side, giving him access to the nape of your neck. “Her sense of humor is still developing.”

“I understand.” He stood behind you, the warmth of his fingers slipping the chain around your neck sending shivers down your spine. Frederick smiled to himself as he fastened the clasp. You were so cute, without even trying.

“Thank you, dear.” You tilted your head back to look at him, pulling your gaze from the mirror to your husband. “Are you ready to go?”

“As ready as I ever will be, I suppose.” Frederick sighed, offering his hand. You rose to lean against him, your chests touching as you scrutinized his gaze.

“It’s going to be fine.” A scoff met your reassurance, but the two of you continued on your way, exiting your quarters in the castle to greet your guests.

The Plegian embassy that arrived at the front gates was handsome, and brought many gifts. Aversa, leading the charge, looked as devastatingly beautiful as always and wore a knowing grin that proved it.

Yet her eyes sparkled at the sight of you, all but ignoring the king, queen and high princess to address you directly (she at least had the good sense to greet them formally before she lasered in on you).

“Well, well…if it isn’t the Chief Tactician, back from the dead…” She bowed deeply, “Why, you haven’t aged a day!”

“It’s good to see you too, Aversa.” You beamed at her, slipping away from Frederick’s side to offer her a proper embrace. Aversa welcomed you with open arms.

“You have no idea how boring it was without you…I know we reunited properly months ago, but it feels like I've barely seen you since. You may as well have just come back yesterday!”

“It’s terrible, isn’t it? I’ll make more of an effort to come visit.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Otherwise I’ll simply kidnap you and whisk you back to Plegia!!”

“Do refrain from making such statements, milady. As the monarch of another kingdom that may be perceived as a threat by those around us.” Frederick spoke up quickly, as if the tension rolling off his shoulders wasn’t already blatantly obvious.

He glanced back at Chrom, Sumia  and Lissa, who simply chuckled when Aversa rolled her eyes.

“Oh, Frederick. You are my brother-in-law; surely you should understand the difference between a joke and a threat.” She sighed, relinquishing you back to your husband.

You patted his arm, “She’s right, dear; but thank you for always looking out for the kingdom. A true knight.”

“Indeed.” Chrom agreed, waving everyone in, “Now, shall we go and celebrate? This is quite the occasion! The first effort of goodwill between Ylisse and Plegia in forty years.”

“I hope it is magnificent, Lord Chrom.” Aversa’s eyes narrowed, “We brought some of our finest wine for this event, and we have high expectations for Ylissean cuisine.”

“You won’t be disappointed!” Lissa said, as bouncy and bubbly as ever. The troupe of nobles and royalty were quite a sight, drawing eyes from all over the castle. You squeezed Frederick’s arm; maybe this was a bigger deal than you had first thought.

And you already thought this was a huge deal.

Frederick covered your hand with his, a small comfort as the lot of you reached the banquet hall. It was a majestic, almost glorious, display.

Lights of all colors danced across the room from the immense stained glass windows. The spread was vast and diverse in palate, ornate chalices at each seat to be filled and countless dishes waiting to be devoured.

The Plegian envoy murmured to themselves in surprise. You bit back a giggle when Chrom’s chest puffed up ever so slightly; it appeared even he was proud of the extravagant luncheon.

“My, my…it appears I underestimated you, Lord Chrom. I doubt there’s a word strong enough to describe this display.”

“As much as I’d love to take the credit, that honor goes to the queen and your sister; they were the ones who put together the menu.”

“We did extensive research into each member of the envoy’s favorite dishes from Plegia. Everything from festival foods to home-cooking were taken into consideration!” Sumia said, practically bubbling over with excitement.

It was only the beginning of what was surely a joyous occasion. Everyone headed for their seats, with your place between Chrom and Aversa across from your husband (requested specifically by your sister; though Frederick was reluctant to agree despite “getting you all to himself”, according to her).

Just as your husband pulled your chair out, you hesitated; the table was clearly missing one of your most anticipated dishes.

“Oh, dear- it appears we’ve left something after all.” You huffed, looking back at your sister. “There’s something special I wanted to add specifically to your plate, Aversa. I know Gaius finished it a little while ago…and I wanted to give it directly to you.”

“And she wonders why she is my most favored sibling.” Aversa’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. “I can buy you a few moments if you want to scurry off and get it; you have that glint in your eye that says it must be here.” 

“Of course- Frederick dear, could you please make sure everyone else is seated and ready? I’ll only be a few moments.”

“Whatever you need. But do hurry; they will be pouring the drinks and preparing to toast soon.”

“I’ll be back in no time.” You promised, squeezing his hand before you hurried from the banquet hall.

The excited chattering that filled the room faded away as you hurried down the hallways into the kitchens. There were several butlers and maidservants that passed you by, their hands all filled with even more dishes that would soon be added to the spread.

The clamoring of joyous anticipation had filled the whole of the castle, it seemed. It made your heart swell with hopefulness.

You giggled to yourself, hustling into the kitchen and spotting the thief-turned-chef putting the finishing touches on one of the (several) desserts being prepared for the end of the meal.

“Well, well! What brings you here, Bubbles? You’re cuttin’ it awful close.”

“Sorry to disturb you, I know everyone’s trying to focus.” You said, maneuvering around the equally bustling sous chefs and kitchen staff. They were all performing their duties spectacularly, and you didn’t wish to interrupt their focus amidst the chaos of cooking.

“Then you’d best hurry up and talk- we’re runnin’ on a pretty strict schedule!” Gaius replied coolly, his relaxed expression suggesting this wasn’t as stressful a situation to him than it was the flittering staff surrounding you.

“The dish I asked you to make for Aversa– it wasn’t at her seat like we planned. Do you know where it is?”

“Right…” Gaius leaned back from the decadent cake he was frosting (and maybe stealing a lick of icing for himself), “That meager little thing. Y’know, it’s around here, I remember making it a little while ago. Couldn’t have wandered far…”

He gestured towards the oven, where a rack of breads and baked goods ready to go to the banquet were waiting. Yours shouldn’t be too hard to find, surely.

“I still don’t know why that’s the one you wanted to go for; I mean, it’s just rastons*. Not exactly fit for a royal feast.”

“That’s precisely why I wanted them just for the two of us.” You replied as you rifled around the shelves, searching among the warm breads for the little butter-filled buns you had requested.

“I mean, I guess. But of all the food you’re gonna eat, that’s what you wanna go for?”

“Just shut up and help me look.” You rolled your eyes at him, the pair of you sifting through the baked goods until you found exactly what you were looking for.

A humble set of four bread rolls, each one just as handsome and humble as you hoped. You smiled to yourself, hurriedly taking a small bowl and settling them inside. 

“Don’t worry; we’ll have plenty of room for the rest of the food you cooked. We just have to start with these!”

“Whatever, Bubbles. Just get back up there before everyone starts wondering where the star of the show is.”

“That’s Aversa and Chrom.” You corrected him, but did concede that you needed to get a move on. You thanked him on your way out, having spent only a few moments out of the way.

It was halfway back that you saw something strange. A servant that was following the lines to the hall suddenly stepped off to the side. Your brow furrowed, curiosity piqued.

You slowed down when you caught the servant looking behind them; that behavior was more than shady. The rastons were left on a windowsill, your shoes slipped off before you snuck after them.

After turning a couple corners, you followed them into a corridor that was tucked away from wandering eyes. 

Swiftly you ducked behind some old royal’s bust, watching as they pulled something from their glove.

No, not something; a vial.

A small, green vial.

Your brow furrowed, unable to make out what they were doing with it. You heard the soft pop of the cork, the sound of liquid pouring into liquid just barely reaching your ears from the distance you watched from.

But you couldn’t see what it was being poured into. There were plenty of drinks and sauces that were to be served over the next couple of hours. Whatever it was for, it couldn’t be good. 

“Has anyone seen Toumant?” 

You swiveled back, finding two butlers heading down the corridor. It seemed the voices carried far enough that the other servant heard it, too.

“I didn’t see him in line- did he get lost again?”

“Wouldn’t put it past him…he’s still in training.” You darted away, careful to avoid the pair taking a sharp turn down the adjacent hall. Your thoughts blurred together, adrenaline spiking your heart rate.

What did “Toumant” do? A servant-in-training; a new hire?

The butlers had reached the man and told him to get back to the banquet procession.

There was no time to waste. Shoes abandoned, you rushed to the grand hall, a cacophony of raucous noise all but shocking you out of your thoughts, drawing you back into the reality of the situation.

Everyone was seated, eagerly awaiting the end of the servants’ bringing in the last of the food for the preliminary courses. 

Every single person at that table was important. And if anything happened to one of them…you could kiss unity goodbye. Not even Aversa would be able to stop the chaos that would ensue if the wrong person was hurt.

“Robin, there you are! Come take your seat, dearie. We’re just about to pour the drinks.” Aversa called to you, her smile sweet.

You nodded, but your eyes were elsewhere; darting over each of the dishes laid out, ready to be eaten. None of them seemed to be tampered with. Everything looked great. Normal.

You swept over the surrounding servants; there were dozens of people milling about the table, still setting things out and bringing in more and more-

Toumant.

The last of the servants filtered in just as you took your seat, watching the pair of butlers usher in the third and final individual before they shut the grand doors.

“Looks like we’re ready to begin!” Chrom announced, rising from his seat. At his word a number of servants stepped forward, decanters filled with dark, rich Plegian wine in their hands. One of the butlers who had arrived with Toumant had a decanter as well. 

You watched as everyone went around the table, the goblets filled with alcohol. Aversa rose to her feet as well, holding out her own cup that was obediently filled as she spoke.

“In the name of peace and unity among our people…”

You weren’t sure who to watch – Toumant was shifting between bodies, seemingly trying to retreat back towards the walls as more wine was brought forward to fill those waiting.

“...It is my great honor to open this glorious celebration with Plegia’s greatest pride; our precious cinsault grape wine. We all hope that you find it as delightful as the meal which follows. This is truly a historic time for both our nations…”

The wine. Toumant’s gaze seemed to shift at its mention, lingering on Chrom for half a second. You followed his eyes; Chrom’s drink was being poured. 

You looked to Frederick, who seemed to be wholly invested in the speech. You tried to signal to him discreetly, but your ever-patriotic beloved was utterly enthralled with Aversa and Chrom’s words.

“...And hope that this will be the beginning of a prosperous and beautiful new relationship that will stand for centuries to come.”

You waited until the butler stepped away, eying the goblet. Your own had just been filled, a different servant with a different decanter. A different…color…?

Just slightly. 

Just slightly lighter than yours. Whatever was in that decanter was different from Chrom’s. Your heart pounded in your ears. The rest of the speech lasted only seconds longer, drowned out by the panic building in your head.

Aversa held her goblet high, taking the first sip as a symbolic gesture. She and Chrom took their seats, as the others raised their cups.

It was fortuitous that Chrom’s goblet was within reach. You slipped it away from his place, swapping it with your own. He didn’t seem to notice the movement; no one did. They were far too enthralled with the incoming feast.

You took his goblet into your hands, fingers shaking. Frederick looked to you with his warmest smile, unaware something was wrong. Not yet.

“Frederick-” You mouthed to him, the cups raised for the toast. He locked eyes with you, brow furrowing just slightly. “Someone’s trying to-”

“To Plegia and Ylisse!!” 

Aversa and Chrom said in unison, echoed by all those at the table. Everyone took their drinks up, your eyes falling to the drink. If it was poisoned…it should at least be you, shouldn’t it? Although it wouldn’t be difficult to pretend.

You raised the goblet to your lips, the liquid touching just briefly before you lowered it back to the table. You didn't ingest anything-- surely it was fine. Frederick's expression had relaxed when you met his eyes again, looking over at you with great pride.

“I’d say this is going just splendidly, wouldn’t you, Robin?” Aversa beamed, her cheeks flushed with the excitement of having made such a rousing speech. Perhaps that and the wine she already drained from her full goblet.

You looked to Chrom, who appeared to be equally flushed and bright with optimism. He had swallowed the wine, too; he seemed fine.

“Robin?”

The table blurred, your gaze shifting towards the back wall, searching for Toumant. He stood close to the doors- he looked confused.

“Robin, dear, are you all right?” 

Aversa’s voice was static in your ears. You blinked- which only served to make the blurry room spin. You could’ve sworn you heard Chrom and Frederick asking you a question, but they sounded miles away.

Your hands trembled, reaching out to try and steady yourself.

You weren’t sure if you missed, or you grabbed something wrong.

There was a clatter, the world fell out from under you, and a sharp pain stabbed into your chest.

You couldn’t breathe.

The good news was that your suspicions were correct.

The bad news was you tasted copper in your mouth.

The last thing you saw was the stone floor, trembling hands, and blood spattering between your fingers.

Then…nothing.

Frederick didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. You mouthed something to him, just as everyone raised their drinks.

Success was paramount, and everything was going perfectly. Had you found those rolls you left for? He hadn’t seen you return with anything.

By the time he lowered his goblet, your own had just barely passed your lips. Perhaps it wasn’t to your taste. A shame; it was truly delicious.

“I’d say this is going swimmingly. Look at all those pleased, round faces.” Aversa commented to him, gesturing to the ambassadors and nobility who were already digging in. “This may end better than I’d hoped.” 

“The speech that you and Lord Chrom gave set the perfect mood, milady. I wasn’t certain at first, but I must cautiously agree.”

“Surely you needn’t ‘cautiously’ agree. Can’t you simply ‘agree’, brother-in-law?” Aversa rolled her eyes, shaking her head at you. “Honestly, what do you see in this oversized worrywart, Robin?”

Frederick smiled into his drink; there were countless things. You had told him so many a time when he asked a similar question many years ago.

“Robin?”

He looked up from the goblet, finding a strange expression on your face. You looked disoriented. Almost pained.

Aversa’s tone shifted, setting her cup down to reach out for you.

“Robin, dear, are you all right?”

Frederick’s smile disappeared. You weren’t responding. Your face was pale. Chrom seemed to notice as well, touching your shoulder.

“Robin? What’s wrong?”

“My love, are you-”

Suddenly you fell from your chair, taking your place setting down with you. You grabbed at the mat, causing all of your tableware to crash and shatter on the stone floor.

Frederick’s chair crashed to the floor. He raced to you, desperate to help. You were braced on hands and knees, surrounded by broken glass. 

“Robin!!” 

“What the hells is going on?!”

Frederick grasped your shoulders, trying to hold you up. To his horror, your eyes were glazed over. Your skin was paper white, and blood-

Gods, there was blood dripping from your mouth.

“Gods, Robin!!” Lissa screeched, the cleric came to your side as the room descended into chaos. 

“Clerics- send for clerics, immediately!!” Aversa ordered, the ambassadors and servants alike all rushing towards the doors in a panic. The pandemonium was growing around them. 

But to your husband, the nightmare was happening right in front of him. He took you up in his arms, your breathing becoming shallower and quicker in the few seconds he’d lifted you from the floor to his chest. 

“Where is your stave??”

“The medical wing- there are emergency supplies in the councilroom!! It’s the closest-”

Frederick sprinted to the doors, forcing his way through the crowd that was filling the narrowing space in a horrific panic. Ice filled his veins, your entire body spasming. A trembling hand grasped at his chest, trying desperately to find purchase.

You were fading. Fast.

“Out of the way!! Everyone, out of the way!!” He bellowed, brute-forcing his way through bodies. His tactics only fomented further panic, uncoordinated nobles stumbling to the floor and servants hitting walls.

There was no time.

Lissa followed closely behind him, the two of them finally breaking out of the crowd and hurtling down the corridor. Frederick couldn’t have run faster- he was sprinting to the councilroom, feeling your heartbeat soften in each footstep. 

The spasming was slowing down- the blood was spilling faster.

“Hold on- hold on, love, please-!!” 

Lissa somehow had rushed in front of him, pulling open doors and making beeline for the chest in the furthest corner.

“Put her on the table!!” She shouted to him, pulling the Caduceus staff out. 

Frederick cradled your head, lowering you onto the massive table. He ripped the heavy chairs away, making space for Lissa to get to work. 

“She can’t breathe– can you cut the neckline–” 

He ripped the knife from his coat lining. He cut away the fabric, and snapped the necklace away.

The glow of the healing staff wasn’t changing anything. Healing spells were spilling from Lissa’s mouth, the magic shifting from your chest to your stomach, to holding it over your head.

Frederick grasped your hand, fingers pressed against your wrist. Your pulse was-

“Lissa, we’re losing her!”

“I-it’s not enough, I need more help!!” She managed between spells, panic rising in her voice. “It’s poison– it’s spread all over!!”

The breath flew from his lungs.

“Poison-?!” Chrom’s voice broke from behind them. He and Aversa raced into the room, the both of them looking utterly frightened.

“We need clerics, a-and antidotes, and anyone you can find who can hold a staff! She’s running out of time!!”

Aversa flew from the room, shouting hysterically with anger and fear. Someone poisoned Ylisse’s chief tactician. The queen of Plegia’s only sister.

Frederick’s sole reason for living.

“Robin, please–” His voice trembled, feeling your pulse weaken. “Please, my love, please–” 

Sobs were intermingling with Lissa’s spells, panic overriding all of their senses. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It couldn’t end like this.

“Lissa…!!”

Your pulse stopped.

A heartrending cry he would later realize was his ripped through the room. He would not register the room suddenly filling with healers, whipping past him and surrounding your body. 

Aversa was bellowing orders, demanding answers, demanding retribution– Frederick’s knees gave out, slamming to the ground, his hand limply relinquishing yours.

A hand on his shoulder –Chrom, someone– pulling him away from his wife.

“They need room to work, we need to go.”

He sounded miles away. His eyes lingered on your form until you were blockaded by the healers.

The hands multiplied on his shoulders and arms, pulling him back. He couldn’t find the energy to resist.

It was all he could do to keep his eyes on you, before the bodies surrounded you and the doors slammed shut.

The echo that followed the massive doors lingered in the air. And the Exalt, the Queen and the knight could only stand there, numb from the shock of what just happened.

“...Who did this?”

Aversa’s shaking voice was the first to break through the silence. 

“Who would dare…??”

“Poison…isn’t something commonly used in Ylisse.” Chrom said, brow furrowed as he tried to sort out his thoughts. “To do it now, of all times…this was an attempt to prevent peace before it could even happen.”

“We worked too hard. We worked too hard for this to be what comes of our efforts. To target Robin–” Aversa’s voice was little more than a burning hiss, her eyes widened with rising fury. “We must find the culprit. Immediately. If anything happens to her- if Robin does not survive, then–”

“Chrom!” Lissa’s voice lifted through the fog of their anxiety, breathless in the doorway. Frederick was the first to her side, the princess’ eyes dark. 

“Milady, is she–?”

“We’ve put her in stasis. The poison’s spread so far into her system that if we didn’t stop everything, she’d…”

Chrom’s hands were on his shoulders suddenly; ah…his legs nearly gave out, again.

You were at death’s door.

“What can we do?”

“We’ve identified the poison; what we need is an antidote.” 

“Name it.” Frederick stepped closer, jaw clenched. “Whatever she needs, I will find it.”

“It’s from the Plegian Duskviper. It has an elapid venom that normally would kill within seconds of being ingested…coming into contact with skin requires absorption, which can delay its impact for a few minutes. We think that’s what happened to Robin.”

“We have antivenom in Plegia’s capital. It’s a shy creature, very rarely encountered…but for the few imbeciles who would try to mess with one, we have a number of potions set aside in major hospitals.”

“How long would it take to retrieve?”

“If we can teleport, a few hours. Is there anyone-”

“Miriel and Laurent live 10 minutes away. Lord Chrom, please summon the Head Mage. She and Aversa will be able to start the teleportation spell in the meantime. Naga willing, we will save her.”

“We will.” Chrom swore to him, “But you should stay with her. Sumia can get to the mages faster with her pegasus.”

Frederick would have debated that, but the prospect  of leaving your side was less attractive than staying with you.

So instead, he agreed to stay. And the lot of them split, sprinting in whatever directions were needed. Frederick remained at the doors, Lissa assuring him that as soon as it was all right for him to see you, she would allow him in.

For now, he would wait. Trust that they would be able to save you…and pray he would not lose you again.

The slurring voices around you were difficult to decipher. At one point you remembered screaming.

You remembered trying to scream, but your jaw was clamped shut by an indescribable, inescapable pain that pierced through to your very bones.

You remembered…blurry faces, and sobbing, more screaming. Familiar warmth that quickly turned into searing heat, overwhelmed by a cold that suddenly turned to nothing.

A dreamless sleep.

Eventually, though…the world began to shift.

A strange pressure rose in your chest. As though there was no breath in your lungs. You felt a groan in your throat, trying to pull the air back in.

A coughing fit ripped you from the bleary darkness and forced you back into the world.

You felt a small hand on your back, rubbing circles while another pressed something to your lips. Water? Water.

You swallowed obediently, grunting at the dull stabbing in your throat.

The more you woke up, the more pain you felt.

“Easy, Robin…deep breaths. You’re all right.”

A thousand little needles were prickling into you all at once. Waves of pain that you couldn’t reach pressed deep into your body, far deeper than your skin.

What on earth was going on?

“Can you hear me? Do you feel okay?”

You nodded, then shook your head. A tired laugh followed, another cup pressed to your lips. The liquid had a taste; far more bitter.

“This will help soothe the pain and relax your muscles. I’m afraid there isn’t much more we can do until your body’s ready for another healing session. For now, please rest…let me help you…”

The voice became clearer, eventually recognizable as Lissa’s sweet tone. 

Your brow furrowed, trying to open your eyes. It felt like ages before you were able to see her. When the vision finally did come, it was quite blurred.

But the glassy blue eyes surrounded by a halo of soft, blonde hair was a blur you could recognize.

“Lis…”

Your voice was a thousand miles away. But she heard it.

“I’m here. I’m here, Robin…you’re okay.” Her hand touched your neck; it was a cool touch, but welcome. “Don’t push too hard. Can you finish the medicine?”

The cup returned to your lips. A  scrunch in your nose, your brow furrowed just so. The numbness that had enveloped your limbs was replaced slowly with a tingling sensation across your body.

“Attagirl.” The cup emptied, easing the tingling sensation.

Or perhaps the bitterness of the medicine that was still thick in your throat was distracting you from the other discomforts.

“I’ll get you some more water…oh, and I should let the others know you’re awake. Frederick will be beside himself!”

It took some effort, but you were able to turn your head to the side, watching the blurry figure scurry around the room. She was coming more into focus now; wearing medical garb instead of that lovely dress she was in earlier…

Your eyes focused further; the strange dark smatterings across the smock was blood.

“Is that…mine?”

“Hm? Oh.” She followed your eyes, brushing her fingers across the fabric. “Well…yes. You were in a bad way, Robin. It was close.” 

“What was it?”

“Poison. Though…I suspect you knew that.” Lissa returned to your side, a cup of mercifully clear liquid in it. Gingerly, she helped you lean back against the pillows, somewhere between sitting up and lying back.

The hand that came up to take the water from her trembled violently. Not quite ready to do that, yet.

“There was a name you kept repeating when you were coming back around. You were so feverish, we weren’t sure if it was gibberish or what, but– we discovered it was someone pretending to be a servant.”

“Toumant.”

“That's it.” She agreed, “Aversa locked that man down within hours. He was halfway out of a tavern window, but Frederick caught him.”

“He did?”

“I didn’t see it, but Aversa said it was amazing– he broke the man’s nose with a single strike, then just kept hitting him!! Gods, I wish I could’ve seen it. They won’t be able to interrogate the guy until they can get his jaw back in place.”

“H-he broke his jaw?” You were definitely waking up, now. You hoped you simply misheard, but Lissa nodded vigorously.

“Oh gosh, yes- it went on way longer than it should’ve, because Aversa was the first one in. She was cheering him on before Chrom came in, and he was the one who had to pry Frederick off that traitor! It was quite a sight, I’ve been told.”

It left you at a loss for words. It must have been much worse than you first thought.

“Is he…are they here?”

“I think Frederick and Aversa are waiting outside– do you feel up to seeing them? You’ve gone through a lot, today…if you need some more time alone, it’s okay.”

You shook your head, motioning for her to open the doors.

“My husband’s already broken enough bones.” 

The princess would abide by your request, and passed through the door to address the pair of people hovering in front of it.

You leaned back into the pillows, blinking slowly up at the ceiling. You were feeling much more alert, and your vision was almost back to normal.

Just in time to hear the squabbling beyond the door. And, when it finally opened again…

It was your husband who stepped through first. He searched the medical bay for only a moment before his eyes fell on your bed.  His expression shifted to something unreadable. It was a mixture of sadness and relief that was impossible to look away from.

Then he locked eyes with you.

A soft gasp fell from his lips. In six strides Frederick crossed the room and reached your bedside. Without a word, his arms came around you, all but lowering his entire frame onto yours from where you laid.

If you could lift your arms, you would. All you could do was take in his sweet warmth, his embrace tightening with each breath he felt you take.

“My love…” His words were a fragile whisper, “...Robin, I…a-are you all right?”

He pulled back, just enough to look you over. The brimming tears in his eyes made your heart lurch. 

“Does anything hurt? The antivenom, I…I was told it would be difficult to ingest, and…” You lost track of his words, the worried rambling only growing quicker as he continued his inspection.

His hand touched your cheek, then your neck and shoulder, sliding down your arm as the other wandered across your stomach, searching for any discomfort you might be feeling.

The same hands that were wrapped in bandages, faded spots of blood seeping through the linen where his knuckles should be clean.

You looked up at him, his gaze sweeping up and down your frame in search of missed injury,  rambling on about something related to the poisoning.

He did not stop until a small hand reached up, and cupped his cheek.

“Frederick,”

His breath hitched, his body stilled. Delicate fingers fell to his collar, tugging him weakly forward. Obediently, longingly,  the distance between you faded.  

When your lips touched, he finally paused. The kiss was soft, slow to start. Frederick had stuttered against your advances, but melted into it without a second thought. He pressed into you, breaking apart for a whisper of a breath before he returned it, harder, more urgent.

It was difficult to pull away from him, harder still to catch your breath. Frederick’s cheeks flushed, gingerly settling you back into the pillows.

“Forgive me. I…I did not mean to get ahead of myself. Gods, and while you’re recovering from-”

“It’s okay.” Your whisper drew away the guilt, your trembling hand returning to his cheek darkened the blush.

“Darling…” He covered your hand with his, leaning into your touch. Your fingers were still unsteady against his warmth, but he found it reassuring. A sobering reminder of what could have been.

What almost was.

“I heard…you…broke a lot of bones.”

He scoffed, “A coward almost killed my wife. Had I not been stopped, I would have done far worse than break bones. That was a mercy.”

“He wasn’t– trying to poison me.” You swallowed, “I-it was Chrom. I switched the cups when…I figured out what w-was going on.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His face was tight, lowering your hand to his heart.

“I tried.” You shook your head, “I didn’t know what to do. I thought if I didn’t drink it, I’d be fine.”

“If it were any other poison, perhaps it would have been. It was Duskviper venom.” He informed you gravely. Your stomach flipped.

“Duskviper…? I-I should be dead.”

“The healers put you in stasis for hours. Aversa retrieved antivenom from Plegia, and they were able to reverse its effects before it was too late. But it was…it was close.”

You looked away, squeezing his fingers tight. “I’m so sorry, Frederick. You must’ve been…so scared.”

He was silent, intertwining his fingers between yours. 

“I just didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what was going on until it was too late. And if I’d known it was Duskviper, of all things…”

“What matters is you are safe.” He sighed softly, drawing you into his embrace once more. “You are still with me. You are still here.”

“I am.” You promised, nuzzling into his chest.

His heartbeat had steadied; it was back to the strong, slow thump that had soothed your deepest anxieties countless times. 

He threaded his fingers in your hair, stroking tenderly. He relished such soft moments; to think he had been mere seconds from watching it all slip away, again.

You wanted to stay in his arms forever. There was no safer place than snuggled up with your big, brown bear. But the impatient knocking on the door suggested it was time you let other visitors in.

Frederick reluctantly withdrew, tucking your hair behind your ear. “I’m sure it is Aversa. She has been waiting patiently…”

“Are you willing to share me yet?” You mused, in spite of the weariness in your voice. Frederick kissed you once more, before he forced himself to leave your bedside.

“If you wish to hear my honest answer, certainly not. I would rather whisk you away to the mountains…far from anyone else for at least a fortnight...perhaps two.”

“I wouldn’t say no to a vacation, if you’re offering.”

“Then I shall arrange it, immediately.” Frederick decided as he opened the door, just in time for Aversa to burst in with a wild look in her eyes. She was hunting for you, rather than searching- and once she locked onto you, she all but sprinted over.

“Sister!!” 

She rushed to you, elegant fingernails immediately digging into your shoulders. She wrapped you up in a tight hug, settling you firmly against her chest.

“Gently, Aversa– she’s only just woken!” Frederick hurried back to you, preparing to wrestle her off of you. She all but growled at him, hugging you closer.

“Please, I’m the one who brought the antidote!! I should be allowed a few moments to hold my only sister! Besides, you were doing more than hugging before you finally let me in. I’m sure her pains have eased by now.”

“That’s the medicine, I’m sure…” You coughed some, which finally saw Aversa’s release. She held your face in her hands, her sharp eyes betrayed by the tear stains on her cheeks.

“Do you have any idea how frightened we were?? And when you pulled half the table down with you! What in Grima– what in Naga’s name were you thinking?!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought if I didn’t drink it, then–”

“Oh, please. You know better than to put strange liquids anywhere close to your body!! Did I teach you nothing?”

“You taught me plenty.”  You giggled, though it only seemed to upset her further.

“Honestly, you fool…what were we supposed to do if you really died?? You think Naga would give you a third chance at life? And what about us?? Did you think for a second what it would do to poor Frederick? Haven’t you tormented us enough?”

“I was trying to protect Chrom. That’s all on my mind in that moment.” You looked past her to your husband hovering behind the cross woman.

“If Chrom is meant to die by assassination, so be it. You are no longer to put yourself between anyone and yourself, do you understand me? Or so help me gods, I will come to the afterlife and kill you again!”

“Again, Aversa, I would caution you to refrain from such language…especially given the events of today.”

“I speak nothing but the truth.” She huffed, giving you one more squeeze. “Though, there is one thing on my mind.”

You laid back again, prompting Frederick to come to your side and help prop you more comfortably. His hand lingered on your shoulder.

“What was so important you left the banquet in the first place? Even he wouldn’t say what was going on.”

“I asked Gaius to bake rastons for us.” You explained softly, and her breath hitched. “I haven’t seen you in so long, and we had so many fond memories eating them together on the campaign…I thought it might be nice to reminisce a little.”

She stared at you in utter disbelief; that surely couldn’t be the reason.

“Robin, you…” Aversa hiccuped, shaking her head before all but tackling you into another hug. “You sweet, stupid thing!!”

“I love you, too, Sister.” You chuckled, holding her close. Frederick knelt beside you, putting a gentle arm around you both.

He and Aversa had grown close in your time apart; your loss had bonded them in grief, which had blossomed into a true, familial relationship that only made your time together sweeter.

He was a kind, patient big brother…as he was a loving husband. You leaned into him, committing this moment to memory. In spite of the pain, the fear and the horrific events that preceded it…being wrapped in an embrace with the most important and beautiful people in your life was something you would never regret.

It was an important reminder of what you had, and what you would never allow yourself to lose, again. And considering your recovery was spent with the two of them hovering around you constantly, it seemed that sentiment was held by them both, as well.

As if you needed reason to love them more than you did already.

Rastons are a medieval bread roll that are stuffed with butter..very simple, very delicious! Robin introduced them to Aversa during the campaign, and she fell in love with them... whenever they got their hands on them, it was quite a treat! U V U

[skibasyndrome]

Hey :) I’m gonna go for ‘I’m just afraid’ from the prompts list (no pressure though).

Thank you so much for sending in a prompt, Helen 💜 I already wrote something for the phrase, but I decided to just do another version as well, hope that's alright :)

Simon's fingers feel warm and soft where they're clasped around Wille's. It's what he tries to focus on, Simon's touch, steady, gentle, grounding. Simon is here with him, that's all that counts. Wille takes a deep breath. Simon bumps their shoulders together when they step into a dimly lit hallway. "Are you okay?" he asks Wille, tugging on his hand once, bringing the two of them to a halt. Wille knows his nod is unconvincing, especially when Simon unlinks their hands and rubs his upper arm instead. "It's a little stupid," Wille starts. He regrets painting his nails, the urge to bite them is stronger than it's been in a while. He opts for digging his nails into his palm instead. "I'm just... afraid I suppose." Simon's laugh is loud, bright and eternally comforting. He peers up at Wille with raised eyebrows and a teasing glint in his eyes. "Yeah?" Wille hums, trying to hold back a bashful smile. It does sound more than a little stupid said out loud. And less heavy. "You should be, they invited you just so they could have someone to be meant to, you know." Wille groans and buries his face in Simon's shoulder. Simon shakes with laughter. But after another moment, he presses a kiss to Wille's head.

"It's going to be fine," he promises, his voice quieter, gentler. Wille lets out a noise of dissent.

"Are you sure they don't still hate me?" he asks. He's been putting off seeing Simon's friends again. Or maybe they've put off seeing him again. Who knows at this point, but it's been too long and it's weird and it feels like it's not nothing.

Both hands on Wille's cheeks, Simon pulls him up. He makes sure Wille meets his eyes before he kisses him once, short and sweet. And maybe, maybe, that makes it all a little more okay. When Simon pulls away, he reaches for Wille's hand again and pulls him further along.

"Rosh might," he says over his shoulder. "But you've got all night to win her over again."

Send me one of these prompts for a short lil story 💜

[missarchive]

can i ask for sleepy smutty gentle soft spencer x reader blurb/oneshot? i just *know* in the mornings he can be such a soft boy

sleepy spencer is something i will never get tired of writing, thank you for your request, anon <3

cw; +18 minors dni, very gentle and sappy, they're so so in love, protected p in v, fingering, fade to black, aftercare mentioned but not entirely described

You blink your eyes open, greeted by the faint warmth of sunlight spilling through the barely parted curtains. The room is dim, softer than usual, and your drowsy mind registers the cozy intimacy of the moment. Then you feel it—a gentle weight pressed against your side.

Spencer is nestled against you, hands brushing faintly against your skin as he sleeps. You can’t help but watch him for a while, captivated by how peaceful he looks. His messy, dark hair fans across the pillow, and his slightly parted lips twitch as if caught in a dream.

Your hand moves instinctively, tracing the curve of his back. His skin is impossibly soft, like silk under your fingertips, and he stirs at your touch. A small sound escapes his lips—something unintelligible but endearing. He shifts closer, his body moulding to yours as if seeking you, even in sleep.

Your heart races as the warmth of his skin meets yours. There’s a quiet intimacy in the way he fits so perfectly against you, and the faint scent of his shampoo lingers, mingling with something so distinctly him. You let your fingers glide along his side, tracing the gentle rise and fall of his ribs. The motion stirs him further; his breathing deepens, and you can feel the faint tremor of his body as he begins to wake.

You trail your hand over his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your palm. The moment feels electric, the tension building as his eyes flutter open, softened by sleep and something you dare to think is affection. His gaze locks onto yours, pupils dilating as a lazy smile spreads across his face.

"Good morning," he murmurs, his voice raspy and low, still thick with sleep.

Before you can reply, he closes the distance between you, his lips brushing yours in a slow, tender kiss. They’re warm and soft, moving against yours with a languid ease that makes your heart pound. You can’t resist tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you.

The kiss deepens, your tongues meeting in a slow, deliberate dance that sends a shiver through your body. Spencer responds with a quiet moan that vibrates against your lips, and the sound sets your pulse racing. His growing arousal presses against you, a subtle but insistent reminder of how close you both are.

He pulls back just enough to catch his breath, resting his forehead against yours. His eyes meet yours again, and there’s a question there, unspoken but clear.

He whispers again, his voice softer this time. "Sleep well?"

The tenderness in his tone makes you smile, and you nod, brushing your fingers against his cheek. "Yeah, mhm, really well," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Relieved, he leans in to kiss you again, this time with more urgency. His tongue meets yours, teasing and tasting as your hands explore his body. Every touch, every kiss feels like a promise—a reminder of the connection you share.

When he pulls back once more, his lips curve into a soft smile. "I love you," he says, the words gentle yet filled with conviction.

Your chest tightens at the sincerity in his voice. You run your fingers through his tousled hair, letting them linger there as you smile back. "I love you, too," you say, meaning every word.

He kisses you again, this time with a passion that takes your breath away. His lips trail down your jaw, then your neck, each kiss leaving a burning imprint on your skin. You arch into him, every nerve in your body alight with anticipation as his hands begin their own exploration.

Spencer’s touch is slow, deliberate, as though he wants to memorize every inch of you. His lips and hands are everywhere—your face, your neck, your sides. The intimacy of the moment is almost overwhelming, and you feel like you might burst if he doesn’t take you fully into his arms soon.

You whisper his name, and the sound seems to ignite something in him. He looks at you with those eyes, his expression a mix of adoration and desire. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice a promise.

Your fingers weave through Spencer’s dark hair, tangling gently as they trail down the smooth expanse of his back. He’s still kissing you, his lips moving with a fervor that sends shivers through your entire body. Each press of his mouth, each graze of his tongue against yours, sets your pulse racing. It’s almost too much—almost. The tension coils tightly within you, and you feel like you might shatter if he doesn’t give you more.

Breaking the kiss, you cup his face and tilt his head so his eyes meet yours. "Spencer," you murmur, your voice breathless and raw, "I want you."

His eyes darken, the soft hunger in them deepening into something primal. Desire mingles with tenderness as he gazes at you, his lips parting slightly as though he’s about to say something—but instead, he lets his actions speak.

Lowering himself, Spencer begins a trail of kisses down your neck and chest, slow and deliberate, as though savoring every inch of your skin. His hands work deftly to remove your shirt, baring you to him. His lips find your nipple, and the moment his tongue flicks against it, a gasp escapes you.

Your body arches instinctively, pressing closer to him. The heat of his mouth, the softness of his lips, and the gentle scrape of his teeth draw a moan from deep within you. He takes his time, lavishing attention on your chest, his hands exploring every curve and dip of your body.

When he finally pulls back, his lips glisten, and he looks up at you with a smile that’s equal parts wicked and affectionate. You return the smile, your fingers threading through his hair as if anchoring yourself to him.

Spencer shifts, rising back up to capture your mouth with his. His lips are warm and insistent, tasting faintly of your own skin, and the thought sends a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you. Your hands trail down his back, your nails pressing lightly into his skin, eliciting a low groan from him that vibrates against your lips.

With practiced ease, he adjusts your bodies, positioning himself above you. His weight feels perfect against you. The tip of his cock presses firmly against your core through your thin layer of clothing, and without even thinking, your legs fall open, inviting him closer.

The contact draws a guttural sound from deep in his throat, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His lips resume their exploration, peppering kisses along your jaw and collarbone as his hips rock against yours. The friction is maddeningly good, and a whimper escapes you as your body instinctively moves to meet his.

The heat between you builds, his cock rubbing against your wetness through the barrier of clothing. The sensation is electric, each movement driving you closer to the edge. Spencer’s breath is hot against your ear as he groans, the sound raw and unrestrained.

“God, you feel incredible,” he whispers, his voice ragged with need.

He captures your mouth again in a kiss that feels like a promise, his tongue tangling with yours as he grinds against you. The pressure and heat are intoxicating, and your hips rise to meet his in perfect rhythm. Every movement, every touch, fans the flames between you, until nothing else exists but the two of you, lost in each other.

Spencer’s tongue moves languidly against yours, his kiss slow and unhurried. There’s no rush, no urgency—just the quiet intimacy of two bodies learning and savoring each other. The lingering sleepiness only adds to the sweetness of the moment, each kiss and touch steeped in tenderness and desire.

His low moan vibrates against your lips as his hips press against yours, his arousal a firm and thrilling presence. His hand finds yours, guiding it between your bodies. His voice is husky when he whispers, “Touch yourself f'me.”

You nod, your breath hitching as your fingers move to your clit. You begin to circle it slowly, matching the rhythm of his grinding hips. The combination of his hard length against you and the delicate pressure of your own touch sends waves of pleasure coursing through you.

“That’s right, baby,” Spencer murmurs, his eyes dark and full of affection as they lock onto yours. “Make yourself feel good.”

He leans in to kiss you again, his lips soft and warm against yours. The connection feels electric, every brush of his tongue igniting a fresh wave of heat within you. Your arousal builds with each passing moment, your heartbeat pounding in your chest.

A moan escapes you as your fingers work against your clit, the sensation heightened by Spencer grinding against you. His cock is hot and firm, pressing insistently against your wetness. You feel the thrum of his pulse through the thin barrier between you, and it only pushes you closer to the edge.

Spencer shifts, settling between your legs with practiced ease. He brings his fingers to his lips, licking them with deliberate intent before trailing them down your body. His touch is slow and teasing as his fingers find your entrance, and when he finally pushes them inside, a gasp escapes you.

Your body clenches around him, the sensation sending a shiver through you. Spencer’s lips curl into a soft, knowing smile. “You’re so fucking tight, baby,” he whispers, his voice thick with need.

His fingers move with an unhurried precision, stroking you from the inside as his other hand finds your clit. The combination of sensations is overwhelming, and you arch into his touch, a broken moan falling from your lips.

“So warm,” he murmurs, his gaze locked on yours.

You bite your lip, nodding in response as your hips begin to move, riding the rhythm of his hand. The heat between you builds as he leans down to kiss you, his breath heavy against your mouth.

“Please, Spencer,” you whisper, your voice trembling with desperation. Your hand reaches for him, wrapping around his cock.

You meet his gaze, those soft, sleepy eyes filled with hunger and longing. “I want you inside me,” you say, the words carrying all the need coursing through you.

His lips quirk into a small, tender smile as he kisses you deeply. His hands move with purpose, slipping away just long enough to shed his clothes. The sound of fabric hitting the floor mingles with the quickening rhythm of your breath.

Spencer pauses for a moment, his eyes roaming over you with a mix of reverence and desire. Then he positions himself between your legs, gently lifting and spreading them. His hands are steady, but his gaze is heated, as if savouring every second before giving you what you’ve both been craving.

Spencer tears open the condom packet, rolling it on with practiced ease. Then, with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch, he guides the head of his cock to your entrance. The sensation of his tip brushing against you sends a shiver down your spine, and you let out a soft moan.

He pauses, his eyes searching yours. “Ready, baby?” he asks, his voice low and tender.

You nod, biting your lip as anticipation coils tightly within you. “Yes,” you whisper.

Spencer leans down to kiss you, his lips capturing yours. As his hips press forward, he pushes inside, inch by inch, until he’s fully sheathed within you. For a moment, neither of you moves, savouring the feeling of being so intimately connected.

You open your eyes to find his closed, his brow furrowed in concentration as he adjusts to the warmth of you. Unable to resist, you trace your finger across his face, brushing against his cheek. His eyes flutter open, meeting yours with a soft, almost shy smile.

“Hi,” he whispers, the corners of his mouth curling upward.

“Hi, pretty boy,” you reply, your voice laced with affection.

He leans down to kiss you again, his hips beginning to move in a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust is deliberate, his cock sliding in and out with a pace that makes every nerve in your body light up.

A low moan escapes him, his forehead pressing lightly against yours. “You feel amazing,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

His lips trail down your neck, leaving a path of heat in their wake. His thrusts deepen, his body fitting perfectly against yours as if you were made for each other. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer, holding him tighter.

“Spencer,” you moan, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

He slows his movements, his gaze meeting yours. “Yes?” he asks, his smile both teasing and adoring.

His hips roll into you again, the motion making you gasp. “What do you want, baby?” he asks, his voice a mixture of tenderness and need. “I’ll do anything.”

His hand brushes your hair away from your face, his eyes soft and full of affection. “Tell me,” he continues, his fingers tracing lazy patterns down your side. “Just want to make you feel good.”

The emotion in his voice sends warmth flooding through you, a reminder of how deeply he cares—not just for your pleasure, but for you. For a moment, you’re lost in his gaze, savoring the steady rhythm of his body moving against yours, the way he fills you so completely.

Your lips curve into a small smile, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “You’re already making me feel good,” you whisper.

His expression softens, his eyes glimmering with something unspoken but deeply felt. He leans down to kiss you, his lips gentle yet firm against yours, conveying everything words can’t.

His hips continue their steady rhythm, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure through you. The feeling intensifies with every movement, each one drawing you closer to the edge. Your moans mingle with his, creating a harmony of shared ecstasy.

Spencer presses his forehead to yours again, his breath mingling with yours as his thrusts grow slightly deeper, each one punctuated by his quiet, unrestrained groans. His lips find yours once more, his movements and kisses merging into an intoxicating rhythm that makes the rest of the world disappear.

Spencer pulls back slightly, his sleepy, soft eyes locking onto yours. A tender smile graces his lips as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with emotion. He leans in for another kiss, the warmth of his lips grounding you in the intimacy of the moment.

Your mouths move together in a languid rhythm, his hips keeping pace as he continues to thrust into you. The warmth of his cock inside you and the gentle caress of his tongue against yours send waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You moan into his mouth, your hands clutching at his back, pulling him closer.

Spencer smiles against your lips, the curve of his mouth soft and full of adoration. “So, so beautiful," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. His kisses trail from your lips to your cheek and down your neck, each press of his lips igniting sparks of pleasure. He pauses to breathe against the sensitive skin of your neck, the warmth making you shiver as his cock grinds deeper, pressing deliciously against your clit.

Your eyes flutter shut, the tension coiling tightly in your core. Every slow, purposeful movement of his body against yours pushes you closer to the edge, your moans growing louder as the pleasure becomes overwhelming.

“Spencer,” you gasp, your voice trembling. “I’m going to...”

He stiffens slightly above you, his gaze locking onto yours. His voice is low and full of need as he responds, “Cum with me, baby.”

You nod, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the tension snaps. Your orgasm tears through you, sending waves of ecstasy coursing through your body. You cry out, your walls clenching tightly around him, drawing a deep moan from his lips.

Spencer’s movements grow erratic as he chases his release, his cock thrusting deep inside you. With a guttural groan, he cums, his body trembling as he fills the condom. His head drops to your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he rides out the last shudders of pleasure.

“Baby,” he moans, his voice soft and full of awe. His body presses against yours, his weight grounding you as you both come down from the high.

You let out a soft cry as the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you, your body still sensitive and buzzing with pleasure. Your legs fall limply to the sides, and you look up at Spencer with sleepy, satisfied eyes.

He collapses gently against you, his chest rising and falling as he struggles to catch his breath. His softening cock remains inside you for a moment before he carefully pulls out, leaving you feeling both empty and content.

Your hands find their way to his hair, your fingers tangling in the dark strands as he peppers gentle kisses along your collarbone and shoulder.

Spencer presses a kiss to your forehead before getting up to clean himself. You follow his lead, your bodies still humming with the echoes of your shared pleasure.

Once clean, you both return to the bed, slipping under the covers and curling up together. Spencer’s arms wrap securely around you, his hand lazily brushing through your hair as his lips find your temple.

“I love you,” he whispers, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

You smile, your eyes closing as you nestle closer to him. “I love you, too.”

With Spencer’s arms holding you tight and his heartbeat steady against your ear, sleep comes easily. You drift off, feeling safe, loved, and utterly content in the embrace of the man you adore.

[secretlysamcro]

Unspoken feelings

Part 1

Female Reader x Jax Teller threatening & explicit language, drug use, possible spoilers. If you're under the age of 18, haven't finished the show, easily offended or dislike any of said topics, please read no further.

Request: Hey! I loved your recent Jax fic. I would love to see one with a reader he has loved since they were kids but nothing had ever happened between them, until she comes to him knowing he will protect her when she needs him. Thank you 😊

Back story: y/n and Jax had a special bond that went back to childhood. Growing up together, you were practically inseparable, forming a tight trio with Jax and Opie. The three of you were like three pieces of the same puzzle, As time passed, things began to change. You had a few relationships during your teenage years - and so did Jax, but none of them too serious enough to last, Until Wendy came along. There had always been a push and pull between you and Jax. An unspoken tension between the both of you that had never been acted upon. All three of you now are grown up and getting on with your own lives dealing with your own shit.

Jax has had an on and off relationship with Abel’s mother, Wendy since their teenage years. The divorce has just been finalized and Wendy who is once again hooked on drugs has been forbidden from seeing Abel. Jax has made it clear that he won’t be allowing Wendy to see their son until she is completely clean.

Time has passed since your last conversation with either boys, and you can’t help but notice how disconnected things have become. It’s as if distance has grown between you, leaving only brief exchanges of casual interactions and small talk. The close bond no longer existing.

Y/N: Hey Jax, haven’t heard from you for a while, thought I’d message but I know it ain’t easy being king and ur probs just wrapped up in the club but I hope everything’s ok. Hows Abel and Wendy? He must be getting so big now, nearly four right?

Jax feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. When he takes it out, he’s sees nothing but your name on the screen. A small but genuine smile creeps on his face.

Despite the distance, he’s always appreciated the thoughtfulness of you, sending messages on special occasions. Birthdays, memorials, Christmas etc and also checking in from time to time. He tries his best to do the same, but club responsibilities and being a father often get in the way, leaving him with little time.

Jax knows that your mention of Wendy is more of a polite gesture than actual well wishes. The two of you never saw eye to eye in your youth, she always noticed how Jax paid close attention to you, even if you weren’t always aware of it.

A few years ago, you had the unwanted privilege of escorting Wendy to hospital, alongside Jax, as you had found her OD’d on heroin, whilst heavily pregnant with Abel. This was a main factor as to why you and Jax had become so distant, he never wanted to hear you say ‘I told you so’ when it came to Wendy, so he took a step back from you, finding it hard dealing with married life, when the person he really wanted to be with, was you.

[flashback to the night Wendy OD’d]

“Any updates?” You ask Jax, as you step back into the hospital waiting room, getting off the phone from informing Gemma of the situation. “Your Moms on the way, she’s just leaving Luanns”.

“She’s stable, but said they need to keep an eye on her-” Jax’s sentence is cut short as you immediately chime in.

“I don’t give a shit about her, what about your unborn child?” You hiss at him, knowing he knows full well you couldn’t give a fuck about Wendy.

“Drop it y/n don’t be like that, not right now” Jax says in a firm warning tone. You’ve heard this side of Jax a million times, just never towards yourself.

You roll your eyes at him, knowing now probably isn’t the time to tell him you were right about Wendy all along. You both sit down in the waiting area; as you wait for any sort of news.

About 15 minutes later, the corridoor door opens and in walks another doctor. Pretty and tall, her hair clipped up to keep it out of her face. Jax would recognise her from a mile away, and so did you.

“When did she come back?” You ask, slightly scoffing whilst looking at Jax as you both stand up, ready to hear what she has to say. His facial expression displaying the exact same question.

“Tara?” Jax says, as she gets closer, she ignores the fact that you are standing alongside Jax. Another one of Jax’s love interests you never got along with.

“Her hands and feet were full of tracks, toxicology reports aren’t back yet, but it’s most likely crank” Dr Knowles tells Jax, as you stand comforting him. Holding his hand gently with your own.

“The baby?” Jax says frantically, grabbing back at your hand now, eager to hear what Tara has to say.

Tara takes a deep breath before letting Jax know the news. “We had to do an emergency C-section. He’s ten weeks premature”

“Holy shit” Jax says, looking towards you in disbelief.

“Is he gonna be okay?” You ask Tara, as she finally makes eye contact with you.

You hear the faint sound of footsteps coming from behind as Tara continues to talk.

“He’s got a congenital heart defect and gastroschisis… a tear in his abdomen. The gastro and early birth are from the drugs but the CHD is-”

“The family flaw” Gemma says, as she stands behind you, overhearing what Tara has to say.

Stepping back, you give Jax and Gemma their privacy to continue the discussion with the Dr.

You wait anxiously fidgeting as the minutes pass by. From the corner of your eye, you notice Tara assisting another patient. A few moments later Clay walks in, heading straight in the direction of Jax and Gemma.

As soon as Tara is out of sight, you hurry down to the ICU. You join Gemma and Clay, quietly watching as Jax holds his tiny new born for the first time. A small smile on his face as you lip read the words he whispers to his baby boy. “I’m your old man”.

Gemma turns as she senses your presence. “Hey sweetie” she says softly, rubbing your shoulder gently. “Thank you for getting them here so quickly, I can’t thank you enough. I don’t even want to imagine how things could have ended if you hadn’t rushed that junkie whore over here in time”

You place your hand over Gemma’s, a silent agreement with her words. “You’ll let Jax know I’m thinking of him?” You ask Gemma, Clay nodding at you beside her. “And congratulations… Grandma…” you look over at Clay smiling “…Grandpa” you turn around, taking one last look at Jax and his son, before leaving the hospital and Charming once again.

[end of flashback]

You never knew this, and nobody else did apart from Jax and Opie, but the only reason he ever got with Wendy was to distract himself from not being able to have you. Not being brave enough to admit the feelings he’s had for you since you were kids. Wendy seemed like the easiest option. In hindsight though; he wishes he had never even met her, but then he wouldn’t have Abel, and he’s the best thing to ever happen to him.

You were equally at fault though; you never expressed your true feelings to Jax in fear of rejection. Instead, you observed from a distance as he got involved with Tara, witnessed his heartbreak when she left for Chicago, and saw him meet Wendy; which eventually ended in pregnancy and marriage. All of this led you into a pressured relationship, pulling you away from your hometown, your friends and family, and from Jax.

Jax thinks it’s best not to mention anything about his divorce, or Wendy's current situation as he knows you’ll have something to say about it, so he keeps the text short and brief. Almost as if he hardly knew you.

Jax: Hey y/n. All good here. Keeping the club in line ain’t easy. Abel’s nearly 4 ur right, hope you’re doing well.

Your expression changes to a frown as you read Jax's text message, noticing how sharp and cold his tone is, far different from the Jax you remember. You make a decision to reach out to Opie, thinking he might have some insight into what’s going on with Jax.

Y/N: Hey Ope, hope you and the family are doing well. Just messaged Jax and he seems a bit off? Is everything okay? Was thinking about you all today I might come down soon for a few days. If you’re both around. Let me know!

Opie reads your text and laughs, having a good idea that jax hasn’t filled you in on the details of his recent divorce. He glances over at Jax who’s already in a shitty mood and remarks, “You still haven’t told y/n?” He says, as he brings his cigarette back up to his mouth.

Jax looks puzzled when Opie accurately guesses that he hasn't shared any recent news with you. Opie tosses him the phone, and Jax scans through your text message, as he realises that you're completely in the dark about his recent life developments. “She ain’t around any more so what does it matter? She left to be with that asshole and hasn’t looked back since” Jax says as he chucks the phone back to Opie.

“Did you expect her to wait around for you?” Opie says, shaking his head in Jax’s direction.

“What do you mean wait around for me?” Jax stares out Opie.

“Nothing” Opie hushes, knowing that silence is his best option. He had always been the mediator of the trio - since you were kids, Jax would relay information about you to Ope, whilst you would share your thoughts about Jax with him too, leaving him in the middle of the unspoken love between the two of you. He knew how hard it was for Jax to see you strutting round with other guys who weren’t him, and he knew how hard it was for you when you found out Wendy was pregnant and soon to be married to Jax.

Opie can feel the burn from Jax’s side eye, quickly thinking of something to say, Jax knows that Opie is aware of his feelings towards you and the reasons behind his defensive attitude when it comes to you. Opie uses this opportunity to remind him that it’s not your fault for being oblivious to his emotions. How are you suppose to act upon his unspoken feelings?

Opie bluntly tells Jax, "Maybe if you had the guts to tell her how you felt about her, she'd still be here, and you wouldn’t be stuck with a drug lovin’ ex-wife".

You were always considered like the little sister Opie never had, and that protective instinct had carried on into adulthood. Even if you weren’t as close as you once were. Which is why he still felt the need to defend you in your absence.

“I’m just saying…didn’t think she’d care to know” Jax says, banging his box of cigarettes on the table, knowing he has nothing to say in his defence as Opie is 100% right. He still doesn’t quite understand what Ope meant by you waiting for him though.

"Her coming back to see us only means one thing anyway…” Opie continues, “…she’s probably finished with that douche so she’s finally allowed to come back and see us” He begins replying to your text.

“Well it can’t be that bad… she packed up her whole life for him…” the jealousy in Jax’s tone shining through. Opie smirks and shakes his head towards the jealousy presented by Jax, as he sends his reply to you.

Opie: All good here thank u y/n. Cnt speak for Jax he’s in a world of his own. Lmk if ur planning on stopping by… you bringing your old man? would be nice to see u. It’s been a while. Lylas heard all about u and wants to meet u. - Ope

You roll your eyes at Opies question about your ‘old man’. Hiding your own love life, you don’t respond to the text at all, but internally making the decision that you were in fact going to visit.

It's only been a few days since your breakup, and your ex is currently crashing at his friend's place. However, you don't want to be there when he returns, knowing that it could lead to another confrontation. You grab your laptop, eager to find a place to stay just outside of Charming. You know that anyone from home would have let you stay with them whilst you’re in town, but you decide to do this bit on your own. So you don’t waste any time reading reviews. The first place you see is only about 10 minutes from the clubhouse and, best of all, it’s cheap. Decision made. You’ll be back in Charming sooner than you thought.

[The next morning]

You collect all of your essential belongings, packing them in a hurry and carefully loading them into your car. You don't even bother with any unnecessary or replaceable items, knowing deep down that your departure is final.

You miss everyone back home and crave the familiar faces, even if things have gotten a bit…awkward lately. Leaving well early in the morning, the drive back to Charming took about an hour. Giving you the perfect chance to clear your head. Thoughts of the future swirl through your mind, uncertainty and questions. You wonder where you’ll go, what you’ll say if someone asks about your situation and how you’ll handle the inevitable “we told you so’s” from the ones who saw through your ex’s charming nature before you left to start a new life with him.

He was a narcissist, completely consumed by his own reflection and oblivious to anyone else's feelings or needs. Everything revolved around him, and only him, Of course when you first got together he was the complete opposite. The ideal man for you, the one who convinced you to leave Charming and your familiarity behind. Part of you knows, deep down, that he was also a big reason you stopped keeping in touch with the boys as much as you should have.

He knew about the bond you shared with Jax and Opie, Jax especially and he hated it, hated the way they had your back in ways he never could. On the rare occasion when you were all present in the same room, he saw how protective Jax was of you, how he looked at you and how you looked back at him, in the exact same way.

Jax watches as Opie takes off his helmet and dismounts his motorcycle, Jax swiftly doing the same thing.

“Yo… Ope…” Jax calls out to Opie, as he moves towards the clubhouse. “y/n text you back?” He shouts out.

“Nah, heard nothing back from her… maybe try calling” Opie says, with a tinge of cockiness, knowing Jax would feel a way about calling you and also not wanting to be the middle man any longer.

Before Jax can even argue the idea, Opie walks briskly back into the club house, leaving Jax to ponder his options. Jax sighs as he mutters to himself, “I guess I'll do it,” scrolling through his phone's contact list to find your name. His hands tremble ever so slightly as he holds the phone to his ear, waiting anxiously to see whether you answer or not.

you take a deep sigh as you settle down onto the bed, after carrying the last of your belongings into the motel room. As you glance around, you take in fragments of your life scattered about. Little items that you had brought with you from the place you used to share with your ex. You have no idea what the hell you're going to do from here, but at least here is home, in Charming.

Your phone starts ringing, and you're certain of who it is. You take your phone out of your pocket and roll your eyes at the sight of your ex's name lighting up the screen. It can only mean one thing, he has finally realised that you've moved on and won't be coming back. You ignore the call placing your phone back on the bed. As the call ends, it rings again. You pick up the phone getting ready to block his number, but this time a different name is displayed across the screen.

“y/n?” Jax says in a low tone, Jesus Christ how you missed his rough voice.

“Hey” Is all you manage to get out. Actually hearing him speak after so long has made you feel somewhat… nervous.

Jax can’t help but smile at the other end of the phone. He can sense that you were caught off guard by his call.

“Uh… Ope mentioned that you might be coming home soon… I was just calling to check when… you know, if you are” he says, fumbling over his words.

“Yeah I…-I’m actually already here… well sort of…” you laugh lightly.

“Oh shit… when did you get- wait what do you mean sort of?” He questions, confused by what you mean.

“I’m like 10 minutes out, staying at the Rockstaff motel”

“A motel? You staying there with what’s his face?” Jax can’t even bring himself to use your exs name, it humours you slightly.

“No.. I- it’s just me…” you refrain from going into detail.

“So why are you staying at a motel? You should have called me when you got here. You know you can always come here…or to any of us”

“I know, I know, I just wanted to surprise you guys, like old times… you know?” You rush to explain, not wanting Jax to discover that you’re actually planning on living out of said motel whilst you get everything in order.

“Hmm, always full of surprises you are” Jax’s laughs, walking towards the clubhouse now.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You retaliate, slightly defensive.

“Nothing” he snaps back with an awkward laugh. “How long you plannin’ on staying for this time anyway?”

You can hear the attitude in his tone, the way he states ‘this time’ because the last time you saw him was that night Abel was born, and you left without personally saying goodbye.

“Ahhh so that’s why you’ve been so cold with me the past few years, because I never said bye?” You question, wanting to clear the air of all awkwardness.

“Something like that” he says, clearing his throat as he scratches the back of his neck “You gonna swing by today at some point or-”

“Yeah… if not today then tomorrow” you let Jax know, unsure if you’re willing to brave the awkwardness today or not.

“Okay… cool. You’ll let me know yeah?” His protectiveness still peeking through. “You sure you’ll be ok at that motel?”

“I’m a big girl Jax, I’m good” your words come out through a slight smile. You hear him laugh faintly as he disconnects the call.

As you sit with all your feelings and emotions rolling through your mind, you think it’s best to meet up with Jax first and hash out this weirdness going on between you both, you don’t want it to be over your heads whilst around anyone else. Just as you’re writing out a text, one comes through.

EX: what the fuck all ur stuff is gone wtf are u playing at y/n answer the fucking phone.

And another.

EX: where the fuck are you y/n

And another.

EX: do u think u can leave me! U stupid bitch

And another.

EX: u think im stupid dnt u? Wait till I fucking catch you stupid biker whore

‘Biker whore’ you repeat out loud, you have no idea where that had even come from, you hadn’t associated with them for the past 3/4 years, so why he’d mention that, you were clueless. Threats from your ex weren’t out of the ordinary so you weren’t really phased by the texts he had just sent - he doesn’t know where you are, so you’re safe…right?

You continue looking for Jax in your recent contacts, and begin to message him.

Y/N: Hey, just wondering are u still at ur old place? and are u free right now? I’ll come and see you but if not will just catch up tomorrow with everyone else. Lmk

His reply was quick.

JAX: yeah same place. I’ll be home in about 20 minutes if u wanna come by now.

As you pull up to the once familiar address, you see him waiting for you outside, sitting cockily on his bike, foot balancing on the exhaust and a cigarette In hand. a smile slapped across his face, almost as if he’s as excited to see you as you are him.

Part 2 will be on the way! Apologies for being gone for so long, I’m back & writing again, so bare with lol.

GIFs, photos & music do not belong to me.

Jax Teller masterlist

xoxo secretly samcro