#shes like “its not supposed to do that”

[nanavn]

[ID: second post by @petrichara has a photo and a cartoon; third post by @ink-the-artist has a MRI scan and four screenshots of text from the link; fourth post by @illuminatedpopcorn has a screenshot of tags.

In the second post, the photo is of a mother holding her small child up in an embrace, both seen from the side and looking at Van Gogh's painting 'Madame Roulin and Her Baby' which depicts a seated woman with a baby standing on her lap. The mother in the painting is in three-quarters profile whereas the baby is looking straight at the viewer. The child in the photograph is looking intently at the painting.

'I’m not sure how to look at art' by Lynda Barry is a four-panel cartoon. It's a line drawing and shows a humanoid, larger figure in a dress and a smaller, potato-shaped companion - presumably a mother(-figure) and a small child - looking at a painting on the wall. It depicts a seated figure, tenderly embracing a smaller one on its lap - they appear content and happy.

The few details of the background indicates that the cartoon's setting is a museum or possibly a gallery.

In the first panel, the mother holds her arms in front, crossed at the wrists - perhaps not exactly anxious, but not relaxed either. She is looking at the painting and says: "Im not sure how to look at art."

The child is also studying the painting and says: "Whats sposta happen?" [What is supposed to happen, asked by someone not fully mastering the language - like a child might]

In the second panel, the two are looking at each other. The mother is holding up her arms in front of her chest and, in three speach bubbles, says: "Something big. A revelation. Suddenly you just understand."

The child's mouth is open, as if taking this in.

In the third panel, they both look at the painting. The mother's arms are crossed in front again and she says: "Not sure how to make it happen."

The child now stands between the mother and the art, and says: "How bout lift me up so I can see better?"

The fourth panel has the mother holding up the child in her embrace, mirroring the painting as they look at it intently.

The small child again has its mouth open, and they both seem to feel a connection - like they "just understand."

In the third post, the MRI scan is of an adult person and a small child in profile from the shoulders up and facing eash other. The mother is kissing the baby on his forehead, her lips tenderly touching her child. The four screenshots of text are from the linked article, which also describes the image:

A mother and her child are curled up together inside the tube of a 3 Tesla magnetic resonance imaging scanner in April 2015. The scanner bangs and beeps, shudders and screeches. The baby is finally sleeping, pressed firmly against his mother’s chest, and so is still enough for the MRI to see inside his head. A single MR image, like this one, takes several minutes to capture. Moving just a millimeter leaves a blur on the screen. The mother and baby must hold their pose, as if for a daguerreotype.

While they lie there, the scanner builds up a picture of what’s inside their skulls. Often MR images are made for physicians, to find a tumor or a blocked blood vessel. Scientists also make the images, to study brain function and development. In my lab, at MIT, we use MRI to watch blood flow through the brains of children; we read them stories and observe how their brain activity changes in reaction to the plot. By doing so, we’re investigating how children think about other people’s thoughts.

This particular MR image, though, was not made for diagnostic purposes, nor even really for science. No one, to my knowledge, had ever made an MR image of a mother and child. We made this one because we wanted to see it.

To some people, this image was a disturbing reminder of the fragility of human beings. Others were drawn to the way that the two figures, with their clothes and hair and faces invisible, became universal, and could be any human mother and child, at any time or place in history. Still others were simply captivated by how the baby’s brain is different from his mother’s; it’s smaller, smoother and darker—literally, because there’s less white matter.

Here is a depiction of one of the hardest problems in neuroscience: How will changes in that specific little organ accomplish the unfolding of a whole human mind?

As for me, I saw a very old image made new. The Mother and Child is a powerful symbol of love and innocence, beauty and fertility. Although these maternal values, and the women who embody them, may be venerated, they are usually viewed in opposition to other values: inquiry and intellect, progress and power. But I am a neuroscientist, and I worked to create this image; and I am also the mother in it, curled up inside the tube with my infant son.

The fourth post's screenshot of tags from the previous post:

#it’s not exactly the same as what the post describes but I think it’s the same in spirit #it’s just so… #there’s an edited version of that image that’s been spread claiming it shows chemical reactions in the brain from the kiss #like parts of the brain are edited to look like they’ve lit up as they release oxytocin #made me pissed tf off on Rebecca saxes behalf lmao #thats so much less interesting and beautiful than ‘we made this one because we wanted to see it’

End ID]

Tags from https://www.tumblr.com/ink-the-artist/776580876213649408/why-i-captured-this-mri-of-a-mother-and-child

saw a tiktok of a mother taking her very tiny daughter to an art museum and she’s just walking around going “whoooa” “woooaah” to everything but then they got to a marble statue of a nude woman lying on her back and the girl points and goes “mommy🫵” and i just immediately welled up with tears and all the comments are just laughing about it and of course it’s funny but how are you not insanely moved by the way art connects everyone on earth from a centuries-old sculptor to a toddler in 2023

[ggirlthatgotaway]

Like an Animal, Driven by an Inexplicable Desire He Had Never Felt Before

summary: Aemond Targaryen does not have friends and he does not wish for any. At the Cambridge University, he has everything he wishes for: free time, studies that interest him, money, and a perfect table to study on. Of course, when he sees you sat on his chair, one of the pillars of his perfect life crumbles, shattering on the ancient university’s stone floors.

trigger warning: obsession for both tables and girls, explicit and sexual language, degrading terms, choking, masturbation, slight stalking maybe.

word count: 7.2k

supposed reading time: 29 minutes

note: for feck’s sake, this took FOREVER. i’m sorry, but at least this one is kinkier than the others, so… ALSO, i have many ideas for next ffs, AND OMG THE NEW FONTAINES DC MUSIC VIDEO?!?!? thank you ireland, i love you deeply (never been)

-💎

Aemond Targaryen was weird- or so he told himself as a reason why he was twenty and still did not have one friend.

His highschool years had been hell to say the least: he used to feel like everyone noticed him and how he was always alone, but at the same time nobody noticed that he was not such a bad person to be around- not after some time, anyway.

University, on the other hand, had him feeling like he was not as bad as highschool had made him out to be. He realised that he needed to be discovered to be understood, and if nobody had the time to do so, that wasn’t his trouble. He still had no friends, but he had stopped caring right at the start. He had his studies that kept his mind sharp and trained, free time he used to train the body and still more moments to stare at the ceiling of his dorm in comfortable silence.

He had his spot at the ancient library of Cambridge University, where the light was soft but still lasted enough to make him feel how much he accomplished during the day. Aemond appreciated immensely the space that he had carved out for himself, for it was silent and empty and held the perfect warmth in the reoccurring rainy and humid days without being suffocating.

The spot at his table- the seat in front of the last shelf that was filled with books on Theoretical Physics, his major, had its chair complete of all screws and it did not creak when moved, never warm for nobody sat on it- was the the one near the window, so the sound of rain fell on the glass provided a calm white noise that had him go on with his studies without much effort. He also adored how no table was beside or behind him, which meant that no other student could see him there, but from his chair he could easily rest his eyes on most of the other study tables, which meant that he could look and sometimes stare at people without being noticed.

The perfection of said spot was sacred to him, that was the reason why rage boiled into his whole body when he was someone occupying it when he came into the library.

It was a girl, a stash of literature books sat on the place usually reserved for his physics material. Her hand was in her hair and she was chewing on her pen cap- a thing he found extremely irritating- while her eyes scanned the page she was reading.

What was she doing there, sat on his chair?

He was aware that it did not have his name on it or anything of the kind, although he wished it did. Such a problem had never presented itself before: that was the reason why he stopped in the middle of the corridor and the hold on his school bag tightened at the point his knuckles were white.

He was staring at her, and he was aware that people might have started staring at him after the amount of seconds he spent there like a shot-up mule, but he couldn’t help it for a long time.

It infuriated him how prettily she sat there, as if nothing was wrong, as if he were invisible although he was standing right in front of her. With her colourful highlighters and her legs put into a position that no human could find comfortable to sit in.

When his body finally permitted his feet to move, he reached the table and tapped his index finger on the wood, making the girl raise her eyes. Ignoring the way her gaze made him feel as it travelled his body before settling on his face, he spoke, “You’re in my seat.”

“Excuse me?” you said, furrowing your brows and straightening up.

Despite he was aware you did not ask that for him to repeat his words, he did, this time even more angrily, “You. Are. In. My. Seat.”

A grimace spread on your lips as his rude words reached your ears for the second time, and you could bot help but reciprocate the tone he had used, “You haven’t used it for at least a whole hour- I got here first.”

Your answer only served to make his anger rise, but he did not bite his tonge and deprive you of another stiff reply, “I come here every day. It’s practically my seat.” The word ‘practically’ was said to avoid that phrase he expected you to say: ‘I don’t see your name anywhere’. That would have not only gotten him even closer to slamming his hands on the table, but they also would have left him with no intelligent reply.

Your point was valid, and he was aware of it. It irritated him greatly how calmly you answered, despite the grimace on your oretty lips. But he found your following actions irritated him even more so: you rolled your eyes and shifted your stuff to the other half of the table, before getting up from his chair and sitting on the one opposite of it. “I hope you’re happy.” you said as you walked behind him.

“Hm.” he answered curtly, walking up to his usual seat and sitting on his beloved chair. He did stare as he took his books out of his school bag, appreciating and loathing how you resumed your studies without any semblance of annoyance.

He tried to study for the whole two hours you sat in front of him, but a sweet and fresh scent seemed to linger in the air around him, making his trousers tighten and his teeth sink into the inside of his cheek.

He liked to think he would have quickly forgotten about you in the short span of three days if you hadn’t sat in front of him again the following day. He had gotten to the library an hour before his usual study time and settled his things down, pretending he was not expecting you to show up and study in front of him again.

The way your eyes did not meet his sent a wave of annoyance crushing into him, but it was nothing compared to the wave of heat that would have hit him if you made eye-contact with him for even a split second.

You seemed impervious to his cold eyes on your scalp and to his very unsuccessful intimidation tactics, and he found it surprisingly refreshing, although immensely irksome. Aemond fixed his glasses on the bridge of his bose and let out a sigh, careful not to make any noise. He would be damned if he wasn’t able to study another day because a mere pretty girl sat in front of him.

But the words escaped his mouth before his brain was even able to register them, “You seem awfully committed to my table.” Aemond felt ashamed for his words for the first time in his whole life: never had he ever lost control of his mouth in such a way. He could get over the betrayal of his body from yesterday, yet his mind had also failed him despite it being what he redeemed himself good for.

“It’s the best one.” you answered, making his thoughts reel. Had you also noticed how much perfection surrounded his table? Was that the reason why you had chosen to occupy his chair yesterday, and not any other of the four seats?

“I’m aware.” he muttered under his breath, before letting his eyes fall on the open book in front of you. “And I suppose you need the best lighting to read those flowerry passages you study?” The mock was clear on his tone, for he had no intention of hiding it.

“Do you have problems with my choice of studies?” you asked as your eyes lifted from your book to meet his cold blue ones, and he basked in the slight annoyance in your voice like a lizard under the sun.

“Not at all,” he said calmly, but a hint of a grin gave out how much he was enjoying getting a reaction out of you, “Just seems like a waste of time when there’s real work to be done.” He tutted and raised his eyebrows, shrugging his shoulders imperceptibly, “To each their own.”

He saw your eyebrows raise as you looked down on your material, and he felt victorious for your surprised expression at his bastard words. But your absence of a reply irked him in a way that rarely happened- maybe he wanted to hear more of your voice, maybe he merely wanted to get even more on your nerves…

So he spoke again after some seconds of silence in which he desperately tried to find something else to say, “Also, I’m trying to concentrate here. So, if you don’t mind…” he trailed off, gesturing to your belongings that occupied half of his table, half of his territory.

He saw the way your grip tightened around your blue biro, signalling that he had succeeded in bothering you again. You gave him a fake smile and flipped your notebook open, making clear you had no intention of moving your things, “I believe half of the table is perfectly enough for you.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Aemond gave the same smile back to you, and looked back down at his textbook, but instead of words his mind replayed the way you had walked up to him just minutes prior, and he found himself staring wide eyed at the paper.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your pen scratching against paper, drawing his attention to the way your hand moved gracefully, tapping your lower lip in concentration as you thought of what to write before putting it down on paper. He quickly turned his gaze back to his book, biting back a groan.

Since when were pretty girls so distracting to him? He pushed his thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand, but not before casting a sideways glance at you, a mixture of irritation and fascination swirling in his blue eyes.

After other three hours spent on studying- today he was able to concentrate slightly more than the day before, although the sound of your voice haunted his thoughts like a pleasing even if annoying melody- the sound of your chair against the stone floors made his head shoot up.

You gathered your things and pushed the books into the already overflowing bag you carried around. He was sure the covers of the books would bend horribly in such a position, but he made no comment on that. His eyes followed you even if his head didn’t move as you put the chair you were sat on back in place, which he appreciated, before you turned on your heels and made your way back out of the library.

He stared at your ass in an inappropriate way: the fabric of the blue jeans you were wearing gave him a perfect view, one he had no intention of missing. He wanted to say something to you, maybe a mocking “See you tomorrow.”, but no words came out of his lips.

He was not aware when his table became your table, despite the fact he thought of it extremely often. He had never studied as few as he had done in the three weeks you had sat in front of him in the library: he could smell the perfume you wore when you weren’t there, and he realised he was either going mental or you had walked there some moments before him; he noticed the nail polish on your nails and the way you changed it every weekend; he memorised the order in which you put your earrings, and the fact you wore three on your left ear and two on your right.

One day, you left the library earlier than usual. “Bye.” you told him with a small wave of your hand- you had started saying goodbye to him on the Tuesday of the second week.

Aemond let out a “Hm.” in response, hiding how he would stare at you until you were no longer in sight. Leaning back on his chair, he realised he knew an extremely limited amount of things about you- as in proper things, not your earrings, your nails, your books, or the bitten caps of blue pens. He knew your name and your studies, and that, he decided as he stared at the wooden door you had just disappeared behind, was far too few.

His chair creaked when he shot to his feet, and he rested his palms on the flat wooden surface to gather his thoughts. The library held a great amount of personal information in its yearbooks, and Gods be damned if he did not find you in one of them.

The waste of time that he could have spent studying or resting heavied upon him as he scanned the thick pages of the previous year’s yearbook, but then he took a deep breath, and his nostrils filled with your perfume as if you were there, pressing your sweater against his nose. That kept him going on with his research, and it also made him realise that, yes, he was going mental.

Apparently, you were so good at spelling you had won multiple awards for the school. The news made him click his tongue and shake his head, almost bothered, almost as if a picture of him wasn’t in that same yearbook for his chess award.

His eyes stilled on the picture, on the softness of your hair, evident even from there, on the soft curve of your lips and their rosy colour, and on your eyes, which have been making his trousers tight for weeks now. And you were staring right at the camera, and at the viewer.

Aemond Targaryen did not blink for a whole minute, maybe two. When he felt as if your face was imprinted onto his eyelids, he walked over to the photocopier, and before he knew it, he was staring again at your picture, only this time he was in his dorm, sitting on his bed, with his cock in hand.

It was a temptation he had weakly fought too long to resist, and despite the slight guilt he had felt before undoing the button of his jeans, he felt victorious at the accomplishment.

Said ‘accomplishment’, anyway, became a deep obsession, an overwhelming need that he needed to satisfy every single day after the study sessions you and Aemond had going on.

He felt fifteen in a way he hadn’t felt when he had been that actual age, and he secretly relished in it, both for the physical pleasure and for the adrenaline the immoral brought him.

He started to wonder, as he looked at you biting your pen and not really hiding anymore the fact that he was staring at you, what your reaction would be in the impossible situation that you would find out about the picture he kept safely put into his nightstand, second drawer to the left.

Would you slap him? Demand the picture brought to you? Sue him for stalking? Run away and avoid him ever after? The possibilities were endless, really, but also impossible to come true: the only ways you could ever find out were by rummaging through his stuff or by him telling you. Completely impossible indeed- nothing that would ever come true.

When he noticed you were staring at him, he realised he needed to get out of his thoughts. “What?” he asked, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter.

“I asked you for a pen.” you repeated, holding out your open palm and waiting for him to pout the requested object on it.

He gave the pen he was ‘using’ to you, bot mreting your eyes and pretending to be focused on his textbook, although the slight contact of your skin under his made him shiver pleasenty, “Don’t bite on it.”

That day he left the library before you, after he realised he was not going to study anyway, and it was better to spend his time doing something he knew he was going to enjoy.

Aemond opened the door of his dorm swiftly and carelessly left his bag on the floor, before sitting down on his bed with a sigh, his eyes locked on the second drawer. He did not reach to open it immediately: he had the sensation he was still being observed, still in your presence.

But since that piece of paper was imprinted on his eyelids, he really did not make a big difference whether he had it in hand or not.

He lied down, his hand massaging his length through the constraining fabric of his jeans. He closed his eyes when his fingers wandered close to the cold button, and imagined you standing before him, no useless fabric to cover your curves as you looked at him with thise eyes he had been idolising for weeks.

He imagined himself reaching out to tangle his hand through your hair, tugging you forward rather roughly before forcing you down with your knees on the softness of the carpet.

He undid the zip of his trousers and freed his cock, massaging it and imagining himself stroking it over your face as he held you close tt, so much the lenght often brushed against the skin of your cheek.

He groaned as he made you suck his tip, pulling it out as he pleased to trace the contours of your mouth before pushing it past your lips again. He imagined his hand taking a better hold of your hair and pushing your head further down his cock, making you take it whole as your eyes were still locked on his.

He craved that pretty, soft and definitely sweet mouth around him, warming him up as he fucked it roughly, making you choke on his cock.

He imagined seeing your ass reflecting on the mirror beside the bed, and your dripping cunt peeking out of it like a treasure he would take and use. He imagined making you take him down to his base as he reached down to grasp the soft flesh of your ass, molding it in his hand before delivering a sharp slap to it.

“Fuck.” he hissed, opening his eyes and quickly reaching for the left corner of the second rawer of his nightstand. He pulled out your picture and fucked his hand furiously over it, his mouth hanging open in pleasure.

He could feel himself about to reach the edge when someone knocked. The movements on his cock stilled instantly, trying to figure out if his mind had tricked his ears into hearing it, but when the noise came again he shot to his feet, your picture still on his hand as he haphazardly tucked his throbbing cock back into his jeans.

He wished he hadn’t opened the door when he found you standing outside of it, your hair tied back as it often was when you studied, and your bag still on your shoulder.

His expression was weird, you found, with his usually pale cheeks flushed and his normally perfectly put together silver hair slightly messy on his head. You wondered what had caused such distress on him, but you did not ask. You only offered his pen back to him after you realised he was not going to greet you. “I didn’t give it back: you ran away.” you explained, and extended your hand some more when Aemond didn’t take it right away.

He finally did, and the weird thought that he tried to make as little contact as possible when taking the pen from your hand settled in your mind. It was quickly swept off when he muttered a thank you and tried closing the door.

“Wait.” you said, your brows furrowed. His movements halted, and, although you didn’t notice, he dug the pencap into the palm of his hand so as not to scream, while trying desperately to hide the photo of you he still held in his hand, the one he used to open the door. It was crumpling under his grip and onto the metal of the doorknob, and the fact bothered him greatly. “You don’t invite me in?”

You saw him tense even further at your question, and his eyes darkened, and his voice came out hoarse when he finally spoke, “Why would you want to?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “‘Cause I have nothing to do.”

Aemond’s hand tightened on the doorknob, and, despite himself, he took a step back. “What makes you think I also have nothing to do?”

“I bet you never do.” you answered simply, entering his dorm and brushing your shoulder against his since he hadn’t opened the door all the way. “What were you do-“

But before you could finish your question, Aemond interrupted you with one of his own, “How did you find my dorm?”

“I have friends, on your contrary.” you answered dryly- which was his fault, really: he was the one who had started the bitchy comebacks that he called conversations between you two, and you made up your mind that he was going to be the one to cease with the childish behaviour, if he was ever going to. “One of them has the dorm in front of yours.”

“Mh.” was his answer, as it was for most things, you had discovered during your study hours. “Make yourself useful, then: I can’t find a book of mine. It’s called ‘Gravitation’.”

Why you were complying to something Aemond Targaryen had asked of you, you did not know, but you started looking for the tome anyway.

Thankful at your distraction, Aemond put back the photo on the second drawer, which he had left open, before pretending to care about that book he had already given as lost.

The space of his dorm was extremely neat, making you wonder how on Earth could he have lost something in such a place. You scanned half of the room, and then switched places, both of you not trusting the other’s searching skills.

There was no sign of that stupid book anywhere, so you decided to ask, “Have you checked your drawers?” as your hand was already on the handle of the second drawer of his nightstand.

“Yes!” he quickly said, but it was too late, because your eyes grew wide. You looked at him, taking in his stiff position and the tightness of his lip. What in the world was Armond Targaryen doing with a picture of you inside his nightstand?

Your eyes went back to the picture and you took it, feeling the crumpled material under your fingers and raising it, showing it to him. “I do look quite good in here.” you teased him, and a grin formed on your lips.

What was wrong with you, smiling at the actions of an obvious creep that kept your photo near his bed? You always had a thing for odd guys, and Aemond Targaryen was the closest incarnation of your type you had ever laid eyes on: always alone, intelligent out-of-the-ordinary, a complete cunt to whomever, and ethereally beautiful. But you would usually consider that picture slightly crossing the line- tonight was not the case.

You noticed his jaw clenching tightly, his eyes fixed on the photo. “That… Is not what it looks like.” His words made you scoff, and you noticed how your casual amusement surprised him greatly- it was surprising you, too. “Give it back.” he ordered then, walking quickly around the bed and next to you, still crouched down on the ground.

You squirmed away from his attempts at snatching the picture from you, and held it against your chest. “Why?” you asked with a mischievous grin that showed your white teeth, “Is it a treasure you must keep safe?”

“It’s none of your business.” he replied sharply, yanking his hand forward once again, this time taking the photo from you. He looked at it, then at you, his eyes hard, but you could see the embarrassment he desperately tried to hide behind his meticulously crafted facade.

“What do you do with it?”

“…What?”

“What do you do with my picture?” you asked again, looking at him through your eyelashes and with a grin on your lips you could bot contain- everything was just so exciting, for you had never thought you would have the chance to tease Aemond Targaryen in such a way.

“I will tell you again that it’s hardly any of your business.” he retorted, trying to tear his gaze away from yours. He put the picture into his left pocket with too much care.

“Well, but it is.” you said with a shrug, your eyes persistent on his face, “It’s me in that picture, no?” The fact that you were right seemed to bother him greatly, and his fists clenched at his sides.

“Indeed.” Aemond gritted out of his teeth as he finally looked at you, too. You saw it behind his eyes, the struggle he was feeling in trying to come up with something marginally more acceptable than what he actually did with that picture. “I find it helps me focus.”

You scoffed out a laugh at his pathetic response, and the thought that he fucked his hand while looking at your picture started forming into your mind. You leaned forward by resting your hands on the soft carpet beneath you, so you were closer, so close your breath hit his face.

“What is it you do with my picture, Aemond Targaryen?”

He swallowed thickly, and the notion that you were affecting him so greatly made your grin spread even wider. “I told you: it’s nothing important- I…” he turned his head to the side, unable to form a coherent sentence with you in such a proximity. “I just…”

You looked down, only to be met with the prominent bulge in his jeans, and then looked back up. “Mh…” you muttered, raising a hand and turning his face back towards you. “Don’t be scared,” you reassured him with the most mischievous tone you had ever spoken, “You can tell me.”

“Stop it already.” he breathed out, distancing himself from you and sitting down on the carpet, his back pressed against the wooden tiles on the side of the bed. His hand reached his face, massaging his forehead to both cover his eyes and relieve some of the pressure you had him feel.

You narrowed your eyes despite being aware that he could not see you: you were not going to give up until those words came out of his lips. So, you sat on his lap and took his hand off his face, feeling him stiffen even more. “You don’t think I was asking nicely enough?” you asked him, tilting your head.

He breathed heavily at your closeness, and his eyes closed instinctively, almost as if having you this close and looking at you at the same time was too much to handle. “What if you don’t like the answer?” Aemond whispered, opening his eyes but settling them down, on your shirt.

When he realised you were not going to reply, he bit the inside of his cheek. “I use it for inspiration…” he told you, definitely aware that the short answer was not going to be enough for you. So, when you asked him what kind of inspiration he was referring to, he continued, “I masturbate to it.”

That made a filthy, wide, and pretty grin spread on your lips. You reached behind him, pulled the picture out of his pocket and unfolded it. “I think I look pretty here, don’t you?”

You saw blood rush to his face when you pulled the picture back out, and his voice was hoarse and strained when he spoke, “Yes… You look very nice.” but that did not stop his lips from curving upwards slightly into a small smirk.

“And… What do you imagine doing to me?” you asked, leaving your mouth slightly opened as you stared down at him. You were aware that the question was risky, that guys like Aemond weren’t the kind to ask you to take your clothes off, and not even the kind to give such an order. No, Aemond Targaryen was the kind to rip them off and discard them on the floor without a care.

He raised a brow at your directness, and his smirk deepened. His eyes went down to meet your lips, hungry and dark. Beneath you, you felt his pulse quicken and his cock getting even harder. "I imagine grabbing you by that beautiful hair of yours, pulling your head back so I can see the desire in your eyes, and then..." he paused, his voice thick with lust, "ramming my cock down your throat until you choke on it."

“That’s the sweetest thing you could say to a woman.” you answered, your breath hitting his face as you grinned at him. Your hand went up to his hair pulling it back twice before gripping it.

You saw his eyes widening slightly at your tug, but he did not pull away, but leaned into the touch instead. “I suppose I’ll have to express myself in such a way more often.” he said, his voice hoarse. His hands then finally gathered the courage to grip your hips- which they did as tightly you did his hair- and they pulled you closer, so you were chest against chest.

His body was warm, even through his white shirt and the jumper worn over it. Your hand on hisbhair automatically loosened its grip, giving him the freedom to brush his nose against your cheek. “Do it again, then.” you breathed out, hating how he had gotten control of the situation in a matter of seconds.

“Oh,” he said with his usual tone, the apathetic one from which transpired only challenge, yet the strength with which his grip tightened on your hips betrayed and exposed him completely, whether he was aware of it or not. “You want to hear about how I want to take you from behind?” he stopped briefly, breathing deeply before continuing, “Want to hear how I’ll fuck that little cunt while the only audible sounds will be your screams of pleasure and that of my hips slapping against your ass… Occasionally my hand will contribute.”

You cleared your throat after his words, and got off his lap, your hand falling away from his soft silver hair in the process of your standing up. Aemond looked up at you, his mouth slightly parted as he took you in like a goddess. “Are we waiting for anyone or do we start?” you asked, making his pupils dilate even further, and his mouth close in sudden seriousness.

He swiftly got up from the carpet, and his hand found the base of your throat in an almost natural gesture. “You want me to fuck you, pretty girl?” he asked, massaging the tender skin without putting any pressure into the motion. But, when you nodded in response, he used his grip to bring your mouth onto his, so he could give it a bruising kiss.

Aemond’s hand moved to cradle the back of your head and angled it so he could slip his tongue inside more easily. When you finally kissed him back, he groaned in pleasure, and his arm sneaked around your waist, holding you flush against his chest as your tongue tangled with his.

The taste of your lips made him so greedy he leaned in even though your bodies were already as close as possible. His free hand travelled down your body until it found your ass, and gave it a rough squeeze that made him groan against your lip. Pulling away, you kissed his cheek, going lower with each one until you reached his jaw.

Aemond’s head fell back, his mouth parted and his lips reddened, his eyes closed. You felt his hand stiffening and tightening around your body, and under your lips, his heartbeat was thummering wildly. “Strip.” he ordered, his voice coming out like a strained plea.

Biting your lower lip, you realised he had loosened his grip on you the only necessary amount for you to obey. You took off your jumper, discarding it carelessly on the wooden floor, before moving your hands down your body with his eyes following their every movement until you undid the button of your jeans.

Ravenous eyes, he had, as he took in the flesh you exposed little by little, and when you unzipped your jeans he decided to take matters into his own hands by roughly tugging them down so they pooled at your ankles. He raised you so as to make you step out of them and threw you onto your back on his bed.

His knee landed on the space on the mattress between your legs while he kept himself up with his arms. His lips reclaimed yours, and his hand found your hip, squeezing it before moving his fingers to trace your stomach, and then down, over the black lace of your underwear. “You’re as wet as I’m hard.” he hissed ruggedly at your lips with a hint of triumph in his voice, the back of his fingers tracing your covered but drenched slit. “Filthy little slut.”

A moan came out of your lips when you parted them, and the little contact that had caused such a reaction in you made you think that, maybe, you really did crave his touch as much as he did yours.

He left the bed then, straightening up and bringing his hands to the button of his jeans right away, “Knees.” he said, already knowing you were going to comply. Once in the position he wanted you in, he ran a hand through your hair, brushing it out of your face, as the other one pulled his pants down.

He freed his cock and bit his lip, before guiding your head towards him. You kissed his tip, looking up at him as you did so and watched him letting out a slow breath. “Take it, pretty girl… Suck it…” he said, seemingly giving you control of your movements.

But mere seconds later he was already using the grip on your hair to guide your mouth up and down his shaft, at the rhythm he desired. Groaning as you took more of him into your mouth, his grip tightened, making your eyes water for the pleasurable pain, and he grinned. “That’s it,” he encouraged, “Take my cock like a good little whore…”

“Do you have an idea of how many times I’ve imagined this?” he continued in a sultry but strained voice. He pulled out of your mouth briefly, letting you take a breath while he slapped his length on your lips. “Every night I lay here in my bed, stroking myself to the thought of your lips wrapped around my cock, your pretty eyes looking up at me with nothing but submission."

He tapped his dick against your lips, silently telling you to open your mouth. When you did, he pushed back inside, moving slower this time. “And now you’re really here… On your knees for me.” He tightened his hold on your hair, pulling you back so he could look down at you. "Open your eyes. I want you to see who's fucking your face."

When you did and he took in your watery eyes caused by the way he was treating your mouth, his grin turned predatory. He pushed you back down, making you take him in til the base, and holding you there for some seconds, while you forced yourself not to choke on him.

He savoured the sensation well enough before pulling out. He moved his hand from your hair to your arm and pulled you up, before his hand moved back up to cradle you face. He kissed you again, with his mouth agape and his breath shaking.

When he moved his lips, he touched your cheek and angled your head to expose your throat before touching that. ”You’re so beautiful…” he breathed out against your flushed skin, forming goosebumps on it. He spun you around, his hand caressing your bare skin as he pressed his chest on your back.

Found the back of your bra he opened it with ease, sliding down your skin and letting it fall onto the floor. As his lips kept their place on your neck, both of Aemond’s hands found your breasts, kneading them with need but gentleness, brushing his thumbs against your nipples and making your breath hitch.

“Bend over.”

His command was executed by him when one of his warm hands found your back and pushed it down, while the other held your hip. He caressed the curve of your ass, chastely at first- as chaste as that kind of action could be- before kneading the flesh with a sharp intake of breath.

Your hands landed on the softness of the mattress, and he helped you get on all fours onto the bed by accompanying your legs with his hands. One of his index fingers hooked in the side of your knickers, and then travelled to the string that passed between your legs, pulling it aside to expose your dripping cunt to the warm air of the small room.

His fingers teased your entrance, lubricating your slit, before pushing inside, making a sweet moan come out of your lips. Aemond established right away that such a distance was far too much, so his free hand sneaked up to wrap around your throat and pulled you back until you were pressed against his chest.

Massaging your pulse point in tandem with his fingers inside of you, you let your head fall back onto his shoulder. “I didn’t think you knew how to fuck.” you said with a grin, although subtled by the pleasure his tapered fingers were provoking you by caressing the walls of your cunt.

Despite himself, Aemond scoffed out a small laugh, “It’s because I study Theoretical Physics, isn’t it?” When you nodded in response, he quickened the pace of his fingers, making your walls contract around them. “Interesting.”

Slipping his digits out of you and making you gasp in protest, Aemond bent you back down until your face collided with the mattress and your ass was completely exposed to him.

He quickly rid himself of his clothes, while his eyes did not leave once your beautiful form. Once you were both completely naked, except for those little black lace knickers he had all the intention to keep on, he took hold of his cock and brought it to rest on your ass, before giving your cheek a sharp slap, making you jolt forward.

Aemond scoffed once again, “For this few?”

“Shut it- I wasn’t expecting it.” you retorted, turning to look at him, but he pushed your face back around once you took in his smug expression, silently telling you to stay still where he had put you.

He slapped your cheeks with his length and probet at your entrance, teasing you mercilessly and making you want to push him on the bed and do it yourself. But not much time passed before he was not able to keep up his act any longer.

With a ragged breath, he pushed into you in one motion, burying himself to the hilt and making you moan and roll your eyes back in pure pleasure. He held you still with his grip on your hips for some time, taking in the feeling of being inside of you with his teeth sunk into his lower lip.

"Mmm," he hummed in pleasure, watching as your body quivered beneath his touch. He bent over, leaning his forehead onto the centre of your back, between your shoulder blades.”

He reveled in the feeling of your cunt gripping him tightly, welcoming him in. His strokes were deep and measured when he started to move, his breath coming in hot bursts against your neck. "That's right," he growled, breathing heavily, "take my cock like the little slut you are."

“Fuck…” you muttered, your hand reaching between your thighs to touch yourself. But he stopped you, blocking both your hands behind your back, almost hurting you.

“None of that, pretty girl.” Aemond said, swallowing thickly. He used his free hand to pull your hips back towards him, forcing his cock deeper inside you with each thrust. “You’ll cum with my cock tonight… Only that way.”

He spun you around, making your hair spread onto the softness of the white duvet. Gripping your thighs and digging his fingertips into the soft flesh, he parted them, entering you again, filling you up again, making you moan loudly again.

Your hands, now freed from his grip, found his hair and tugged at the short silver strands that curled slightly, pulling him towards you until your breath fanned over his face. “Is it how you had imagined?” you asked with a grin, trying to hide the fact you desperately wanted to know, “Fucking me… Is it how you had imagined?”

“Better.” he hissed, grabbing your face and pressing his nose against yours, “Real… But just as tight.” He then crushed your lips together in a bruising kiss, pounding at you like an animal, driven by an inexplicable desire he had never felt before.

You moaned into his mouth when he quickened his pace even more, making your body quiver under his. The way his fingers were leaving litteral fingerprints on the skin of your thighs was making your head spin in pleasure.

Scratching his back and marking him with angry red signs just as he was doing on you, you urged him deeper, rougher, and he obliged without a word. His hand left your face to hook the back of your knee, and the sudden shift in position made you scream against your mouth, making you feel like he was splitting you in two.

“Fuck, Aemond!” you hissed, feeling your walls quivering around his cock as he pounded at you almost as if you were a piece of meat he could use as he pleased.

From the look of his face, from his eyes that seemed injected with blood and pure, unbelievably strong lust and recklessness, you understood how he, too, was on the edge. You suddenly realised that he did not have a condom on, that the passion had been so strong you both hadn’t even thought about it. But you realised you could not care. You realised you wanted to cum inside you, to fill you up.

With the thought in your mind, you came around his cock, your vision going black and your ears whistling as Aemond emptied himself inside you completely. With his strength drained, the grip on you loosened, and he leaned himself on you.

Your legs remained wrapped around his waist as you regained your breath, and hopefully some strength, although you didn’t mind the feeling of him on top of you, still inside.

“Shit…” he murmured against your neck, as your hand still gripped his hair tightly. “I’m completely obsessed with you.”

[eepy-cookies]

A relaxing yet quiet Birthday

Characters: Shadow Milk Cookie / Sage of Truth x Reader Genre: Fluff Summary: Today was your birthday, and yet someone does remember your own birthday. Disclaimer: This is made for fun so be aware of ooc!

Birthday is a just a normal day, is what a cookie would normally thought, and yet you knew it was just a normal day- except you the cookie witch proposed a a festival in your kingdom this month to attract many cookies to celebrate the Bloom Festival even if the year is not good.

As the project president you made sure that every cookie was behaving well and on board to make sure that the festivity was going well. And thankfully they all did, including the beast cookies.

Burning Spice Cookie would refuse, but putting him as a patroller in case thieves and bandits likes to appear he is on the job. Plus rewarding him with good food would also make him cooperate well after all he was a huge help.

Mystic Flour Cookie would do nothing in apathy, but she too was curious about the unique festival you made, she also made her own botanical garden area and it has become an attraction to cookies who needed a good quiet corner as log she puts on "please remain silent and relax" and it worked on introverted cookies who likes to be quiet.

Shadow Milk Cookie on the other hand was about to do a theater but you need to make sure that he doesn't cause deceit when performing since he and the rest of the beast cookies are untrusted to some cookies in the kingdom. Heck even Candy Apple and Black Sapphire Cookie are behaving well as his minion assistance, but they also do want to enjoy the festival too. Pure Vanilla insisted on him making a theater to perform perfectly well as long you were watching him much to his dismay.

Over all the end of the festival was today and you can finally get all the cookies to relax after the festival, plus they were all paid well since every cookie was relaxing well and even if there was a bit of chaos but its mainly on the thieves and bandits there is no worse case scenarios and even if there is, a presence of the higher up cookies can handle them plus for even safety measures you cast a spell on the cookies on your kingdom for an extra surveillance to ensure employee safety incase something happen, you had no idea how much it saved them from hardships.

And now here you are, walking around as every cookie you see greeted you and thank you for your hard work. Heck you even saw Burning Spice Cookie was enjoying his meal and laugh and gave you a pat on the back and Mistic Flour joining him for a meal and smiled at you, she looked relaxed. They told you that the festival was supposed to be boring but thanks to the unique attractions you propose they got the role they desired.

You are glad that they are doing well and they got a good amount of rest needed and plus the customer cookies were enjoying themselves buying souvenirs and following the rules safely things were going well for you.

And yet you cannot rest.

You walk up to where the theater where Shadow Milk Cookie is, and right on time Candy Apple Cookie being ordered by Shadow Milk Cookie put you to the reserved front seat as they all begin. And you do admit the theater was enjoyable and there was some good laughs here and there, thus the performance was a success and thus made once announcement.

"And a FINALE thank you to (Y/N) Cookie for creating this AMAZING festival and a HAPPY BIRTHDAY to you (Y/n) Cookie!"

"?!"

Your face went red as the crowd goes wild and started saying Happy Birthday to you as Black Sapphire Cookie was recording this moment for the laughs.

...

..

.

"Shadow Milk Cookie! I can't believe you did this to me, I thought I kept my birthday a secret!"

"Ppfftt! Oh COME ON now darling, Not everyone knows that today is your birthday~ After all I know the perfect details about you!"

"Oii..."

You stared at him confused for a moment but when he noted 'not everyone' the instant you knew...

---

[You remember a good memory, a proposal to create the best festival to all cookies as soon as possible for a week. Not all cookies where on board and feel anxious but Sage of Truth found potential in your proposal and decided to accept this festival proposal.

Because of this you and Sage of Truth are good friends ever since, it allow him to gain the experience of more knowledge and plus and a creation to create festivals for the cookies to have a newer better purpose something so enjoyable yet healing.

Sage of Truth was genuinely looking forward on your festival project and thus help you plan, create problems and solutions in advance in case something happened, and finally looking at cookies who hides the good talents to create something for the festival.

But he soon notice that he was able to get closer to you in the process.

You even gave him a mini doll as a souvenir and as thanks for his participation, and he kept it securely close to him under his hat at all times.

Even if he was sealed in the tree, he was able to get the doll you gave him close to his chest.]

---

And when the sunset is happening and the night market has begin along with the singers getting ready to perform for the fans who are also enjoying the festival.

This has been more livelier for every festival you made and because of this you were content with your project living on and even now.

"Say, Shadow Milk Cookie..."

He looked at you with a curious smile, "Shall we walk together in the stalls, just the two of us?" You ask with a smile and yet his eyes were widened and blush with glee happy to hear that you still want to hang out with him.

"Of course my darling~"

With that you two hold hands just like in the past, it doesn't matter whether or not Shadow Milk has become. To you he is still the same cookie that you love no matter what.

After walking around trying the food, drinks, and mini games, the two of you were gazing at the botanical garden booth watching the night sky that was now showing fireworks. The two of you staring and admiring the night sky in fireworks as every cookie was enjoying the rest of the festival before the closing.

And before the clock reaches 12 am, you looked at Shadow Milk Cookie and leaned closer to him, he noticed what you are doing and yet was blushing from the kiss on the lips. His eyes were wide and he was shaking and yet he decided to pull you to a hug.

He doesn't want to break the silence and yet, he went closer to your ear.

"My, you really are bold tonight~ My darling~"

You can't see his face, but his hair eyes showing hearts can tell you one thing. After this, you know what happens next.

[neeeooon]

hi hi this is my 2nd time requesting alrdy 🥶😅😅.... lol anyway, I wanna I request for bllk boys meeting reader's parents unexpectedly. like reader's parents catch them being very undeniably couple-y. Very very awkward situation 😋☝️☝️

I rlly wanna see this specifically with Isagi, Reo, Shidou, Yuki, and Rin. Other characters would be fun too if you want🔥🔥🔥

hihi welcome back 😈 okay i think i gotchu I HOPE YOU ENJOYY

when your parents walk in on you ;

bf bllk x gn!reader. 16+ cw: suggestive!!! kms jokes in isagi’s + reo’s

isagi yoichi

-> isagi just scored the winning goal in the final nel game, and he still hadn’t come down from that high hours later

-> your fingers dragged through his hair and down his neck, scraping the back of his jersey as he shoved you against your bedroom wall. your parents were out for date night, giving you plenty of time alone with your boyfriend

-> it was supposed to give you plenty of time alone with your boyfriend

-> isagi groaned against your mouth, his fingers digging into your hips. and then you heard it. “y/n? are you alright, sweetheart?”

-> you barely had time to shove isagi off before your bedroom door was pushed open, and your mother let out a loud gasp upon seeing you, lips swollen and t-shirt rumpled. “m-mom! what are you doing home?”

-> “your father got food poisoning. hi! you must be yoichi!” your face burned as she approached your boyfriend with an outstretched hand. “mom!” “uh, y-yes ma’am.” he greeted as he shook it with two hands. “it’s nice to finally meet you.”

-> you wanted to die. after taking way too long to talk to your boyfriend, your mom finally left. “door open, kids!” you dropped your face into your hands and groaned, “i am going to kill myself.” “suicide pact?” “deal.”

mikage reo

-> you had study sessions with reo all the time. your parents knew he was intelligent, and though they’d never met him, they trusted the two of you to keep things innocent when he was over

-> and yet your homework was long forgotten as you sat comfortably in your boyfriend’s lap, back pressed against the desk as he kissed you hard

-> you didn’t hear the door open. you didn’t know your parents were home until you caught a glimpse of your mother’s stance from behind reo’s head, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she tapped a manicured finger against her forearm

-> you practically fell out of reo’s lap and landed with a thump. “mom! uh, what are you doing home so early?”

-> she isn’t impressed. “i already have a headache. i’m assuming i don’t have to stay up any later to give you both the talk, do i?”

-> aaaaand you’re ready to curl in on yourself and die. “oh my god.” “guessed not. nice to meet you, reo. make sure you’re home before tomorrow.” “you too, mrs l/n. i’ll be leaving now.”

shidou ryusei

-> “my parents are going to be home any minute…” you sighed when shidou slipped one hand beneath the waistband of your sweats, the other slowly making its way under your shirt. “lucky for you, cutie, i only need one to make you—”

-> “l/n y/n?!” you scrambled out from under your boyfriend, clutching your hands to your chest as you gaped at your parents standing in your doorway

-> “haven’t you heard of knocking?!” “this is our house. and we were coming to wish you a goodnight! who’s he?!”

-> you knew for a fact that your parents knew you had a boyfriend. however, you always described him as someone sweet who takes care of you and makes you laugh. your parents seemed caught off guard by the spiky pink hair and heavy eyeliner

-> your silence gives shidou the chance to reach a hand out for your mother to shake. “it’s a pleasure. i’m shidou ryusei.” your mother eyes his hand warily before shaking it. “hm. mrs. l/n.”

-> thankfully your father has enough trust in you to gently pull your mother from your room. he quietly greets shidou, compliments his hair, and wishes you both a goodnight

-> “i cannot believe that just happened,” you groan as you flop back onto your bed. shidou falls beside you and places a soft kiss to your neck. “oh well. your dad seems cool, at least. want me to leave?” “uh uh. you promised me a minute.” “😈”

yukimiya kenyu

-> you’re watching a movie with your boyfriend, parents visiting your uncle and aunt, when you’re suddenly bored with the film on screen

-> quietly, you slip from the couch into a kneeling position, yukimiya’s eyes following you the whole way down. “uh, y/n?” “mhm?” “what are you doing?” “nothing~” “what if your parents—“ “i checked their location. they’re still forty-five minutes away.”

-> you move directly in front of your boyfriend, hands sliding up from his shins to his knees when the door suddenly opens

-> your dad freezes when his eyes land on you and yukimiya. “dad!” you shout, jumping to your feet as your boyfriend hurridly throws a blanket over his hips. “why didn’t you knock?!”

-> he has a hand over his eyes in a tired fashion. “i bought this house. why did you decide to do that in the living room?” “… oh.” “yeah, oh.” “.. this is my boyfriend, yukimiya.” “i figured.”

-> yukimiya doesn’t trust himself to stand, so he waves as your dad from the couch. “n-nice to meet you..?” your mother finally appears, smiling brightly and cluelessly when she spots your boyfriend. “oh! you must be kenyu!” “hello, mrs l/n.” “we were just heading to bed. enjoy the rest of your movie!”

-> your parents leave, not without your father giving you “the look” before trailing after your mother. you drop onto the couch with a sigh. “your house next time?” “definitely.”

itoshi rin

-> you were innocently teaching rin how to cook. alone. while your parents were at work. they only agreed since you promised to introduce your boyfriend to them (and cook dinner)

-> it starts out that way. you and rin, side by side, mixing ingredients and making sauces. however, your fingers are now running over your boyfriend’s shoulder muscles as he carefully lifts you onto the counter, never breaking your kiss

-> you weren’t quite sure what set you off, but you suddenly needed to be as close to your boyfriend as humanly possible. he didn’t have any objections, hands trailing from your hips to your back when the soft jingle of keys breaks you apart

-> “was that—“ “no… no way, right?” wrong. the door swings open, and rin flies to the other side of the kitchen as he pretends to read the recipe book

-> “y/n!” your mother greets, heels in hand as she comes over to kiss your cheek. she pauses in front of you, wiggles her eyebrows at your flushed face, and shoots a secretive smile in rin’s direction. “aw, my little lovebirds~ i’m so happy to finally meet you, rin!”

-> rin waves awkwardly from his side of the kitchen, earning a little laugh from your mother. she sighs, “oh, to be young and in love again! i’m headed to the store. i’ll be back in twenty minutes for dinner. twenty.” she winks at you before vanishing out the front door, leaving you shocked to the core

-> “i—“ “so that really just happened?” “well, at least my mother likes you..?” you finish dinner as quickly as possible, keeping a safe distance away from each other, and groan in embarrassment when your mom jiggles her keys and kicks the door before opening it. “let’s eat!”

[a2remedy]

The lord of death isn’t confused, they’re CONCERNED!!!

Their whole business is killing people, it’s their creative outlet! Sure they have fun with it, but then they hear about people imploding in a tiny submarine by the titanic. All their best lil’guys are down in the deep!

The fuck you mean humans do stupid shit and can’t take care of their waste? What’s that gotta do with- ITS AFFECTING THE LIL’GUYS?! It’s getting into the water supply, don’t they need that to like… Oh, I don’t know, SURVIVE?! I’m supposed to kill you, not you killing yourselves?!

I need to speak to an expert on this.

So he kidnaps the princess who delegates public sanitation. Womp womp, they could’ve killed her and left the people to suffer but, not their little guys!!!

—

The princess in question is downright gobbsmacked. She may have blue screened while she was out to get her morning coffee when she realized she was having a pretty in-depth discussion about waste effect on the environment and populations with THE LORD OF DEATH in a skull hoodie and sweatpants.

Honestly, they pulled off the look and kinda look cut-

FOCUS

The person figure was so passionate about their rant that she hardly noticed reality shifted around them and they were at Lord Death’s base. But damn did they make a good cup of coffee and the brewer wasn’t bad to look at themself.

Oh god, she’s falling for their public enemy who wants to learn more ways to save the environment and promote clean spaces.

They could’ve killed her but they’re being just as passionate about sanitation as she is. God, don’t let her wake up from this dream.

“So let me get this straight. We’re here to rescue a princess.”

“That’s right.”

“At the request of a princess.”

“Right again.”

“And you, who will be leading the expedition, are also a princess.”

“You’re very perceptive.”

“How big is your royal family, again?“

“We don’t have one.”

“But–“

“We overthrew our monarchy centuries ago, but we kept most of the titles around. The rank of ‘princess’ is held by the directors in charge of various civil service branches.“

“Huh. And the princess we’re rescuing today is in charge of…?”

“Public sanitation.”

“The Lord of Death’s Dominion kidnapped your public sanitation director?”

“We think he’s a little confused.”

[heeluvv]

UR FICS R GEN SO GOOD IM ASCENDING ONE OF MY FAVE WRITERS AAAAA ohmygod i have a req im sorry if its vague i lowkey just need more sunoo fics🙏🙏🙏🙏

so like sunoo and reader r like bsfs and lowkey reader has a crush on him but shes like gaslighting herself nd being like nah im not his type and then sunoo overhears her talking abt him to her friend and saying she likes him so then sunoo goes insane the whole week trying to figure out how to bring it up cuz he likes her too and then he loses control at the end of the week and just ROUGH SUNOO LIKE PLEASEE THIS MANS DUALITY IS INSANEEE

ty ohmygod that was long

omggg that is so sweet 🥲 and i totally agree with you, so i'm here to deliver them 🙂‍↕️

𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 *ੈ✩‧₊˚

pairing ☆ bsf! kim sunoo x reader

genre ☆ smut

warnings ☆ oral (f), fingering, nipple play, unprotected sex, dom! sun, etc.

natty's notes ☆ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

days passed, but sunoo couldn’t get you out of his head. every moment alone was consumed by the weight of what he had overheard, by the confession you had unknowingly laid at his feet. he wasn’t supposed to hear it, wasn’t supposed to be standing outside your bedroom that night, frozen in place as your voice cracked with uncertainty over feelings that mirrored his own. but he had, and now, every second he spent without you felt like time wasted. the knowledge sat heavy in his chest, swelling with the need to do something about it, to act. no more late-night thoughts of what if? no more lying next to you, pretending he wasn’t falling apart every time your fingers brushed against his.

so now, as he stood outside your apartment door, fingers gripping the spare key you had given him long ago, he felt his resolve solidify. there was no hesitation this time, no second-guessing. he slid the key into the lock, twisting it smoothly, stepping inside with quiet purpose. the soft glow of the television illuminated the dim room, casting a hazy light over you as you curled up on the couch, lost in whatever played on the screen. you didn’t notice him at first, too focused, too at ease. but then the door clicked shut behind him, and your head turned, your gaze locking onto his.

“sunoo?” your voice was soft, laced with curiosity as your brows furrowed at the expression on his face. he looked different, darker, his usual lighthearted demeanor replaced with something unreadable, something intent. you sat up slightly, your posture shifting as you took him in fully. the sharp set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes roamed over you like he was memorizing the sight before him. your stomach twisted with something between anticipation and uncertainty.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, voice quieter now, like you already knew something was about to happen but couldn’t put it into words.

he didn’t respond. there was no need for words, not when his body was already moving, closing the space between you in a matter of seconds. he dropped his things onto the coffee table carelessly, his focus solely on you, on the way your lips parted slightly as you watched him approach. then, without hesitation, his hands found your face, cradling it gently but firmly, fingers pressing against your jaw as he tilted your head up toward him. before you could react, before you could fully register the moment, his lips crashed onto yours.

the kiss was desperate yet controlled, slow yet overwhelming. his lips molded against yours perfectly, moving with a purpose that sent shivers through your body. your fingers clutched at his shirt instinctively, gripping the fabric as he pressed further into you, deepening the kiss as if he had been starving for this—for you. the heat of his body was intoxicating, surrounding you, drawing you in until nothing else existed beyond the feeling of his mouth on yours.

he pushed you back against the couch, but not fully—he kept you upright, his hands slipping down to your waist, fingers tightening just enough to make you feel the strength behind them. the kiss didn’t falter, didn’t slow, his lips parting just enough for his tongue to swipe along your bottom lip, teasing, tasting. the softest sound escaped you, a mix between a sigh and a gasp, and he swallowed it eagerly, his breath heavy against your skin.

his fingers twitched where they rested on your waist, holding back, resisting the urge to explore further. but there was something restrained in the way he touched you, something raw hidden beneath the careful movements. he was savoring you, memorizing the way your body responded, the way your lips pressed back against his just as hungrily, like you had been waiting for this just as long as he had.

but this was just the beginning.

because now that he knew, now that he had you—he wasn’t about to let you go.

“sunoo…” your voice is barely above a whisper, breathless against his lips, but it’s lost between the heat of the moment, swallowed by the way his mouth moves against yours. he only hums in response, the sound low and deep, vibrating in his chest as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

his lips work against yours with an intensity that leaves you dizzy, your thoughts dissolving into nothing but the feeling of him—his warmth, his taste, the way his body presses closer, fitting against yours like he belongs there. you barely register the way his hands slip from your waist, fingers trailing up your sides, fingertips grazing the curve of your ribs before he reaches the hem of your shirt.

he tugs at the fabric, a silent command, but he doesn’t pull away just yet. instead, his fingers curl into the material, gathering it slowly, teasingly, his knuckles brushing against your bare skin as he lifts it higher. the sensation sends shivers through you, your breath hitching slightly as his hands roam, his touch warm and deliberate.

finally, he breaks the kiss, just long enough to drag your shirt over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. his gaze flickers down, lingering over your newly exposed skin, his eyes darkening with something unreadable—something hungry.

his lips are swollen, flushed a deeper red from the intensity of his kisses, slightly parted as he takes in the sight of you. the air between you is thick, charged, electric. but rather than hesitate, rather than give you a moment to process, you move—your hands reaching up, snaking around his neck, pulling him back in.

your lips find his again, just as eager, just as desperate, the fire between you reigniting in an instant. the kiss is messier this time, less controlled, fueled by something raw, something needy.

his hands find your waist again, fingers pressing into your skin, holding you firmly in place as he leans in further, deepening the kiss like he wants to consume you, like he wants to ruin you.

and you let him.

his hands slide down the curve of your waist, past the dip of your hips, until they find purchase on the swell of your ass. his grip is firm, possessive, squeezing just enough to make you gasp softly against his lips. but he doesn’t stop there—his fingers trail further down, grazing over the back of your thighs before hooking under them.

without hesitation, he lifts you effortlessly, your body molding against his as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. the motion presses you flush against him, your core rubbing against the hard outline of his arousal, drawing a sharp inhale from both of you.

but even as he moves, carrying you toward your room, the kiss doesn’t break—not once.

it stays heated, desperate, his lips moving against yours with an urgency that makes your head spin. his breath is warm, ragged, mixing with yours as he walks, his hold on you tightening, like he doesn’t want to let go for even a second.

by the time he reaches the bed, he wastes no time.

he drops you onto the mattress, the sudden loss of his body heat making you whimper as your back bounces slightly against the plush surface. but sunoo is already on you, already leaning over, his hands slipping beneath you in one fluid motion.

before you can even process it, you feel the soft snap of your bra coming undone, the straps falling from your shoulders as he peels it away, tossing it onto the floor without a second thought.

his breath catches the moment your bare chest is exposed to him.

his eyes darken, his jaw tightening slightly as his hands move immediately—palms cupping your breasts, squeezing, kneading with a roughness that sends sparks of pleasure coursing through you.

a deep grunt rumbles in his throat as his thumbs brush over your nipples, teasing them into stiff peaks, his fingers flexing, relishing the way you react under his touch.

“sunoo…” your voice is a breathy whimper, barely able to escape past your lips.

he leans down, lips parting as he attaches his mouth to one of your nipples, the heat of his tongue sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight through your body. his mouth moves with purpose, sucking deeply, his tongue swirling before he bites down ever so slightly, tugging at the sensitive bud with his teeth. the sensation sends a shudder through you, a broken moan spilling past your lips.

his free hand isn’t idle—his fingers find your other breast, pinching and rolling the neglected nipple between his fingertips, the dual stimulation making your back arch off the mattress. the pleasure is sharp, overwhelming, your body reacting instinctively to every movement, every calculated flick of his tongue.

“s-sunoo…” your voice is barely coherent, breathy and desperate, your fingers threading into his soft hair, tugging as if grounding yourself.

but if you think pulling his hair will slow him down, you’re wrong.

instead, it only fuels him further, a deep, guttural moan vibrating against your skin, sending another wave of pleasure rippling through you. he sucks harder, the wet sounds of his mouth working over you filling the space between your heavy breaths. his grip on your waist tightens, like he wants to pin you down, keep you from squirming under his touch.

he pulls away from your nipple with a soft pop, lips glistening as he drags his mouth lower, his tongue trailing hot, wet kisses down the valley of your breasts. his breath is ragged, his voice husky, dripping with something raw, something needy.

“waited so long for this, baby…” he murmurs, his lips grazing against your skin, every word punctuated with another lingering kiss.

his hands slide lower, fingers ghosting over your ribs, your stomach, mapping out every inch of you.

“so fucking long…”

his voice is quiet, almost like he’s speaking more to himself than to you, but the weight of his words settles deep in your core, making your entire body burn with anticipation.

“please, sunoo…” your voice is barely above a whisper, trembling with need as you look up at him through half-lidded eyes. desperation laces every syllable, your body burning with anticipation as you widen your legs, offering yourself to him.

your fingers move on their own, hooking into the waistband of your pants, dragging them down your thighs before kicking them off completely. the cool air brushes against your heated skin, only making the ache between your legs more unbearable.

sunoo lets out a soft chuckle, his expression unreadable as he reaches for your wrists, wrapping his hands around them with ease.

“keep them up here, baby,” he murmurs, guiding your hands above your head, pressing them into the mattress as he settles between your legs.

the sight of him kneeling before you, his dark gaze locked onto the damp patch of your panties, makes your stomach tighten, anticipation coiling deep in your core.

before you can even register his movements, his tongue darts out, dragging a slow, deliberate stripe up the center of your panties, licking the slick arousal that has already soaked through the thin fabric.

the sensation is light, teasing, but it’s enough to rip a needy whimper from your throat. your thighs twitch, your hips jerking slightly, instinctively seeking more.

“so fucking wet…” he breathes against you, his voice laced with amusement, with satisfaction.

your breath stutters, your entire body trembling under his gaze as his fingers trail up your inner thigh, featherlight, barely touching where you need him most.

then, without warning, he hooks a finger into the fabric of your panties and rips them away with a single, effortless tug.

the sound of the fabric tearing is drowned out by the sharp gasp that escapes you, your head tilting back as your thighs instinctively try to clamp shut, but sunoo is faster.

he parts your legs again, his grip firm but gentle, his free hand tossing the ruined scrap of fabric to the side before finally, finally dragging his fingers through your soaked folds.

“for me, no?” his voice is dark, teasing, his breath hot against your exposed skin.

he strokes you once, slow and deliberate, spreading your slick, his fingers gliding effortlessly against your heat.

“this fucking desperate… only for me, baby?”

his words make your entire body shudder, your hips rolling into his touch as you let out a desperate whimper—because yes, only for him. always for him.

he doesn’t wait for a response—doesn’t need one. instead, he dives in, his tongue dragging a slow, deliberate path down your folds before sweeping back up, gathering every drop of your slick. a deep, satisfied grunt vibrates against your core as he tastes you, savoring the sweetness of your arousal.

his fingers follow soon after, trailing up your thigh before slipping between your legs, the pads of his fingertips barely brushing over your swollen clit. the teasing flick sends a sharp jolt of pleasure through you, making your back arch, a loud whimper spilling from your lips.

your head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut as your hands fist the sheets beside you. the way his tongue moves—lapping at you, slow and purposeful, before pressing firmer, licking you clean—has your body trembling beneath him.

but he doesn’t stop there.

his mouth moves with precision, alternating between licking and sucking, his lips wrapping around your sensitive bundle of nerves, pulling it into his mouth before releasing it just as quickly. the sensation is overwhelming, the rhythm relentless, and when he finally presses his tongue inside you, your breath catches in your throat, your vision going hazy.

the pleasure is all-consuming, leaving you breathless, barely coherent, reduced to nothing but the sensation of his mouth devouring you.

just when you think you can’t take any more, he pulls away—just enough to replace his tongue with his fingers.

the stretch is sudden, unexpected, and a sharp, needy moan rips from your throat as his fingers push inside you, deep and unyielding.

his lips brush against your cheek, warm and teasing, his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs, “fuck, look at you…”

his voice is thick with hunger, his hooded eyes never leaving your face, watching every reaction as his fingers pump in and out of you, curling just right, finding that spot inside you that has your entire body tensing.

his thumb finds your clit again, circling in slow, deliberate motions, his touch both gentle and devastating.

“s-sunoo! goddd—”

your cry is broken, desperate, your body arching into his touch, chasing the high that’s building rapidly inside you.

his smirk presses against the shell of your ear as he nibbles at the delicate skin, his voice low, taunting.

“hm? feels good, baby?”

his words alone send another shiver through you, your hands flying to grip onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you nod frantically.

he chuckles, his pace quickening, his fingers thrusting harder, deeper.

your legs begin to tremble, muscles tightening as sunoo’s fingers work you open with merciless precision. every calculated thrust, every curl of his fingers inside you sends another sharp wave of pleasure rolling through your body, leaving you breathless and shaking.

the wet sounds of his fingers plunging into you mix with the quiet, broken gasps that fall from his lips whenever you clench around him. his mouth stays close to your ear, feeding you small, taunting whispers, his breath hot against your flushed skin.

“so tight, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement, with hunger. “you keep squeezing my fingers like that—fuck—you really want to come that bad, huh?”

your body jerks in response, your hands flying to grip his forearms, nails digging into the taut muscle as you struggle to ground yourself.

“please! s-sunoo, m’gonna—gonna cum…” you whimper, your voice breaking, high-pitched with desperation.

his pace never falters. if anything, your pleading only spurs him on, his fingers thrusting harder, deeper, hitting that spot inside you that has your entire body tensing.

“aw, you are?” he coos mockingly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. his tone is teasing, dripping with false sympathy, but his fingers remain ruthless.

“gonna cum on my fingers, baby?” he goads, his free hand slipping down to press against your lower stomach, amplifying the pressure, making your toes curl as the pleasure becomes unbearable.

your moans grow louder, higher, your thighs squeezing around his wrist, but he doesn’t stop—doesn’t even slow down.

“then do it, baby,” he commands, his voice suddenly firmer, more demanding. “be my fucking good girl and cum for me.”

his words push you over the edge.

your entire body tenses before unraveling, a cry ripping from your throat as you come undone around his fingers. your walls clamp down on him, pulsing, the pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense they leave you shaking in his hold.

sunoo groans softly, feeling you fall apart beneath him, his fingers slowing just slightly, working you through the aftershocks, milking every last bit of your release.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple, voice softer now, almost proud. “such a good girl for me…”

you lay completely boneless, limbs heavy as aftershocks ripple through your body, your chest rising and falling in uneven pants. your thighs still tremble, your nerves overstimulated, but sunoo doesn’t give you a moment to recover.

before you can even catch your breath, he withdraws his fingers from your soaked heat, only to bring them straight to your lips.

“open,” he murmurs, his voice deep, expectant.

your lips part instinctively, wrapping around his fingers as he slides them past your tongue. the taste of yourself coats your mouth, warm and slick, as you suck obediently, your tongue swirling around his digits. he watches you with dark, hooded eyes, his breath catching slightly at the sight.

“my good girl…” he praises, his voice barely above a whisper, more to himself than to you. his fingers flex against your tongue, feeling the way you suck them clean, completely compliant, completely his.

he pulls them out with a soft pop, his hand trailing down your cheek, his thumb pressing against your swollen bottom lip, smearing the remnants of your arousal across it.

“you’re my good girl, right, baby?” he asks, his voice softer now, but still laced with something dark, something possessive.

you nod weakly, unable to form words, your mind still foggy from the intensity of your orgasm.

he smirks at your fucked-out expression, shifting his weight as he leans back slightly, his knees pressing beneath your thighs, spreading you open effortlessly.

“then you’ll cum for me again,” he murmurs, more of a statement than a request.

your hazy mind barely registers the sound of fabric shifting, the rustle of his pants being shoved down, but your attention snaps back when you hear it—his moan.

low, breathy, raw.

your half-lidded gaze drops to where his hand wraps around his cock, so hard and sensitive that he shudders the moment he touches himself.

“fuck,” he groans, his head tilting forward as he strokes himself once, twice, his breath coming out shaky.

his free hand moves to your thigh, fingers pressing into your soft skin as he spreads you further, his cock dragging against your slick folds, teasing, rubbing, coating himself in your arousal.

your body twitches at the sensation, a gasp escaping your lips as the head of his cock nudges against your entrance.

and then—he pushes in.

the stretch is slow, deliberate, his cock sinking into you inch by inch, stretching you open, filling you completely.

his head falls back, his mouth parting in a sharp gasp, his fingers tightening against your thigh as he bottoms out, fully sheathed inside you.

“fuck, baby…” he exhales, his voice trembling slightly, wrecked by the feeling of you wrapped around him, tight, warm, perfect.

he stays still for a moment, savoring it, savoring you—before his hips pull back, only to thrust in again, deep and slow.

it only lasts for a second—that brief moment of stillness where he lets you adjust, lets you feel just how full he’s stretching you—before his restraint shatters completely.

his hips snap forward, driving into you with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. his cock fills you perfectly, each deep, punishing thrust pushing you further into the mattress. the sounds between you are filthy—the wet, obscene slap of skin meeting skin, the breathless moans that spill from your lips with every movement.

your legs tighten around his waist instinctively, ankles locking behind his back as you try to ground yourself, try to keep yourself from falling apart too quickly. but sunoo doesn’t let up.

he fucks into you mercilessly, his pace unrelenting, each stroke deeper than the last, dragging against every sensitive spot inside you with devastating accuracy.

“uh—fuck, baby!” he groans, his voice breaking into something almost desperate, almost wrecked.

his hands leave your thighs, coming up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face toward him. his fingers press into your cheeks, forcing your lips to part slightly, his gaze dark and burning as he watches your expression twist in pleasure.

“taking me so fucking good,” he grunts, his breath hot against your skin, his words punctuated by the sharp snap of his hips.

and then—his lips crash onto yours.

he kisses you fiercely, swallowing every moan, every gasp, every breathless whimper that escapes you. his tongue slides against yours, deepening the kiss, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before soothing the bite with another slow, searing stroke of his tongue.

his pace never falters. if anything, the kiss only spurs him on, his thrusts growing rougher, needier, like he’s trying to claim every part of you at once.

his grip on your jaw tightens, keeping you exactly where he wants you, his mouth devouring yours like he’s starving—like he can’t get enough.

“fuck, baby,” he groans against your lips, his breath heavy, uneven. “you feel so fucking good—so perfect—”

his words dissolve into another moan as your walls clench around him, drawing him in even deeper.

and from the way his rhythm stutters slightly, from the way his fingers flex against your skin—

you know he’s just as close to breaking as you are.

“you love me, baby?”

his voice comes out in harsh, ragged breaths, each word fractured by the force of his thrusts, but you hear him clear as day.

the question slams into you harder than he does, your heart lurching in your chest, a tight, breathless feeling coiling in your ribs. your hands clutch at his back, your nails digging into his skin, because you know what he’s asking. you know he’s not just playing anymore.

sunoo knows.

he knows.

his lips are still close to yours, his breath hot against your skin, and though your mind is hazy from pleasure, from the overwhelming sensation of him inside you, you can’t ignore the weight of his words—the way they settle deep in your stomach, heavy and consuming.

“i know you do, baby…”

his voice drops lower, rougher, laced with something dark, something possessive. his cock twitches inside you, the sheer thought of you loving him—wanting him—making his pace stutter for just a second before he regains control, before he slams into you even harder.

his grip on your waist tightens, fingers pressing deep enough to leave bruises, his body leaning into yours, crowding you, owning you.

“should’ve told me sooner instead of me finding out like that,” he growls, his lips ghosting over your jaw before nipping at the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

you shudder, a sharp gasp escaping you as his hips snap forward again, relentless and punishing, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

“but don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point before sucking hard enough to make you whimper.

his tongue flicks over the mark, soothing it, before he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. his eyes burn into yours, dark and intent, his expression a mix of raw hunger and something deeper—something dangerous.

“i’ll just mark you up,” he promises, his pace never slowing, his cock driving into you like he’s staking a claim, like he’s branding himself into you.

“because you were always mine.”

just as the last word leaves his lips, the coil in your stomach snaps, shattering into pure, unfiltered pleasure that crashes over you in overwhelming waves. your entire body seizes, your muscles locking up for a split second before unraveling completely, pleasure crackling through every nerve in your body.

your pussy clenches around him impossibly tight, gripping him like a vice, milking him as you come undone beneath him. your back arches off the mattress, pressing your chest flush against his as your head tilts back, mouth falling open in a loud, broken moan of his name.

“sunoo—!”

his hands grip your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as he watches you unravel, his breathing erratic, ragged. the way you convulse beneath him, body trembling, walls fluttering around his cock, has his own release slamming into him without warning.

“oh my fucking god, baby—”

his voice is strained, almost desperate, his jaw clenching as his hips stutter, losing rhythm completely. he barely manages a few more shallow thrusts before his cock twitches one last time, and then he’s gone—tipping over the edge with you.

a deep, guttural groan rips from his throat as he buries himself inside you, his grip tightening, keeping you exactly where he wants you as he spills into you, filling you to the brim with his release.

“fuuuck—oh, shit!”

his head drops to your shoulder, his breath hot and heavy against your sweat-slicked skin, his body trembling as he rides out the last waves of his orgasm. his arms tighten around you, like he needs to feel you, all of you, as the pleasure pulses through him, leaving him utterly wrecked.

his hips give one last, lazy roll before he stills completely, chest heaving, his lips brushing over your collarbone in a mix of exhaustion and silent reverence.

your bodies remain tangled, the only sounds in the room being your combined heavy breaths, the lingering echoes of pleasure still humming between you.

natty's notes ☆ i hope you liked it !!

[saffusthings]

second chance

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part eight: midnight meets

word count: 2.9k (i'm so sorry)

warnings: vague mentions of blood and knives

seven | eight | nine

The air was thick with the sharp tang of whiskey and the faint sting of antiseptic. Lando slouched in his chair, his knuckles paling as he pulled the cotton bandage tighter around his ribs, teeth gritted against the dull throb of pain. The cut wasn’t deep, but it burned like hell—just another reminder of how quickly things could turn sideways in this world.

Tonight was a disaster.

Noxium’s breakthrough in the drug market had sent shockwaves throughout the city. The Reaper’s Circle had monopolized the most potent product in circulation, one that rivaled anything the Leclercs or any other syndicate had their hands on. It should’ve been a victory, something to celebrate.

Instead, it made things worse.

The pressure had doubled overnight, with competition growing sharper and their threats more calculated. Enemies were watching, waiting.

Then there had been tonight.

He wasn’t supposed to get hit. It was sloppy. He had been sloppy. And now, the consequences settled in his gut, heavy and inescapable.

The blood on his hands—his own blood this time—was proof of how close things had come. How messy things were becoming. The bottle of whiskey sat half-empty on the table beside him. He’d already numbed the worst of it, but the bitter warmth wasn’t doing enough to quiet the chaos in his head. He kept drinking anyway. 

One more sip. Just a little more.

Slowly the room blurred at the edges, his grip on reality slipping slightly as the bottle was emptied of its contents, just enough to feel that familiar pull of recklessness creep in.

Fuck this.

Lando stood abruptly, wincing, the room swaying ever so slightly as he grabbed his signature coat. He needed air – to clear his head, to sober up. The walls of this castle were suffocating him, and the scent of blood and whiskey only made it harder to breathe.

The streets were quieter at this hour, the city breathing in its own way—hushed murmurs of distant cars, the occasional flicker of neon signs reflected on the rain-slick pavement. Lando didn’t have a destination in mind, just the need to go.

And yet, somehow his feet carried him to her doorstep.

Books & Brews.

He stared at the sign for a long moment, jaw clenched. He wasn’t sure why he was here. Was it the coffee? The quiet? Not that it mattered, of course.

The bell above the door of Brews & Books chimed softly as he pushed it open, the scent of coffee and old paper replacing the spice of whiskey in his lungs. The place was nearly empty, save for a few scattered chairs still tucked against tables, a stray regular, and the lone figure behind the counter.

Y/N.

Lando barely realized he was still standing there until she turned around, blinking at him in surprise.

“Liam?”

He hated that name.

Lando forced himself to move further inside, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat– a part of the signature that earned him the moniker of the Reaper. “Hey,” he greeted, the word coming out rougher than he intended.

She glanced at the clock on the wall behind her. “Just a heads up, we’re closing up soon,” she informed him, jutting her chin in the direction of the last regular – a kind guy named Alex, an engineering student only a little older than her. He’d often come round with his homework, and other times just for the conversation with a warm blueberry muffin. Tonight, he’d opted to stop by for a single cup of tea before the shop closed for the night.

Lando nodded in acknowledgement, running a hand through his half-damp hair. He shouldn’t be here. He had no reason to be here. In fact, he had half a mind to turn right back around and let his whiskey keep him company for the rest of the night.

But his mouth worked faster than his mind.

“Just needed a coffee,” he told her. 

That’s what you tell yourself. 

Y/N gave him a long look, assessing him from head to toe. “Yeah, I could do that. You’re lucky. I haven’t cleaned out the espresso machine yet, so… one last cup it is.”

She moved around the counter, pulling out fresh beans and setting up the machine. Her movements were rhythmic, the faint hum of the grinder filling the air. “Long night?” she asked, her voice light, her gaze focused on pulling the espresso shot.

Lando smirked dryly. “Somethin’ like that.”

Y/N didn’t press. She just nodded and kept working, as if the answer had been sufficient. That was something he liked about her – she didn’t pry. She didn’t demand anything from him.

The coffee machine hissed, filling the silence.

Lando shifted, wincing slightly as his coat brushed against his injured side. He could still feel the warm trickle of blood beneath his bandages.

Y/N caught the way his jaw tightened out of the corner of her eye.

“You okay?” she asked, voice softer now.

Lando looked up, eyes locking with hers. He should lie. He lied all the time.

Instead, he just shrugged. “Been worse.”

Y/N watched him for a moment, then went back to assembling his drink.

“Spiced black coffee. That’s what you had last time, right?”

Lando raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “You remember?”

She laughed, leaning against the counter. “You’re not exactly forgettable.”

What was he supposed to say to that? He found himself watching her again, the way she moved, the way she hummed under her breath, the way she didn’t seem afraid of him—even though maybe she should be.

Maybe she would be one day.

But for now, she just poured him coffee, let him exist in this quiet little shop, and didn’t ask too many questions.

Maybe that’s why he came back.

As the scent of coffee filled the air, Lando allowed himself to lean against the counter a little more. For a fleeting second, he wondered what the hell he was doing here.

But when Y/N slid the ceramic mug in front of him, offering him the smallest, most unassuming smile, Lando figured he could afford to stay just for a little while. She didn’t rush him. If anything, she seemed to be taking her time—lingering, the same way he was.

What was he supposed to do with that? People either feared him or wanted something from him. That was how the world worked. But this girl who had stumbled into his life by pure accident was just… here.

It was weird. This was weird. She was weird.

He exhaled, breaking the comfortable quiet. “You’re here late.”

Y/N glanced at him over her shoulder. “I mean, so are you.”

Lando smirked, amused by the easy way she shot the question back at him. “Touché.” 

He nodded toward the book she had been sorting earlier. “What’s with all the late-night reorganizing?”

She gave a sheepish smile, rearranging the last of the used books onto the shelf. “I got distracted reading during my shift again. Happens sometimes.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “You got distracted… readin’?”

Well, that’s stupid.

Y/N laughed, the sound soft and unguarded. “What, you don’t?”

“Not exactly my thing.”

“That’s a shame.” Oddly enough, she seemed sincere in saying that, like it was a real loss. She then tiptoed, reaching to slip the last of the historical-fiction books onto the topmost wooden shelf. “Books are one of the few things in life that can make you forget everything else for a while.”

Lando hummed, encircling the coffee cup between his palms. 

Funny. 

He had a much different method of achieving that.

Half an hour passed as Lando nursed his coffee, the remaining warmth of the mug seeping into his calloused hands. The coffee here tasted different. Warmer, maybe? Smoother? He’d had some expensive Italian roasts before, but the one before him could give any of them a run for their money. 

Eh, he’d probably figure it out eventually.

Even as an hour ticked by, Y/N still didn’t rush him.

She moved through the shop quietly – wiping down tables, organizing books, tucking away the last of the pastries from their display case. She could’ve hurried, could’ve nudged him toward the door with a polite smile and a cheerful thanks for stopping by, but she didn’t. 

He appreciated it. Silently, of course.

He watched as she reached up to rehome a book on one of the higher shelves, standing on her toes to nudge it into place. The hem of her sweater shifted slightly, revealing a sliver of skin at her waist before she settled back onto her heels. It was small, insignificant. And yet, for some reason, he found himself looking away.

“So,” Lando finally broke the silence, his voice low but steady he stared at the coffee lines in his mug. “Why are you here so late?”

Y/N turned, hands dusted with the faintest trace of powdered sugar from the pastries. She blinked at him, then huffed a quiet laugh. “I, uh, work here…?”

Lando chuckled at that. “Yeah, I figured. But this late? Shouldn’t you be home by now?”

She shrugged. “Closing shifts run long sometimes. It happens.”

Lando arched a brow. “You don’t mind staying here past, like, fuckin’ midnight?” he asked incredulously. 

He found that hard to believe. "D’you always work this late?" 

Y/N glanced at him over her shoulder. “Most nights, I guess.”

"Doesn’t seem safe," Lando mused. “Bein’ here alone.”

“It’s peaceful,” she admitted with a shrug, walking back around and leaning against the counter across from him. “I kinda like having the place to myself for a bit. It’s like… I don’t know. Calming?”

"Alone?"

Y/N smiled faintly, almost embarrased. “I like the quiet.”

Lando studied her for a moment. He didn’t understand her. She was a walking contradiction—reserved but warm, awkward but self-assured. 

Intriguing.

“You don’t seem the type,” he murmured, tilting his head. Bringing the cup to his lips, he took another sip.

Y/N raised a brow. “The type?”

“To be comfortable alone, I mean.”

She considered that for a moment before offering him a small, knowing smile. “I think people misunderstand what it means to be alone.”

Lando leaned back slightly, interested despite himself. “S’that so? Alright, let’s hear it then.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, sheepish, but played along anyway. “Being alone isn’t the same as being lonely,” she said. “Loneliness is… a void. Being alone is just… existing in your own space? Like with your own thoughts. And I dunno– I like that.”

It took a moment for that to sink in. He didn’t know what to say to that, because it made too much sense. 

Because he was alone all the time, and he wasn’t sure which one he was anymore.

Lando studied her for a moment, then surveyed the shop around them. He supposed he could see it—the dim lighting, the scent of teabags and specialty syrups lingering in the air, the quiet hum of the world outside present but not intruding. 

It felt a world away from his reality. No gunmetal, no blood, no power plays. A little bubble, away from everything else.

“Huh,” he mused. “Guess I can see the appeal.”

She smiled at that, soft and fleeting. “What about you?” she asked. “Why are you out so late?”

Lando hesitated, his grip on the mug tightening ever so slightly. The truth wasn’t exactly something he could offer, given his line of work. But she didn’t ask it like an interrogation. There was no suspicion or underlying edge to her voice. So, for the first time in a long time, he answered honestly—if only in part.

Half truths count, right?

“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugged casually, gaze dropping to his drink.

Y/N nodded as if she understood. “So you drink coffee?”

Lando smirked, glancing back up at her. “Genius, innit?”

She laughed then, light and genuine, and the sound did something strange to his chest.

Somewhere along the way, the last regular slipped out the door with a soft goodnight, leaving the shop empty except for the two of them. Neither of them acknowledged it, wrapped up in the steady rhythm of back-and-forth conversation

They weaved in and out of topics, talking about everything — coffee orders, late-night habits, why certain books never seemed to sell no matter how good they were, how rain sounds different in the city than it does in the countryside.

It was… nice. Surprisingly bearable, in fact.

That was a problem. Lando wasn’t the kind of man who had nice things. He took what he wanted, controlled what he needed, and discarded whatever didn’t serve him.

The thought irked him more than he liked.

Eventually, Y/N glanced at the clock and gave him a sympathetic smile. “I should probably close up.”

Lando leaned back slightly and stretched, as if only now realizing how much time had passed. He frowned, something between reluctance and indifference. “Sorry ‘bout that, didn’ mean to keep you.”

She shook her head, brushing the concern away with a small wave of her hand. “Margot won’t mind, as long as I remember to lock up.”

“Margot?”

“Oh, the owner!” There was a fondness in her voice. “She’s been running this place for years now, took me in when I first moved. Gave me this job, helped me settle in. She’s… kind.”

Kind.

Lando didn’t know many people who fit that description, and those who did rarely lasted long.

There was something warm in the way she spoke about the older woman, something fond. Lando found himself watching her, caught on the edges of that softness.

It was a foreign thing, hearing someone talk about care and kindness so freely. He couldn’t remember the last time he had. For a brief moment, he wondered what it would be like—to be spoken about with that kind of familiarity, that kind of trust.

But the thought was dangerous, so he let it go.

“Your, erm, boss– she won’t mind that you’re closing up late?”

Y/N shook her head. “Not as long as I lock up. And besides…” She hesitated, tilting her head slightly, seeming a bit shy, moving to wipe down the last of the counter. “You looked like you could use the company.”

Somehow, the night stretched longer than he anticipated.

The last regular left an hour ago, and the door sign had long been flipped to closed. The streetlights outside hummed faintly in the darkness, yet there was no real rush to leave.

Eventually the clock displayed a time long past that of any reasonable hour and Y/N collected her things before locking up, making sure to switch the lights off before turning the key in the lock and pocketing it. At the same time, Lando pulled his coat back on, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Guess I’ll see you around, then.”

She smiled at him, small but sincere. “Oh, yeah! It was nice seeing you. Night, Liam.”

He acknowledged her with a nod before turning away, stepping out into the biting night air.

He felt lighter than when he came in. Strange.

Must be the coffee.

Lando didn’t hesitate.

The moment he stepped onto the cold marble tiles of his residence, shedding the warmth of the evening for the cold, sharp edges of his real world, he got to work.

He leaned back against his desk, his jaw tight and phone in hand as he scrolled through his contacts. He’d ended up at Brews & Books three times now—perhaps three times too many. If anyone wanted to get to him, if anyone had been watching, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out the location.

So securing the place was the logical thing to do — smart, efficient.

It had nothing to do with the girl locking up the shop at ungodly hours, walking home half-asleep and vulnerable in the bad part of town. Nothing at all.

His thumb hovered over a name in his contacts list before pressing down.

The call picked up on the second ring.

“Spin,” Lando greeted smoothly.

A low chuckle came through the receiver. "That’s Mr. Spin to you, boss."

Lando rolled his eyes. Kids. 

“How’s your knife collection?”

“Thriving, thanks for asking. What do you need?"

“I’ve got something for you.”

A pause. 

“Is that so? Personal or business?”

Lando ignored the question. “There’s a shop. Small place, nothing special, but I want it covered.”

“Brews & Books,” Logan Sargeant stated, deadpan. Logan “Spin” Sergeant – a pain in the ass, but a useful one. He was the kind who could talk his way out of trouble just as quickly as he could throw himself into it. A ghost when it suited him, a menace when it didn’t. He handled surveillance, odd jobs, and—most notably—knives. Lando had seen him twirl a blade like a magician with a deck of cards, all casual skill and reckless delight.

Lando stilled, his grip on the phone tightening. “What?”

“Mate, you think I don’t notice when you do something out of character? You don’t just stumble into coffee shops in your free time. You don’t even really drink coffee. You hate it.”

Lando exhaled through his nose. “It’s a security risk.”

Logan hummed, clearly amused. “For you, or for her?” he asked teasingly.

Lando ignored the question. Again. “I want eyes on it, especially at night. Anyone so much as looks wrong in that direction, I wanna know about it.”

"Right, right,” Logan drawled. “And do you want her knowing she’s got a knife-wielding psychopath looking after her, or am I supposed to be subtle?"

Lando ran a hand down his face, exasperated. "Just– Don’t be a psychopath, and don’t get caught."

“Come on, boss. You’re killin’ my vibe here.”

"Just handle it."

Logan chuckled. “Already on it.”

The line went dead, and Lando lowered the phone, staring blankly at the floor for a moment.

It was a simple security measure. A precaution.

Nothing more.

a/n: pls pls tell me what you think! feedback motivates me to write more and also helps me feel less cuckoo for cocoa puffs about my own writing

[pansexualkiba]

to begin with, I am sorry for your lived experiences, and I wish you hadn't gone through that. you deserve to have guardians who care for you, food you enjoy eating, and a government vested in your betterment. these are simple facts, and they are something we all deserve.

as a response, however, i am not telling you what you meant. i am making assumptions based on how you reacted to both the quoted statement and your response to someone screenshotting your starement. in short, your response was incredibly disproportionate and, frankly, inappropriate for the actual quote. what Bourdain is doing here is answering the question in a publication, "what is the sexiest thing [one] can do on a date". his response is a bit wordy, but what he describes is about how people who eat reservedly and self-consciously, as if to serve some unknown audience, are less attractive compared to, say, his wife, who has such zeal for what she eats that he, assumedly, married her. anthony bourdain is richer than both you and i will ever be (yes, combined), so assumingly he is talking about dates that he has been on, with another party who was similarly attracted to him, and were in rather fancy environments as well. he is talking about decorum here, and how, in his experience, if they are so obsessed with such in a low-light and intimate setting as a restaurant date, then in a furtherly intimate setting, such as sex, they will not be much more fun to be around.

you, admitting you do not know much about bourdain, stated that from this anecdote, he sounds like a creep and an "alpha male", because he makes a direct link from a date both agreed to to sex, and therefore further make a value judgement based on him answering a question about what he personally found attractive - a married man, who is presumably not seeking a third and spends a half of the question relating his experiences dating his wife. there is an inherent sexusm as to judging how someone eats, but you seem to misunderstand that this is supposed to be judging a woman on how she eats and insisting she should be more demure or polite - something bourdain is actively stating should not be the case. he is not taking a woman out to watch her eat (and even so, this is a rather neutral stance to have - presumably, she is also on the date because she wants to be there, and she can always leave because it is a public space), he is taking her out to eat and making a note of her dining habits to gauge her personality in private and, again, intimate settings.

your response and gut reaction were, in a word, disproportionate. however, this is your personal opinion, and that cannot be helped. improved upon by interacting with the text critically, yes, but i cannot put words into your mouth. however, you further responded to the text by acting as if bourdain discussing something he finds attractive about his wife (and, yes, kissing and sex, two things that tend to happen after a date) was somehow a personal attack on you. that, because he related that his wife likes lobster and beef, he is railing against veganism (a stance that comes up nowhere in the quoted passage), and therefore he is against you, as a person. he is not. you are reading so far into his words in a published interview that you are completely not interacting with the words on the page. your spite is completely unfounded and misplaced, and to simply say "its just my mental state" does not exonerate you from the fact that you decided what a person you will never meet finds attractive in someone who is not you was a personal attack against you regardless, and you lashed out against this perceived slight on a platform he will never be on on a post he will never see, and when someone else reacted to this with a picture that felt, to them, similarly absurd (allegedly), you, still feeling you were in the right for your completely detached response, said, "what's not clicking".

none of this is to invalidate your personal tribulations or your experiences as a woman. however, one must understand that, in a public forum, how you react to generally-neutral statements as "i like it when my dates don't care about restaurant etiquette" are going to be perceived by the public, especially people who read the tags out of curiosity, such as myself. no amount of "i wish to not be perceived" will change that. were my perceptions of you lacking in context and based on my own personal feelings? yes, and i apologize for overstepping in that regard. however, understand that i am also not stating you were right. because you weren't. and that, while the context for your eating habits are miserable, they do not change that you have a less-than-positive relation to both food and the act of eating, and that you took a man discussing eating in, likely, a high-end restaurant during a romantic excursion, and took it to be a criticism of you in your own house rationing out your food for the next month, and reacted publically and explosively along those lines. just because its your blog and your own personal thoughts does not mean people do not read them and react accordingly.

all this to say, i am returning to my original question: are you alright?

[bettystonewell]

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 2

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 4.1k words

Chapter Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, language, referenced physical abuse, referenced sexual assault, injuries to reader

A/N: I wanted to have this out a few hours earlier, but my brain couldn’t help playing around with things… Enjoy ❤️

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

The way the heat radiated off of you was just as Dean remembered, reminding him of what little memories he had of his mom of all things.

Your softness. The curve of your hips. Your body moulding perfectly into his had his blood thrumming in his ears and down below. Okay, that was nothing like his mother, he hoped, but he was enamoured. Had they been dealing with witches or wood nymphs, he’d say spellbound, struck by a potion or curse and growing soft.

It was hard not to be when his inner alpha acted so possessive over you.

‘Mine,’ it rumbled. Snarling and gnawing away at his resolve piece by piece, even though hours earlier, the responsibility and temptation of a mate was something he didn’t want.

‘She deserves better,’ he tried to reason with himself. Though anyone and anywhere different was an improvement on living here with your alpha in this middle of nowhere cesspool, and ‘We’d never hurt her,’ countered him back.

No, he would not. Nor would Dean ever try to scent or mark you while you were injured. He was determined by that. Knowing if he was gonna claim you, he’d have to wait and do things right. If you agreed and became his, anyone who tried to whisk you away as he had just done wouldn’t live to tell the tale, and…

What the hell was he thinking? Claiming you? Making you his?

How ‘bout where the fuck was your supposed alpha? The one whose stench soured your own. The one he hadn’t bothered looking for, and rather just picked up and took off with you.

Yeah…

Dean would never let you out of his sight. He’d never do this to you in the first place, either though, and his fingers flexed where they held you.

He was quick to release them.

‘Round your side and under your knee, the action caused your thighs to squeeze together and your breath to hiss on its inhale.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said.

He didn’t dare use omega again. Not now. Not to your face. His alpha could call you that term all it wanted, but with your matted hair now feathering the stubble on his chin when you shook yours, his gut churned.

“No. You’re helping me,” you said. “I should be thanking you.”

You may as well have struck him with a blade. Reached right through skin and flesh and into his stomach cavity and assisted the churning; further twisted his insides with your bare hands to yank them out, even. Hell, he’d do it himself. Save some time. Same effect.

“Yeah, well, I let you go back to your alpha before I knew how he’d treat you,” he said. And he should’ve known better, but so should you.

“I told you I—”

“Don’t.” He clicked his tongue. “You know I’ve thrown a lot of punches? Been on the receiving end of them too, and there’s no way those injuries were from a doorknob. So you wanna try me again?”

“I said I fell,” you whispered, and Dean stopped in his tracks, crackling the gravel beneath his boots. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Well, no, he could. You’d used that lie already in the park.

He bent his torso to leer a cocked brow, regretting that decision the second his spine moved. What little light there was above revealed more than he’d bargained for.

Yes, your thighs tightened above his arms. But so did every joint, muscle and nerve ending in his own body along with them.

Your right eye and the opposite cheekbone had distinct patches of mismatched colour, spreading. He’d say you were wearing lipstick. Only the last time he checked, makeup didn’t come with a clear, watery film around it. No. Dean knew an uppercut when he saw one. He knew the strength of an aroused alpha, too.

The shirt you wore had ripped more, and though his initials were still sitting right there, they were harder to distinguish because abrasions and puncture marks now covered them.

He felt sick. That churning in his gut would spill over you if he weren’t careful.

How?

Why?

You were his mate. Even without his scent, the swelling that billowed from your neck gave that away.

You weren’t in heat; from the scent, he wasn’t in rut, and that information just made Dean’s blood boil more than it already was. “Did he force his knot on you?”

“Ritchie…is my mate.” And your pause was telling.

“I don’t care who he is. That’s not what I’m asking you. What did he do to you?”

As if a switch had flicked, or in this case, floodgates opened. The stench of your alpha’s sack wafted up into his nose, along with more fear from you.

Your eyes filled with tears. Your limbs scrambled to pull away from him. The added stench of pine and a cheap aftershave that wasn’t his swept through the remnants of cum and sweat. But as much as that recoiled him, Dean still leaned back, taking a firm grip to shift your weight in his arms. He wasn’t letting you go.

He took a deep breath over the shame hitching in his throat, and, “I’m sorry,” he said again. Only this time, it held more than one meaning. He just hoped he could make it all up to you.

When Dean reached the motel carpark, his feet kicked up faster across the ground. “Sammy!” he yelled, not caring who heard him - he’d punch the lights outta anyone who got in his way.

His steel cap boot was raised and ready to strike the chipped wood as he yelled a second time, only for Sam to beat him to it by opening the door. His mouth, just as wide.

“Dean?”

There was no lost puppy in sight. No soft and caring younger brother who could get even a drill sergeant to crumble with one look. His eyes scanned their way across your form, though, widening along with everything else before they narrowed, honing in on where Dean’s initials should’ve been. “What—”

“What do you think?” Dean curled his frame through the door, allowing your feet to enter the room before him and the fluorescent lights to highlight the marring on your skin.

“I’ll get some ice,” Sam said, and swept his way to the fridge.

“Grab the first aid kit, too,” Dean barked back as he carried you over to his bed.

He dipped your toes to the floor, keeping his arms near as you found your footing; lifting a fraction to see the full extent of his claim. The bruising was still forming. Your skin wouldn’t turn black and blue for another couple of days, but the swelling, plus the dried blood and weeping cuts, showed early signs of infection.

His stomach stopped mid flip only to drop like a stone, heavy and solid. It sloshed the bile up his pipes, crashing over that hitch in his throat. It burned. His shoulders shrunk. His knees buckled below him.

How could… No. He could ask that until the cows came home. Until his mouth was black and blue from lack of air, it changed nothing.

“Sit down, sweetheart,” he said. Course, it wasn’t a command, but your hesitation made even his toes clench.

He needed to sit. Chuck. He needed to punch your alpha’s head in - both of them - and he dropped to his haunches, encouraging you down, too. Arms rested on his thighs, holding himself up even though every molecule and thought weighed him down.

He could hunch over this way. Push the acid and lack of self worth back into the pit of his gut and away from you. Close enough to touch when needed - and fuck, he wanted to - his knot still twitched at the thought. Skin crawling with an itch he shouldn’t scratch, just to add on to all the other effects the sight of you did to him.

But what to say? What to do? You still sniffled. Gaze well directed away from him and looking down. It was really fucking awkward, spinning miles ‘round Sammy’s looks in the car.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to see those eyes of yours up close if they were gonna rival the puffiness of your injuries, but he tried getting their attention, anyway. His amber greens flicking over his initials again and running with it. Anything to drown out everything else.

“You know the, ah, the W stands for Winchester.” His boyish chuckle tethered off when your lip curled. “And you’re—”

Dean knew your name from the missing persons sheet, but hearing you repeat it then and there was a much needed do-over. If it weren’t for your injuries staring you both in the face, you could almost class this moment as normal if he tried hard enough. You’d been with him on the hunt after all, and if he just ignored the last two hours, his shower, the park, this could simply be agood old stich-up. Nothing more.

“Right.” He repeated your name, surprised at the way it rolled off his tongue with a pleasurable rumble. It suited you. Hell, it suited him. “Will you let me clean you up?”

“Okay,” you whispered, head nodding. Mouth and body out of sync until he gave you a nod back and your smile spilled a smidgen further into your cheeks.

There you were. Sort of. The omega he’d seen at the nest before he’d touched you and brought all this on.

His fingers flexed. Insides unravelled into a warmth that made his heart thrum faster and his head feel light. “Then we’re gonna need a few things,” he said, and stood up, distracting his mind and knot as he scoured the room for something that resembled a washcloth and a basin. Made easy by the grime and grease before him.

The film on the fridge. The stench of cigarettes competing with Ritchie’s. You didn’t belong with him, but you didn’t belong here either. That became more apparent as he moved throughout the room, collecting what he could.

Coffee-pot, brewed twice with water for cleanliness, then usage. A clean shirt from his duffle, sniff-tested first, and a bottle of Jack he found in Sam’s. By the time Dean returned to sit before you, chair and supplies in tow, he’d returned with the ice, and a compress was made. Dean’s shirt doing wonders.

“Here. Hold this.” He brought the icy bundle up to your mate’s claim and placed it over the inflamed skin. There was that outta sight, outta mind again, except your fingers brushed his on handover and he took pause through your latest hiss.

What the hell was going on with him?

“Ah, Dean, sorry to interrupt, but can I talk to you real quick?” Sam said from behind.

“Can it wait?” Dean could tell by his voice alone that Sam had a meddling look in his eye, though he had that on the daily.

“No, it can’t.”

Dean hesitated. He was determined to help you with your wounds, and the last thing he wanted to do was listen to Sam ramble over something he knew nothing about.

Still, he agreed, leaving the room with an “I’ll be right back,” and the door ajar so he could hear if you needed him.

“What the hell, Dean?” he said as he paced under the awning outside the room. His hands shoved in his pockets, straining them, arms stiff as a board, even though his elbows flapped everywhere like some giant chicken.

“She’s hurt.” Of course, Dean knew full well what he meant - he didn’t need to play dumb. He had planned to come to Sam in his own time after he’d finished helping you as intended. Thanks to the interruption, though, he was now indignant, standing tall even with the messed up insides. They still dragged him down, but he put up a fight. 

More so, when Sam struck the cord, he wished to forget.

“What happened to her being nothing to you?” 

“I wanna help her.” He needed to.

“And I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing. She already has a mate and—”

Dean shook his head. “The son of a bitch raped her, Sammy,” he said, self-blame replacing his usual gruffness and spitfire. He wasn’t at fault for what had happened to you. He understood that, but that didn’t mean he didn’t hold some accountability.

Your alpha had struck you because of him. He’d attacked you. Forced himself on you in what Dean could only presume to be a bout of jealousy, and all he saw was the part he’d played by taking you home to him. 

“You know that’s not on you.”

“Yeah.” Yet his eyes grew dim all the same. He lowered them, focusing on the ground. His boots scraping the pavement, now the most fascinating thing in the world over Sam’s, which widened when he said, “I ain’t letting her go back to him. If she doesn’t want me, that’s her choice, but there’s no way that fucker will ever lay a hand on her again.

“O-kay. Let’s ignore the part about you wanting her for a second. What’re you planning to do about him? If they’re bonded, chances are he’ll be sniffing ‘round here soon.”

Dean was hearing what his brother was saying. He was, and he had a solid point. He’d need a plan to set you free, but bonding? “I don’t think there’s a bond between ‘em. I found her in the park outside their building, and he was nowhere in sight.”

“He could be asleep?”

Dean’s chin receded into his neck. “You realise how ridiculous you sound?” 

“Do you?” 

Those words turned Dean’s body still as if he were made of stone. Eyes stuck and narrowed like the wind had changed. Jaw tight. Maybe he had fallen asleep after popping his knot. The asshole hadn’t filed the report when you were taken, your coworker had, and “I’ll deal with him if he shows,” he said.

“Dean. That’s not what—”

“Are we done?”

Sam sighed. His right hand left his pocket, and he gestured back to the room behind. “I’ll be in the car.”

Dean hadn’t even finished closing the door behind him when the smell of fresh tears flooded his nose. He’d swept across the tattered carpet once again and sat on the end of the bed next to you before his mind had even registered it was happening.

Just as his own instincts had pushed him to you, yours buried your face in the crook of his shoulder. His flannel soaked up your tears.

He wanted to ease your pain, but what could he say? He didn’t have the right to comfort you because he hadn’t protected you when you needed him. His soulmate. Not that he understood what that meant.

He was a grunt, with nothing to his name, and you were, well, he still had no fucking clue besides knowing you had his initials on your skin.

The norm was for him to want you. The scary thing was, he did. Far too much for his liking.

He had lusted over you and continued to do so even now, when he was supposed to be helping you. If your mate’s jealousy was dangerous, Dean’s instincts were more so.

They swooped his arm behind your back, letting your fingers grip his shirt. Letting your tears soak into it. He even had the audacity to brush his lips through your hair and place a chaste kiss, only to feel disappointed when your body tensed and you let him go.

“I’m sorry.” You sniveled and swiped at your eyes. Only to wince when your palms got too close. “Where’s your brother?”

Of all the things you could have said, your concern for someone other than yourself had him more smitten. There was seriously something wrong with him.

“He’s sleeping in the car tonight.”

Your hands wiped at your eyes, and you pushed yourself out of his hold. “I don’t want to put him out.”

He should’ve been happy you’d considered Sam, but his inner alpha snuck through, rough and a little snappy. “He’s sleeping in the car tonight.”

“I don’t want to put him out.”

“You’re not,” he muttered, reaching down to pick up his now wet shirt that had dropped to the floor below. He didn’t want to talk about Sam. He didn’t wanna talk about your mate either, though he knew it was inevitable. “Let’s get more ice on your neck. We gotta stop that swelling.”

He stood up and moved to the table where Sam had left the bucket earlier, and after refilling his makeshift compress, came back and took your hand again. “Here.” He positioned it over the icy bundle to hold it in place. “You’ll need some on your eye too, but that bite is a priority at the moment.”

Of course, there was still that ulterior motive to keep the offending section of skin covered, but as selfish as it was, Dean hoped that by forcing his own scented item over the top of it, you might form a bond with him.

Yeah. He was delusional, so he set the internal struggle aside, and got to work.

His hand reached for a piece of gauze floating in the now tepid water and squeezed the excess back into the coffeepot, while the other cupped your chin and pulled you to face him. With steady fingers, he brought it up to your cheeks and dabbed as gently as he was able.

“Sorry,” he said when you hissed at the touch. He needed a recording if it would save his throat some pain and allow that lump to heal. “If you wanna do this yourself, I’ll help you to the bathroom.”

“No.” Your head jiggled more than shook. “It’s bad enough I can feel it.”

Dean could understand that. Not that he feared what he saw. For him, what he couldn’t grasp was seeing your face marred that crushed him, raising the question of how.

He knew the logistics of it. You’d been struck a number of times, and while he still suspected jealousy was the cause, it made no sense. Why would your mate do this to you?

“Do you love him?” He knew he was crazy to ask, but truthfully, he wanted to know if this douchebag did or not.

“What?”

It was a simple question, and very telling that you answered that way.

“Your alpha. Do you love him?” He repeated, waiting for any unspoken clues you might give.

You took your time. For Dean it was agonising, but when you did speak, his heart panged with relief and dismay. “I thought I did,” you said. “But I didn’t think he’d do this either.”

Dean’s eyes glassed over your neck. Your claim didn’t swell like that earlier. It seemed unusual to him for an Omega not in heat. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

“I met my soulmate.”

He swallowed hard. “So he did do this because of me.”

Your head moved against him. “He didn’t believe me when I told him you didn’t want me.”

You had struggled to finish your sentence, but you didn’t need to for Dean to understand. Though he couldn’t see your face, the room was now flavoured with rejection, and while it relieved his doubts of self-worth, it upset him to know you thought that.

“But I do want—”

“Please don’t. That’s not you doing the talking. Your instincts are.”

Just as you’d said, your neck and the punctures that formed a ring around it continued to draw his eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“I do. Mine are affecting me, even though I have a mate. If you had wanted me, you wouldn’t have taken me home.”

Dean often struggled with words, spitting out whatever came to him at the moment, whether they were full of shit or something else. But he wouldn’t let that thwart him. Not when the stakes were this high.

He dropped everything and adjusted his arms to scoop you up into his lap.

Your chest heaved, your brow grew sweaty, and his sharp senses heard the blood as it flowed to all the correct places in your body. Inside his, it did the same.

“You’ve got it all wrong.” Dean’s fingers moved on their own accord, pulling the hand and arm that attached to them to trace over the scratches and cuts that covered your shoulders. “I thought you’d be safer with him.”

“So did I,” you said. And it sliced him deep.

You hadn’t meant it that way, but Dean’s psyche was so full of self-loathing that even though he wished you weren’t, he had already decided you were fearful of him.

Depleted and forever quick to act, he lifted you with ease and set you back onto the bed. “I should get you some more ice.”

He picked up his shirt and moved to stand, but before he could, your gentle touch gripped his arm. “Alpha?” The pleasant sound warmed his ears and tugged at his chest. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not scared of you.”

You were more perceptive than Dean thought.

“Well, you don’t need to be scared of him anymore either,” followed the smirk that curled his lips as his back turned away from you. He really did need ice.

Four hours later, Dean was still wide awake while you slept under a pile of blankets in the bed next to him. Wearing sweats instead of his jeans, he sat up against the headboard. His ass, purposely on top of the covers. His knot just as alert as he was. 

Morning wood had never been more painful.

It hadn’t taken long for you to go down for the count after the first-aiding was done, no doubt exhausted as well as sore, but he worried about how your body would react when it woke up.

Last he’d seen you walking, your step held a jockeys gait. All movement, purposeful and slow. 

You’d had no issues showering. It had just taken some time. Maybe if he’d helped, things would’ve gone faster, but he didn’t dare offer. Even though his inner alpha wanted him to.  

You’d also had no issue stealing his jacket, having taken it when you thought he wasn’t looking. The washed-denim sleeve poked out, as did your toes next to it. The sight of both bringing out his biggest grin. 

No wonder he couldn’t sleep. It was just a shame he had to confront your mate. 

He wasn’t scared at all. Nope, far from it. He couldn’t wait to punch the fucker’s lights out. But you were still his, and a small fragment of Dean’s mind feared you may choose him, even after the horrible treatment you’d endured at his hands.

With a groan, he leaned over and fished for his phone. It was close enough to six to not be too early for coffee, and he swung his bow legs to the ground, stretching his arms out wide; gaining two large cracks from his neck and shoulders as muscle and bone satisfyingly pulled away from each other. 

He then braced himself to stand with his hands on his thighs, but the sound of blankets shifting and a fresh wave of omega scent laced with undertones of him flew under his nose, stopping him in his tracks. It brought another smile to his face and another rush of blood to his groin.

But he had a job to do. A mission. A quest. And without further ado, he jumped to his feet and shuffled towards the bathroom, keeping his morning wood pointing in a direction he hoped you couldn’t see if you were to rouse. There was no way of hiding it when he was standing.

He was quicker about things behind the closed door. No one could argue Dean Winchester wasn’t a multi-tasker. From brushing his teeth to taking a much needed leak, he accomplished it all under the icy stream he’d chosen to cool himself off with.

Thoughts of you, Ritchie, and what he was going to do plagued him while he washed. They continued to follow him as he dried off, then carefully slunk through the main room to further afield outside, where he found Sam cramped on Baby’s back seat.

The deep brown mop of Sam’s hair rose behind the matte black paint of the Impala’s side, sticking up against the window from the static that came with a cooler morning’s air.  

“Rise and shine, Sammy.” Dean fisted the glass above his brother’s head for added effect. Sam was lucky he hadn’t opened the door on him, because that had crossed his mind. 

He wasn’t that cruel. Mediocre at best.

“I need you awake, man,” his voice hissed through the cracked open window.

“Dean?” Sam’s startled head flayed around the Impala’s cabin.

He stepped back to give his brother space to get out, throwing the room keys at him when he surfaced with no warning. 

Sam’s large hands fumbled as they landed on his chest. The silver tumbling through his knuckles like a creature come alive. “What’s going on?” 

“I need you on babysitting duties.”

“Babysit—Where are you going?” Sam stared at him dumbfounded until Dean flashed his best smirk.

One could say he was being cocky, and maybe he was. But in this instance, he needed all the confidence he could muster.

“To deal with Dick,” he said.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Are we feeling the connection? Do we hate her mate? Did I name him Ritchie just so I could make a tonne of Dick jokes? You bet I did! Have I used it enough? Eh, time will tell, but I sure had fun with the next one!

Chapter 3 - Confronting - 07/03

Inside, Dick’s every movement was under his scrutiny. He wanted him to fuck up. To say or do something stupid. That way, Dean had probable cause. It would make whatever he ended up dishing out sit better on his conscience if he heard Dick admit it himself.

So Dean poked the bear. Outright asking him, “Did she say that while you were raping her?”

“I marked her as mine.”

Those words were Dick’s second mistake. He’d just given Dean the chopping block.

“And I suppose she didn’t ask you to stop when you hit her and tried to scratch my initials out of her skin, either?” Dean’s voice remained void of all emotion, even as the anger bubbled in his gut. If he held a mirror to his soul, Dick’s face would have been its reflection.

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[cherryblossompink303]

Patience: ~Until the day it becomes a pumpkin!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: It is halloween in ouran academy ➼ what to expect:  "Am i your girlfriend now? I don't recall you asking" ➼ warnings: none ➼ Part Nineteen | Part Twenty One

"I regret ever agreeing to wear the costumes with you guys" you sigh as Kyoya helps to lace you into the big gothic gown that Tamaki had provided you. "At least it makes sense to dress up at this time of year"

"What is the appeal of vampires anyway I don't find blood loss to be all that attractive" Kyoya pondered, pulling out the fake fangs. "I think it's the danger aspect, the same reason that girls like werewolves I guess"

"I do find it strange that Tamaki has asked you to be the bride of dracula"

"I guess it is the closest we're ever gonna get to a couple's costumes" Kyoya raises an eyebrow "I was unaware that was something that interests you" you shrug "Not particularly but it's just a bit of fun"

"I suppose so"

The two of you step out from behind the curtains "Wow y/n-chan you look so cool!" Honey exclaims. "Thank you Honey-senpai" Tamaki stares back at you in awe "Ah y/n look at you! You are so cute! Look at my beautiful daughter!" Tamaki spins you around.

This is the magic spell. Tamaki calls the host club family, and you are here with your fiance, happy.

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Until the day it becomes a pumpkin!

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"Trick or treat, girls. Give me candy, or else your blood.” 

"Oh tamaki, you make such a handsome vampire" "Those fangs look real"

Tamaki leans into one of the girls "May I nibble on your lovely neck for a treat?"

"Oh no you musn't, you will have to play a trick on me instread"

"And indeed I shall"

"Hello" The twins and haruhi slide into the host club "Why are you guys late? Hurry up and change"

"Sorry boss but from now until Halloween count us out, okay?"

"What?"

"Count you out?"

"We're on the preparation commitee for a special event, class 1-A is sponsoring it."

"Duty calls then"

"Good luck without us here for the week" "And that reminds me, y/n, our numbers are uneven so we need extra person, do you mind joining our group for it? Its a test of courage tournament"

"Me? I'm second year though"

"It doesn't matter the event is school wide we are just organising it"

"Oh, well i guess its okay then"

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You, haruhi, the twins and the class president end up huddled against a wall after you get caught up on his phobias. "Are you not scared y/n?"

"Scared? No, I live for halloween, and horror movies"

"I guess Halloween does have a flare for the dramatic, not surprising from a theatre kid" "Gee thanks kaoru"

Haruhi is busy caught up with reading an anxiety selfhelp book to the class president. "Are you kidding me? None of those things actually work! Call me the captain of all cowards, you can scream it from teh rooftops, just get me out of here!"

"Really? Even if it means Kurakano will think you're a big chicken"

"Huh?"

"Woah, wait a minute, what's going on with you and Kurakano?"

"No! It's nothing like that! We're just friends! I've known her since we were little, none of this has anything to do with it!" The class president is turning redder by the second.

"Fine, fine, we understand"

"Funny how you had told us you didn't wanna throw your weight around..." "When the reason you agreed to any of this is because you didn't wanna look like a freak"

"That's not it, that's not the reason why I couldn't oppose it. I...it's just...Kurakano...well, she had her hear set on this tournament. I didn't wanna let her down, so I couldn't say no"

"You mean...oh crap! He's totally pure!" "He's got a heart of gold, Hikaru!"

"Our powers are nothing against his wholesomeness!"

"Believe it or not, not all guys are manipulative pervs like you two" you butt in.

"Hey!" "We're not Manipulative!"

"That's the part you're arguing?" You raise an eyebrow.

"So, does this mean we have to help him now?"

Something passes the window "Did you see that?"

a skull drops down the staircase nearby "No way, it's a sneak attack from those A-team hacks!" "Hey it's not your turn guys! Follow the rules!" Hikaru kicks the skull back up the staircase

"Yeah you show them!"

"My skull..."

"My skull..."

The clocktower chimes, and a shadowy figure appears at the top of the stairs "Could it be the clocktower witch?"

"Why did you kick....my skull!?"

The five of you run off, you and Kaoru tripping and ending up in some net trap.

Nekozawa stands back in the corridor watching in glee as you all run away and freak out "My fright strategy was perfection itself...Kyoya are you not joining in on the fun?"

Kyoya is leant against a wall nearby reading a flashlight "I am not, I'm just waiting for my girlfriend to be done with this and then we're leaving."

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"Ow! This is supposed to be a tournament not a hunt....Hikaru! Where is he? I've gotta find Hikaru!" He starts thrashing around "Hey cut it out! I know you worry for him when you two are apart but he will be fine...now I'm sure I have something on me that can get us out of this..."

You route around your bag to pull out a letter opener "Why do you have that on you?" You shrug "I recieve a lot of mail"

"Hold still for a second...this is gonna be awkward I apologise" You lean over to start hacking at the rope. "Excuse me miss l/n you have a boyfriend"

"Something tells me Kyoya will forgive me...besides...I don't know if he's my boyfriend"

"Huh? I thought you guys were together? That photo from the play seemed pretty final on it"

"We are we just haven't really put a label on it, we have been introducing eachother as fiances even before there was anything between us so I guess it does not really matter anyway"

"i see"

"I'm not to bothered about it...one day...a bit sooner than I would like, I will be married to him anyway"

"Do you not want to marry Kyoya? I mean I know you have not been together long but surely dating your fiance is good for an arranged marriage"

"It is not so much about being married to Kyoya but what it means about our lives, our responsibilities will widen much. I think you know what I mean too Kaoru. We all have something waiting for us after we graduate. we can't all live in denial forever"

The spell is upon us, where we can all wit around in nice outfits and hold tea parties. But when the clock strikes, and the carriage turns back to a pumpkin, the spell will break.

The rope snaps, dropping you both to the floor.

Kaoru sits up "I need to find Hikaru" He gets up, running off in the direction that the rest of the group went"

"There you are"

Kyoya wanders up to you, standing over as you look up at him. "Do you want to go now?" he outstretched his arm to offer help up.

You nod, taking his hand "I think I've had enough of this tournament"

"Our driver is waiting outside, there should be candy waiting for us at the apartment"

You raise an eyebrow "you hate sweets"

"I do, but you love halloween, the candy isn't for me"

You pause looking up to him, his eyes still trained ahead. "Kyoya...is this a date?"

"You sound shocked"

"I am a little"

"Is it so shocking that I may want to take my girlfriend on a date"

"Am i your girlfriend now? I don't recall you asking"

"Do you need me to ask?"

You roll your eyes "Whatever, I have a craving for sugar"

The two of you walk out of the school hand in hand.

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The two of you are sat on the couch in the apartment, 'veronica' playing in the background. "I must admit when I said you can pick the movie I didn't expect it to be in spanish"

You shrug "Horror knwos no bounds, including language"

the two of you fall into a comfortable silence. "Are we going to talk about it?"

"Hm?"

"The email I got, about your family...and what my father is covering up..."

"That email is not proof that what you think is true"

"There is no other way to interpret it Kyoya"

"My father is not exactly the most morally sound man but I refuse to believe that he would do this"

"It is the only explanation Kyoya there is something going on in your families hospitals, and whatever it is people are potentially dying from it."

"I know....I just refuse to belive it...let me look into it more"

"Okay...." Eventually you fall asleep halfway through the movie, slumped over leaning on Kyoya. But the question still lingered in Kyoya's mind.

Next time on patience 'Mori senpai has an apprentice candidate!'

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[tetragonia]

A True Love's Kiss

Itadori Yuji x Megumi Fushiguro x Nobara Kugisaki x GN!Reader

summary: The first-years—meaning you, Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi—were in deep trouble because a mission had gone wrong. Gojo had told you to exorcise a Grade 2 curse just outside town, but it didn’t end well. The cursed spirit was exorcised, yes, but before it vanished, it left behind one last curse—a curse that could only be broken by a true love’s kiss. Now, the four of you were contemplating how to break it.

notes: uhhh this is just a silly idea lol. also you're welcome to check another silly fic of mine! here -> JJK fic @ AO3!! enjoy!

words: 2.3k

The mission was supposed to be simple. A grade 2 cursed spirit lurking in an abandoned park—nothing they couldn’t handle. They had faced far worse. So when Megumi, Nobara, Yuji, and you cornered the thing near the rusted remains of a jungle gym, they thought it was over.

Then it cursed them.

"What the hell did it just do?" Nobara asked, rubbing her temples. The spirit had let out this ghastly, wailing screech, and suddenly, an invisible force had passed through them like a gust of wind. The air shimmered, reality bending for just a moment—and then everything felt wrong.

Megumi was the first to feel it.

"Shit," he hissed, clutching his head. His body felt heavy, like he was being dragged down by unseen chains. His limbs were sluggish, his vision slightly blurred.

Yuji groaned, stretching his arms, "Ugh. Why do I feel like I just pulled an all-nighter and got hit by a truck?"

You blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the odd, sinking sensation, "I feel like I’m about to pass out."

"Great. We’re cursed," Nobara, ever the practical one, clicked her tongue. She sighed as she walked away, but she was yanked back. The veil wasn’t lifted yet, but she couldn’t step farther.

“What the hell?” Yuji frowned, as he tried to walk away. But he ended up just like Nobara, it was like there was a giant transparent wall surrounding them.

The spirit laughed, its grotesque mouth curling into a smirk as it started to fade away.

“People can come… but they may not go…” its voice was disgustingly teasing.

“Oh, come on!” you frowned, looking at the spirit’s half-transparent body.

“True love’s kiss… breaks the spell…” it rasped mockingly, before disappearing completely.

Silence.

Dead silence.

You all stood frozen, the cursed spirit’s words settling in like an earthquake cracking through their collective sanity.

Then—

"I’m sorry, WHAT?" Nobara shrieked.

"Did it just say—" Yuji coughed, couldn't believe what he heard.

"Nope. Nope. I refuse," Megumi immediately rejected whatever was about to be suggested.

"You can’t reject it, Megumi, we’re literally cursed!" Nobara snapped.

"True love’s kiss?" you repeated, staring up at the sky like you were having a crisis. "You mean like… fairy tales?"

Yuji, looking both horrified and oddly amused, hesitated, "So… one of us has to… kiss someone?"

Megumi closed his eyes, "I hate this."

"We all hate this!" Nobara shouted. "But if that thing wasn’t lying, then we’re stuck like this until someone kisses their so-called ‘true love’!"

You blinked. Then you squinted.

"Wait. How does it even know what ‘true love’ is?"

"That’s actually a good question," Yuji raised a finger.

"I don’t care! I feel like my soul is rotting inside my body, so someone better start smooching!" Nobara groaned, dragging her hands down her face.

Megumi, in full maximum suffering mode, looked like he was debating whether to just let the curse kill him.

"Absolutely not."

Yuji scratched the back of his head. "Okay, okay, let’s just—hypothetically speaking!—figure this out logically."

"There is no logical way to figure this out!" Megumi snapped.

"Sure there is!" Yuji insisted. "Like… okay, who here has a crush on someone?"

Silence.

Megumi’s eye twitched. Nobara crossed her arms, looking at the others expectantly. You just blinked at Yuji like he was insane. Yuji sighed.

"Okay, fine. Let’s just try kissing someone at random."

"Do you hear yourself?" Megumi asked, voice flat with horror.

You, ever the agent of chaos, suddenly smirked, "Alright, Fushiguro, pucker up."

Megumi stared at you like you had just committed a war crime.

Nobara cackled, grinning wickedly, "Ohhh, yeah, Fushiguro! If it works, then—"

"Over my dead body!" Megumi immediately shut it down.

Yuji, bless his soul, was actually considering it.

"I mean, (Y/N), have you guys ever—"

"Shut up, Itadori!" Megumi barked, palms slamming the table. You snorted.

"Wow, so aggressive. If you keep glaring at me like that, I might actually fall in love."

Megumi looked like he was about to throw himself into traffic.

"Okay!" Nobara interrupted, clapping her hands. "Let’s just get this over with! I’m not sitting here feeling like my soul is corroding. If none of us are romantically interested in each other, then we just gotta go for it."

You exhaled, "I hate that I agree.

Yuji nodded, reluctant but determined, "Alright. Let’s try."

They all looked at each other. Then they realized something.

"Wait," you said, squinting. "There are four of us. What if this curse is, like, super specific and only works for one pair?"

A pause. A horrible pause.

Then Nobara paled, "Oh my god. What if we have to do trial and error?"

Megumi made a sound that was either a groan or the death rattle of his last brain cell. Yuji exhaled deeply, rubbing his temples.

"Okay, okay, we just gotta get this over with. It’s not a big deal, right?"

"It is absolutely a big deal," Megumi’s jaw tightened.

You stretched your arms lazily, "We could just let the curse kill us. Sounds easier than dealing with this."

"Nope!" Nobara shot down that idea immediately, jabbing a finger at your chest. "No one is dying because you’re all too emotionally constipated to kiss someone!"

"Why are we even debating this? It’s simple. If true love’s kiss is the requirement, then it’s already impossible,” Megumi ran a hand down his face.

"Why?" Yuji frowned. Megumi gave him a look.

"Because that means someone here has to be in love with someone else here. And that’s—"

A terrible silence. You blinked, then smirked, "Fushiguro, do you have something to confess?"

Megumi's eye twitched violently, "I swear to—"

"Enough," Nobara clapped her hands. "We’re gonna be scientific about this."

Yuji raised a brow and tilted his head, he looked like a lost puppy, "Scientific?"

Nobara ignored him, rolling up her sleeves.

"We’re going to test every possible combination. First up—Yuji, (Y/N), kiss."

You and Yuji froze.

"Wait, wait, why are we first?!" Yuji panicked.

"Because you’re both dumbasses, and dumbasses should get it over with quickly!"

"That doesn’t even make sense!"

You, still smirking, shrugged, "Alright, alright, let’s get this over with, Itadori. Don’t fall in love with me."

"I—I—don’t phrase it like that!" Yuji made a horrible strangled noise. Nobara grabbed Yuji by the back of his jacket and practically shoved him forward.

"Just do it, I want to go home."

"I—I CAN’T JUST—(Y/N), HELP—" Yuji sputtered.

You, not one to back down from a challenge, grabbed Yuji’s face with both hands, "Shhh, just close your eyes, darling."

"WHAT THE HELL, (Y/N)—"

And then you pecked him right on the lips. The room held its breath. A beat passed.

Two.

Three.

Nothing happened.

Yuji slowly opened one eye, blushing like an idiot, "Did it work?"

"Nope," you popped your lips. "That was a waste."

Yuji, still dazed, touched his mouth, "Huh. That was my first kiss."

"This is the worst mission I’ve ever been on," Megumi groaned into his hands.

"Alright, next pair!"Nobara sighed.

"Oh, let’s do Fushiguro and Itadori next,” you perked up. Megumi snapped his head up.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT."

"I second that!" Yuji held up his hands.

"Cowards,” you shrugged.

Megumi glared daggers, "(Y/N), why are you enjoying this?"

"Because this is the dumbest thing we’ve ever had to do, and I live for chaos."

Yuji wiped his mouth, still recovering, "Can we at least try people who might actually work? Like, Fushiguro, you and Kugisaki—"

Nobara gagged, "I’d rather fight Sukuna one-on-one."

"What the hell?!" Megumi looked genuinely offended.

"Not my fault you have the romantic appeal of a cactus."

"Then you and (Y/N) can go next,” Megumi looked ready to commit murder.

You and Nobara made eye contact. You nodded, "Sure, why not?"

Nobara shrugged, "Whatever."

Yuji’s jaw dropped, "Wait, why are you two so chill about it?!"

Nobara rolled her eyes.

"Because we’re not insecure little boys, Itadori. Pucker up, (Y/N)."

"Try not to fall for me," you smirked. And just like that, you kissed Nobara, and she kissed you back.

A pause.

Nothing happened.

Nobara clicked her tongue.

"Lame."

"Wow, no true love between us? I’m heartbroken,” you sighed dramatically.

“Oh, come on. This is stupid,” Nobara huffed as she turned to Yuji. “Oi. Let’s get this over with.”

“Huh?” Yuji blinked.

“You. Me. Let’s kiss.”

“Ooooh,” you whistled at her firm and commanding voice. Megumi rolled his eyes.

“Can we just hurry up and break this already?”

“Uh, alright. But if this doesn’t work, you owe me ten onigiri,” Yuji, still processing, scratched the back of his head.

“You really think this is a fair bet?” Nobara narrowed her eyes.

“Hey, food is food!” Yuji just shrugged.

Nobara sighed sharply, grabbed his collar, and kissed him. A beat of silence. Everyone stared.

The curse did not break.

Yuji pulled back, smacking his lips together, “Huh.”

Nobara frowned, eyes darting around her own body like she expected something to change, “Seriously?”

You snorted, “Damn, Kugisaki. Guess you’re not Itadori’s true love.”

“Gross. That was a waste of time,” Nobara wiped her lips on her sleeve.

“Wait, what do you mean ‘gross’? I brushed my teeth today!” Yuji looked genuinely offended.

“Oh, congrats. You’re so hygienic.”

"More hygienic than you—”

Megumi groaned, “We don’t have time for this. Just go down the list already.”

“Man, you make it sound like we’re checking homework,” Yuji shuddered. "Alright, Fushiguro, pucker up."

Yuji cracked his knuckles, stepping forward. Megumi's entire soul left his body.

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, we don’t have all day," Yuji pointed at himself. "I'm true. I got love. So let's do this, man."

Megumi took an instinctive step back, "I think I'd rather die."

"Wow. Wow. That is so messed up," Yuji gasped, looking genuinely offended.

"It's not that I—" Megumi massaged his temples. "I just—maybe I should kiss (Y/N) first.”

The moment he said it, he knew he had made a mistake. Yuji froze. Then, very slowly, his eye twitched.

"You wanna kiss (Y/N) first?" he repeated.

Megumi winced, "I just meant—"

"OH, I SEE HOW IT IS."

Yuji grabbed Megumi’s collar, yanking him forward, "So you'd rather have your first kiss with (Y/N) than me? Your best buddy?"

Megumi sputtered, "Why are you making this about you?!"

"BECAUSE I AM OFFENDED!" Yuji yelled, shaking him. "We've been through so much together! And you'd rather kiss (Y/N)?! I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS!"

"That’s not—" Megumi tried to pry Yuji’s hands off, but Yuji had freakish strength. "I just—logically—"

"LOGICALLY, YOU SHOULD JUST LET ME KISS YOU!"

"THAT'S NOT LOGIC, ITADORI, THAT'S JUST YOU WANTING TO KISS ME—"

"AND WHAT IF I DO?! WHAT THEN?!"

"WHAT IS HAPPENING?"

Meanwhile, you and Nobara were wheezing. Nobara had collapsed onto your shoulder, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

"Oh my god," Nobara gasped, gripping your sleeve. "This is the best thing that has ever happened to me."

You grinned at the view, eyes gleaming. "Do you think if I say ‘just kiss already,’ they’ll actually do it?"

"Try it."

"Hey, ItaFushi," you called, grinning. "Just kiss already."

"SHUT UP!"

"NOT HELPING!"

Megumi, still half-dangling from Yuji’s grip, groaned, "This is stupid. This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever been a part of."

"We both know that’s not true,” Yuji snorted.

"Fair," Megumi looked neutral for a second, but he continued fuming. “But can we wait for help?!”

He wasn’t the one to call for help, he was always the one helping. But this whole situation? Nope.

Yuji, deep in thought, snapped his fingers, "What if we call Gojo?"

Megumi turned to Yuji so fast his neck nearly snapped.

"WHAT?!"

"Oh my god, imagine if Gojo was Megumi’s true love!” you cackled.

Nobara wiped away a tear, "We’d never let him live it down."

Yuji, very serious, pulled out his phone, "Okay, I’m calling him."

Megumi grabbed Yuji’s wrist in a death grip.

"Itadori. I swear. If you call him, I will summon my shikigami and make them maul you."

Yuji gulped.

"Okay. Okay. No Gojo. Got it."

“No me?”

A voice chimed in as its owner walked innocently through the transparent wall. Gojo squatted down, grinning, "What the hell happened to you guys? Why does it took so long?"

Four pair of eyes widened, three from shocks and one from an instant death.

Megumi sighed as he just signed a contract to his own death, "Curse. Wouldn’t break. Stupid condition."

"Huh? What kind of curse?" Gojo raised a brow.

"True love’s kiss."

Gojo froze hearing Yuji’s answer. And then he grinned.

"Oh?" he said, far too delighted. "And? Did you figure it out?"

Nobara grumbled something obscene. You just snorted. Gojo chuckled hearing all the responses, "So that’s a no, huh?"

Then, without missing a beat, he reached out—and kissed Megumi’s forehead.

A soft glow flickered over Megumi’s body, and passed through Yuji, Nobara, you, and eventually the transparent wall surrounding them.

And just like that—the curse lifted.

Silence.

Utter, complete silence.

Yuji slowly lifted his head. Nobara looked up so fast her neck nearly snapped. You blinked blearily at the scene.

Megumi sat there, completely frozen.

Gojo, still grinning, gave him a light pat on the head, "See? Was that so hard?"

"Holy shit," you covered your mouth with your hand.

"It was Gojo-sensei?!" Yuji looked horrified. "All along?"

"YOU MEAN WE WENT THROUGH ALL THAT FOR NOTHING?!" Nobara screeched.

Megumi looked like he was experiencing all seven stages of grief at once while Gojo stood up casually, stretching.

"Man, this brings back memories! I used to do that to you all the time when you were little, Megumi."

Megumi finally snapped out of it, "DON’T SAY THAT."

You, grinning like an idiot, leaned on Megumi’s shoulder as you whispered to his ear, "Fushiguro… is Gojo your true love?"

Megumi shoved you off, "I WILL KILL ALL OF YOU."

"I hate everything,” Yuji just lay back down

Gojo, absolutely thriving, clapped his hands.

"Alright, now that that’s settled—who wants pancakes?"

Megumi wished the ground would swallow him whole.

[secretlysamcro]

Unspoken feelings pt. 1 Female reader x Jax Teller Possible plot spoilers, explicit language, domestic violence, violence & murder! If you're under the age of 18, dislike any of said topics or have not finished the show, then please read no further.

Jax takes a final drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around him before he flicks it away, grinding it under the sole of shoe. He rolls his shoulders, a familiar tension in his muscles as he waits for you to step out of the car. He can already sense the weight of the moment, but he pushes his nerves deep down like he always does.

You draw in a deep breath before exiting the car, closing the door firmly. As you circle around the vehicle, your eyes instantly lock with his. He hasn’t changed at all. Still giving off that same Jax Teller energy, still charming as ever.

His smirk deepens as you approach. “Look who it is” he says, taking slow strides towards you. As he closes the distance, his arms are now open wide. Offering a welcoming embrace, his warmth pulling you in.

Something so familiar, that you never knew you needed, until you were wrapped up in it.

"Hey" you say, your voice muffled against the leather he still proudly wears.

He pulls back, but his hands stay on your elbows. He studies your face, like he can tell somethings off but he cant figure it out yet. "He finally let you come back home, huh?"

You can tell he's just saying it to get under your skin, the way his eyes shine with that familiar mischief. He never liked him, not even a little bit. Everything Opie and Jax had warned you about, everything they said would happen, its all come true.

The music's loud, but your boyfriend's voice cuts through the noise as he leans in close to you, his hand resting possessively on your thigh. "Can't wait for you to move in" he says, his voice sleazy. His words are loud enough for everyone to hear "Sex whenever we want, anywhere we want".

You stiffen, catching the shift in Jax's posture. He stands up, and walks out of the clubhouse without a word, Opie following right behind him.

You know its because of what they've just overheard, and they're fucking pissed.

Jax leans heavily against his bike, Opie stands next to him, arms crossed, watching Jax. He's not happy either, but he's trying to keep his cool.

"You're not helping yourself Jax" he mutters, trying to keep his voice steady, trying to get through to him.

Jax lets out a frustrated grunt, wiping his face and looking upwards to the sky. "She's about to make the biggest fucking mistake of her life, and we’re supposed to just stand here and let it happen?" He’s swaying slightly, the alcohol taking control now.

Opie shakes his head, his eyes narrowing "She's not some kid, Jax. She ain't gonna listen to you pushin' her...also, you do know wendy's gonna clock on soon why you're acting like this, right?"

Jax's eyes flash, looking almost dangerous. "I don't give a fuck about Wendy right now" His words snap, and its clear he means it "She's leaving, Ope. For that asshole"

Opie rubs his face, "He might be talking out his ass, could just be dreamin'"

Jax laughs, and it sounds bitter. "Yeah? then why's he running his mouth inside like its a done deal?" he shakes his head, looking to the ground.

“We all make mistakes Jax” Opie says, his voice cutting through the tension.

Jax stares at him, his eyes heavy, feeling the weight of the whiskey. “Don’t Ope, just don’t” he grumbles.

Opie leans against the railing, his posture casual, looking away from Jax but speaking to him directly. “You can’t be pissed at her for not tellin’ you shit, when you’re sittin’ on the biggest fuckin’ secret. You haven’t even told her Wendy’s pregnant”

“I haven’t told anyone yet…just you” he stumbles, beer bottle shaking in his hand. “If I say it out loud…it makes it real” His voice cracks as he tries to keep composure.

Opie watches him now “when you’re up all night with a baby, shittin’ diapers, getting puked on, shit will be real then”

“She’ll have too much shit to say. I can’t handle it…not now, I just-”

“She doesn’t want you fuckin’ your life up. Just like you don’t wanna watch her fuck hers up” Opie says. He’s always been the one stuck in the middle of you both.

Jax drops his head trying to shake it off as Opies words sink in deeper than he can admit.

Before Jax can answer, the door swings open. You step outside and the second their eyes land on you, you already know this is gonna go to shit.

And the look Jax gives you? its gonna be a fucking challenge.

You clear your throat. "Can we talk?" You didn’t expect them to find out like this. You didn’t expect Jax’s eyes to hold that hurt, even if he tries to hide it.

Jax snorts, the pain turning to anger now, shaking his head "Oh, now you wanna talk?" He takes another swig of his beer "By all means, darlin...talk"

You exhale, steadying yourself. Arms crossed over your chest. "I was gonna tell you both...”

Jax laughs, shifting in place "Right... and when exactly was that gonna be? before or after you packed your shit and left"

The way he's looking at you, like you've betrayed him cuts deeper than you expected. "I just...wanted to wait for the right time"

"The right time?" he repeats, stepping closer, you can smell the whiskey on his breath. "Bullshit"

Opie, who senses the tension, steps in "Alright lets just take a second..."

Jax ignores him, his eyes focused solely on you. "So what is it, huh? he finally got in your head...convinced you to cut us off completely?"

"That's not what this is Jax-"

"Nah, its fine" he shuts you down. "You wanna leave? then go. Nothin' stoppin' you"

"What the fuck is your problem?" you step forward, fuming and ready to confront Jax. Opie quickly steps between you both, trying to keep the situation from escalating.

"y/n just let it go, he’s drunk" Opie says, his tone calm but firm, trying his best to defuse the tension.

Jax jerks his head towards your boyfriend, who's making his way over.

"He's my fucking problem" he mutters. Without another word, Jax continues walking. As he passes your boyfriend he deliberately bumps into him, a sharp shove of the shoulder, as if to make a point.

He stumbles slightly, but doesn't say anything to Jax, he's looking between you and Opie now, with a confused expression. "The fucks his problem?” he asks, his voice uncertain.

You feel your stomach twist at the sound of his voice. You look up to Opie "I'm Sorry" you whisper, as you turn around to join Jax's fucking problem.

Opie nods in understanding, but Jax who's now heading back into the clubhouse, doesn't look back. He's pissed, he can't admit what's really bothering him, not with Wendy now pregnant and not with you on the verge of leaving Charming.

Jax leans against the kitchen counter, his fingers tapping absently on the side as the silence stretches between you.

His eyes are fixed on the coffee machine, yours trailing over the pictures scattered across the fridge, by Abel of course. Finally, you break the silence.

“How’s Wendy, and Abel?” You ask, your eyes floating around the place. You hadn’t seen either of them in person since the night at the hospital.

Since you left without a word.

“She’s uh…” his voice is flat, his hand scratching the back of his neck “...back on the shit. She ain’t coming anywhere near him. Divorce when through not long ago”

“Jax…” you begin, unsure of how to respond.

He forces a smile, leaning against the counter. “Go on. Say it”

“Say what?” You frown, confusion on your face.

“That you told me so” he stirs the coffees.

You shake your head, as much as you want to, you couldn’t. “I’m not gonna do that”

He runs a hand over his hair “You were right though, shoulda listened, you told me enough times”

You chew the inside of your cheek, watching the tightness spread across his face. You’re pissed for him, but you know better than to poke the fire.

You take a seat at the kitchen table. “Where's Abel? He okay?” You ask, your voice softer.

“With Mom...he's confused but, he's good” he places the coffees down before sitting across from you.

You nod a silent thank you. It’s no longer awkward, just heavy.

“Shits a mess, huh?” He almost laughs, shaking his head.

You hesitate before spilling your own life dramas. Your fingers tightening around the mug. “I left him…this morning, took the shit I needed and left”

Jax studies you, his expression doesn’t portray what he’s thinking.

“That’s why you’re staying at the motel?” He thought it was weird you’d rather do that than stay with someone you knew here.

“Yeah” you let out a deep breath, “told him a few days ago, but he obviously thought I didn't mean it. It’s not the first time I’ve tried…guess he figured when he got home and I was gone” you look to your phone, another 2 texts from him. “He hasn’t stopped” you wave your phone in Jax’s direction.

His jaw tightens, the same way it does when something pisses him off. “He know you’re here?” He finally asks.

“Probably knows I’ve come back to Charming, just not where”

Jax stares for a moment longer, then lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head “guess we both fucked up, huh?”

You give him a small smile “yeah…nothings changed there”

Jax leans back in his chair “So, does Opie know you’re back?” He raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips “you know he’s gonna be pissed if he finds out you’re hanging with me and not him”

You can’t help but laugh at the thought of Opie’s reaction. “Nah, told him I’d come visit soon, but he doesn’t know I’m here right now”

"All your shits at the motel?" Jax asks, his arms crossed scanning you, like he's trying to piece together everything you're not saying out loud.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. "Just the important stuff, clothes, shit I couldn't leave behind" You hadn't even had a second to breathe, let alone think what the future holds.

Then your phone rings again. You don't even need to look.

Jax's gaze flicks down, watching you ignore the call and shoving the phone back into your purse.

He rubs his chin "So what now? You stickin' around, or is this just another pit stop before you disappear again?"

You let out a tired laugh "Jax, I don't even know what I'm doing tonight, let alone the next few days" Your head tipped back, eyes on the ceiling. You cant break, not here. Not in front of him.

It's not like Jax hasn't seen you cry before, shit, he's probably seen it more than anyone. But after all this time and distance, it feels...different.

Jax made a sound, something between a scoff and a sigh. "You know you could've called me right? or Opie" His voice displaying that rare softness. "You could of come straight here"

"Jax, its not that simple" you mutter, shaking your head. "It's not just a night or two. I don't know how long its gonna take me to get my shit together"

He grins a little, "and?"

You blink, shaking your head towards him "And what?"

"And it’s not like we ain’t done this before?" his eyes stay serious "Shit, y/n you basically lived with us back in the day... mom would've traded me for you if she could've"

That made you laugh, his words pulling you straight into the past. Late nights sneaking beers from Gemma’s fridge. Falling asleep on the couch after club parties, waking up tangled in blankets you never remembered pulling over yourself. Sunday mornings, a joint shared between the three of you talking shit on the clubhouse roof like the world couldn't touch you.

"Get your shit, y/n" he says, steady and certain.

Before you could respond, his phone rang. He barely registered it before answering, already pacing the kitchen, his voice dropping to that familiar tone. "Yeah?"

You couldn't hear the other side, but you didn't need to. His whole body language changed.

Club business.

"Alright, I'll be there soon" he said, like he didn't want to leave.

Jax tucks his phone back into his pocket "I gotta deal with somethin', but go grab your stuff. Call me when you're done, i'll meet you back here" a smile creeping on his face "Maybe I should tell Ope you're back too"

That pulls a more genuine smile from you, you stand, hesitating for a second before meeting his eyes. "Thank you Jax" You step towards him, and before you can even think about it, his arms are around you. Solid and warm. The kind of hug that makes you feel like you never left, like nothings changed.

His grip tightens ever so slightly, his chin resting against the top of your head. "Missed you", he admits. His voice quieter now, like he almost doesn't want to say it too loud.

Your fingers curl into his kutte, holding onto the moment. "Missed you too".

The club business was quiet for now, Nothing urgent. Whatever they'd called him in for was handled quickly. Opie is currently driving Jax back to the clubhouse, he decides its the perfect time to let him know you're back.

Opie glances over to Jax, who cant keep his grin off his face. His brow raising at the look "What?"

Jax laughs, taking a drag before starting "Guess who's back in town"

Opie gives him a long look, waiting for him to speak up "Who?"

Jax exhales, pushing his hand over his head. "y/n"

That got Opie's full attention, he straightened up his eyes sharp "No shit?"

"No shit" Jax confirms "finally left that asshole"

Opie let’s out a low whistle "Damn" he exhales slowly "How's she doin'"

Jax wasn't sure where to start, so he gave him the basics "She's been through it man...She didn't say much, but I could tell. She's tryin to play it cool, but you know how she is"

Opie nodded, he knew exactly what he meant. You were good at keeping shit locked down, good at pretending you were fine, even when you wasn't. That hadn't changed since you were kids.

"She tell you why she finally left?" Opie questions.

"Nah, and I didn't push...figured she might spill to you first, anyway"

The motel room feels suffocating now. You can barely catch your breath as you carry things from the room to your car, packing it all up, trying to get out of this mess.

As you step back inside to grab the last of your things, the door is slammed open, nearly knocking you off your feet. His eyes are wild, rage written across his face.

"What the fuck!" you shout, pushing back against him, trying to regain your balance. "How the fuck did you find me!"

He doesn't flinch, doesn't back off, he's in your face. His voice seething. "Tracked your phone, Don't act like I didn't know where you'd go. Always knew you'd run back here"

You're burning with anger now, it wasn't supposed to happen, not like this. "You think you can just show up and fuck with me?"

He steps forward, closing the gap between you. His body tense. "You think you can just pack your shit and leave? you think I'm gonna let that happen?"

You turn away, making your way over to the desk, subtly pulling out your phone and calling Jax without saying a word. You cant speak, you cant make it obvious, you just hope he answers.

"I'm fucking talking to you!" he comes behind you, dragging you back around by your shoulder.

His jaw is hard as he spits "Four years, y/n. Four fucking years and you're gonna throw it all way for that fucker?"

His words hit you like a slap, but you refuse to let him see you fall. "I didn't leave you for anyone. I left because you're a fucking asshole. You're a controlling manipulative piece of shit" you edge closer towards him "You don't love me. You just wanna own me, you think I haven't learnt that by now!"

He doesn't even think before lunging forward, grabbing you by the arms, his grip as strong as iron. "I always saw the way you two looked at each other. The way he fucking wanted you. The way you looked at him, I fucking knew it" his voice is low, almost a growl.

"You're insane!" you shout back, trying to break free. But it’s not working, he’s too fucking strong. “Don’t fucking lie to me” he snarls, his hands tightening, “You think I’m stupid? I bet you were fucking him the whole time, huh? That's why he was so pissy about you leaving!"

Jax’s phone buzzes in his pocket as him and Opie head toward their bikes. He looks down, your name on the screen. He answers, expecting to hear your voice. Thinks maybe you’re gonna ask for help or give him an update.

But there’s nothing.

Silence.

“y/n?” He grips the phone tighter, reaching his bike. “y/n you good?” He tries again but still, nothing. He can just work out a sharp breath, the sounds of muffled voices. It’s faint but unmistakable.

Then he hears it.

“You think you can just pack your shit and leave? You think I’m just gonna let you do that y/n?”

Jax’s stomach drops. He knows exactly who that is.

“You’re insane!” He hears your voice, it’s shaky but there’s anger there too.

“I bet you were fucking him the whole time, weren’t you?”

Opie, walking beside him, must feel the tension change, because he stops in his tracks, looking at Jax trying to read the situation.

Jax puts the phone on speaker as he and Opie listen in, they hear you shouting back, the sounds of a struggle. You’re defending yourself, but the way he’s yelling…it’s violent.

“Is that him?" Opie mutters under his breath.

“That’s him” Jax answers, practically jumping on his bike “Rockstaff motel” he instructs Opie.

This wasn’t the reunion either of you had planned.

The room now smells like sweat, fear and blood. You’re on the floor, your knees pulled to your chest, head buried in your hands. You didn’t mean for this to happen, you didn’t even want this to happen. But when he shoved you again, and again, when his hands grabbed at you like he was going to choke the life out of you, you snapped.

The heavy lamp lying beside him, was all you could reach, so you did, swinging it hard. You heard the crack when it hit his skull, sending him to the floor. He’s still there, no movement, no sound. He could be dead for all you know, you haven’t got it in you to check, all you know is the dark red stain beneath him, is getting bigger and bigger.

You’re covered in it too, your hands, your face, your clothes. Tears blur your vision, the sobs leaving your body like you’re gasping for air.

Then, you hear the footsteps, fast and heavy. You don’t even look up. You’re still trying to breathe, your body frozen in its place.

The door slams open with a force that rattles the frame, Jax nearly booting the door off its hinges.

"Jesus, y/n" His voice is sharp, but beneath it, nothing but pure rawness.

You don't answer. You can't.

Jax shoves his his gun back into his waistband and drops to his knees in front of you. His hands come to your face, tilting it up, forcing you to look at him. "talk to me darlin"

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Your mind still spinning, stuck in the moment.

Jax's thumb wipes at the blood trailing down your face, leaking from the cut above your brow, his eyes flicker down to your lip, busted and swollen, then to your ex sprawled on the floor, unconscious, head split open. Then to the shattered lamp, the jagged base glistening red.

The puzzle pieces fall into place.

Opie kicks him with his boot. No response. He crouches, pressing two fingers to the bastards throat.

"still breathin", he says, standing back up.

Your breath shudders as it leaves you "I'm... sorry" you whisper. The words barely leaving your lips, but when Jax hears them, it almost breaks him

Even now, after after everything this bastard has put you through, you're still apologizing, like you're the one who did something wrong. "don’t" he says, his jaw locking.

Your fingers brush against your eyebrow, the pain only registering now that the adrenaline is wearing off. You blink fast, still dazed. "I..."

Jax shakes his head "we're gonna get you cleaned up, alright?" His fingers lace through yours, squeezing gently, a contrast to the rage he has written all over his face.

He turns to Opie, voice short "Call Gemma. Tell her to get here now" He nods, pulling out his phone without question.

Then, a groan from the floor, a breath, slight movement.

Jax snaps his head towards the sound, his body tensing. Before your ex can even lift his head, Jax is on him, driving his fresh Nikes into his ribs, before dropping down, and landing a brutal punch across his face, rendering him unconscious again.

Jax stands, flexing his fist like he's debating punching him some more. Opie shoves his phone back in his pocket "Gemma's on her way, taking Abel to Neeta's first". He shoots Jax a look, no words needed. Jax reads it instantly, the unspoken agreement passing between them like second nature.

This asshole doesn't walk away from this. Not after what he's done to you.

Jax nods in response to Opie, turning his attention back to you. His voice drops lower and slower making sure there's no room left for doubt.

"I need you to hear me, darlin" His thumb brushing over your cheek. "You done with him...for good?"

You swallow, your heart pounding. You already know the answer.

Jax tilts his head, his tone darker now "because if you say the word, I handle this. No second thoughts, no lookin' back" his eyes scan your entire face "but I need to hear it from you"

"Yeah...I'm done" you breathe the words out.

Jax watches you for a second, then slowly nods. The tension leaving his face.

"Alright" he turns to Opie "Call Happy".

He shifts closer to you again, his hands framing your face with a gentleness that almost breaks you. "He's never gonna hurt you again y/n. I promise"

Gemma held your face steady as she wiped away the blood, the cotton pad pressing against your swollen brow. The drive back to Jax's house was silent. You hadn't said a word since leaving the motel, your eyes were vacant, tears dried but still staining your face.

She couldn't help but notice you, she’d seen you hurt before but this? this was different. She noticed how the girl sitting in front of her wasn't the one she remembered. You were always the fierce one, the girl who didn't let anything hold her back. The one who spent countless hours with Jax and Opie, always laughing, always in control.

The girl Gemma, deep down always thought would end up with her son.

"Hold still, sweetheart" she mutters, her voice thick with concern. She holds your chin gently, taking everything in. The ready to bruise marks, the cuts, the blood. They told a story, one Gemma never wanted for you. "Have you heard anything?" The question slips out before you can stop it, your mind still racing, trying to catch up with everything that'd unfolded. It feels like the worlds turned upside down in a matter of hours, and you're struggling to make sense of it all.

She sighs softly, moving down beside you "They're dealing with it, y/n, don't stress"

Your chest tightens as the weight of it all sinks in. "I shouldn't have dragged them into this mess" your voice drops, the guilt hovering within it.

She's quite for a moment, then turns to you "Those two boys would burn the world down for you. You know that y/n" “I know” the words simple, but holding so much weight. Because you did know. You knew exactly what they were doing, what Jax had asked you, it wasn’t in vein, he really wanted to know if you were done with him forever.

Gemma moved quickly, gathering your bloodied clothes whilst you were in the shower. Tossing them into a bag, ready to destroy all evidence. You were in Jax's room, after scrubbing away the chaos, the weight of it though, still clinging to you.

Gemma searched through Jax's stuff, eventually pulling out a SAMCRO tee and a pair of sweatpants for you to wear in replacement. They were too big, but they gave you a sense of comfort.

Jax and Opie stepped through the front door, their faces set, knowing the job was done. No traces, no mess, nothing left behind.

Gemma rises from her seat as they enter the kitchen. "She's in the bedroom" she says quietly. Both of them turning and heading straight for it.

"Jax?" Gemma calls him back, leaving Opie to see you alone.

"Yeah?" he leans against the counter, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes sharp and tired.

"She's not okay" Gemma says, her voice laced with concern, "I've never seen her like this, and we've been through some shit with that girl"

Jax exhales heavily, a sigh saying more than any words could. "I know" he says, looking down.

"Don't just sit on this Jax" Gemma says, her words giving off that strong motherly energy she always carried. "She needs you now, more than ever"

Jax looks at her, a silent understanding as he nods in response.

"No jax..." she stands up now, closing the space between them "...she needs you, and I don't mean in the way you're used to. She needs you to be there, really be there for her"

"Yeah" Jax says, before pushing off the counter and heading to the bedroom.

Jax made his way towards his room, his steps slowing when he hears your voice inside. Opie was always the one who could drag the truth out of you, the things you didn't really wanna share.

Jax paused just outside his open door, leaning against the wall and listening in.

"You're stubborn as shit y/n" Opie said, a little teasing in his tone "always have been" he says as he takes a seat next to you on the edge of the bed.

Your soft laugh followed, the sound making Jax's lip curl into a small smile.

After everything that had happened today, hearing you laugh, even if it was just a little was a fucking relief.

"Guess you were both right" you whispered, resting your head against Opie's shoulder.

"The hell did you even see in him?" Opie asked, his voice firm but also calm.

He wasn't asking to push, just giving you an opening, if you wanted to take it, you would.

You inhale deeply, rubbing a hand over your face, careful not to press against the cuts. "I don't know" the words sounding weak.

Opie scoffs, shaking his head "bullshit"

You can’t hide the emotions, knowing Opie has always seen right through you.

"C'mon, we both know why..." he continues "...you weren't really in it...not really, it just made things..." he paused, searching for the right words "...easier".

Jax, still standing just outside the doorway, froze, trying to figure out what you were both talking about.

You let out a small laugh "easier" you repeat, your voice flat. You rub the back of your neck, feeling the heat rise through you "I just wanted to forget, Ope"

His gaze turns harder "Forget what, y/n?" Trying to force you to say it.

You didn't answer.

Didn't have to.

Jax runs his tongue along his teeth, the pieces starting to fit together.

"Jesus, y/n" Opie rolls his shoulders, "you should've just told him"

Your eyes snap towards him, wide and defensive "It ain't that simple Ope"

"Yeah it is" he says sternly, taking a look over his shoulder, seeing Jax's shadow hovering outside the door.

And then, he steps inside.

Without a word, he sits next to you, mirroring Opie's position on the opposite side. His hand found your thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against the fabric of his borrowed sweats.

"How you holdin' up, darlin?" he asks, pushing aside everything he just overheard, making sure you were okay.

You look over at him, the weight of what you'd just confessed to Opie making your chest tighten and your emotions a chaotic mess.

You manage a soft smile though, "I'm okay" you let him know, quietly.

He didnt press. He just stayed there, solid and steady. The weight of them both beside you, like they always had been, made you feel safe in a way you couldn't put into words.

Before you knew it, a small laugh left your mouth.

"What's funny?" Opie asks, looking between you and Jax.

You smirk a little "been a long time since I've been stuck in the middle of you two" you nudge them both playfully.

Jax lets out a low chuckle, Opie laughing too but with a more mischievous tone. "That sounds kinda wrong"

You smack his arm "Fuck off Opie" you say,still laughing.

Jax shook his head, still amused before giving Opie a look.

One he understood without needing words.

He patted your leg before standing up, "Alright, I'm headin' out. Gotta get back to Lyla and the kids. He places a gentle kiss on the top of your head. "He can't hurt you anymore y/n"

You nod, Opie ruffling your hair like he used to when you were younger, and then clapping Jax on the shoulder before leaving you both in the quiet of the room.

Jax stares at you now, his eyes tracing over the cuts left on you by the man who should've never fucking touched you. His hands clench into fists at his sides, before he forces them to relax.

"He ever put his hands on you before?" His voice is controlled, but just about.

You don't say anything, just look towards the floor.

Your silence is enough.

Jax exhales, dragging a hand down his face "Jesus Christ" He shakes his head like he's trying to shake off the guilt. "If I'd just..." he stops himself, gritting his teeth before continuing. "If I'd just fucking said something back then, maybe you never would have left with him".

He looks at you, really looks at you. Like he's weighing whether to just keep it all inside like he always has, or to finally let it all out.

You brows furrow slightly, the pulse just under your cut hammering away.

"You heard me and Ope talkin earlier?" you ask, wondering just how much he caught onto.

"Wasn't tryin to" he says, his voice steady.

"We were talking about you" you admit.

"Yeah?"

You nod, If ever there was a time to set shit straight, it was now.

"It's always been you Jax"

His expression shifts, his breathing hitches a little in his chest, but he stays quiet.

"Since we were kids..." you continue, almost laughing to yourself. "I just never said anything. Didn't wanna mess shit up" you shake your head, deciding to just let it all out. "That night at the clubhouse, when we were on the roof, talkin' about losing our virginities"

Jax laughs, confused as to why you're bringing this up. "Yeah..."

"I lied"

Jax frowns, "what...why?"

"I never slept with Lowell" you feel the embarrassment work its way up your face. "Didn't happen. I just didn't wanna be the only one who hadn't"

Jax lets out a quiet laugh, almost in disbelief "You serious?"

You nod, looking down at your hands in your lap "Jealousy's a bitch, I guess."

Jax watches you for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching like he's piecing something together. "So...if it wasn't Lowell..." he tilts his head "...who was it?"

You let out a small laugh "I didn't...until I met him" The words feel strange leaving your mouth, like you're admitting something you never wanted to.

He doesn't say anything at first, just looks at you. His jaw tensing along with his hands. "Shit" he mutters under his breath, "That asshole was your first?"

"Yeah" you whisper "And I wish he wasn't"

Jax runs a hand over his jaw, still processing, but then he adds his own truth. "You wanna know why I was so pissed when I found out you were leavin'?"

Your stomach twists as he leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees "was a few days after I found out Wendy was pregnant"

Your chest tightens.

"She was just...around. I was young and stupid, using her to distract me...from you, then suddenly she's pregnant, and I'm about to be a dad, and then I hear that asshole talkin' about you movin' in with him" he scoffs, shaking his head "It fucked me up"

You swallow hard, a hint of a teasing tone in your voice "So you married her?"

Jax lets out a dry laugh "Yeah, not because I wanted to, but because I thought I had to"

Your throat tightens. "I wasn't sick that day, you know"

Jax looks confused "What are you talkin’ about darlin’?"

"The day you married her" you’re forcing yourself to look at him now. "I wasn't sick, I just... couldn't sit there and watch you marry someone else"

He stares back at you, something breaking in his expression. His lips part, like he wants to say something but its like he doesn't know what to say.

Instead, he moves slowly. His hands come up to your face, ghosting over your cheek, careful of your bruises.

You don't move.

You don't breathe.

And then, his lips press against yours.

There's no urgency, no desperation. Just a single, unbroken kiss.

It’s everything you've never said.

Everything you've both been too afraid to admit.

Gifs & photos do not belong to me, just edited.

forgot how fucking devine Jax looked with short hair so you know I had to keep that going 🖤

I’m loving doing lil flashback scenes I find them so fun to write. Every flashback will be defined by the barbed wire, so if you see that just know it’s back in the day.

The ending is deffo left open for a part 3 so message or comment what you’d like to see in it!!

Also, I’m like 10 followers away from 300 (how the fuck did that happen?) I say it all the time but I do love you all! But anyways, I was thinking of starting to do some headcanons for our boy Jax Teller, so please send some in, if you wish 🫶🏽

Jax Teller Masterlist

xoxo secretly samcro

[gvshing]

Bloodied and Hurt Again.

Vi comes home after another fight and you find yourself bandaging her up like every time before. (C.W. mentions of blood and fighting) masterlist

Vi coming home with blood wasn’t out of the norm. It was a semi-constant occurrence. Nonetheless, it still freaked you out when the door swung open and Vi trudged in, bloodied and feet dragging. Worry was the first emotion that swirled through you every single time. What if this was the last time she came home with blood caked on her? The last time she came home ever? While you scramble around looking for all the first aid supplies you threw around last time, in the same panic you find yourself in now, she finds herself lumbering over to the couch and falling back on it. She presses her hand to the shoulder where the blood is spilling out in a heavy stream of crimson. Wincing every time it gets the slightest bump. She closes her eyes but you’re yelling at her almost instantly to keep them open, afraid of the unthinkable. Eyes shooting open she groans and rolls her eyes, landing on you as you scoop up the rest of the gauze you had found. Her line of sight fixed on you, watching you scamper over and tossing the miscellaneous supplies onto the table in front of you. “Vi, I’ve told you to be careful. I hate seeing you come home like this.” you scold her, knees hitting the ground as you set up the hoard of first aid in a hurry. “What if I can’t fix you one day?” You mumble under your breath, tears springing to your eyes. Quickly, wiping them away aggressively with your shoulders so as to not contaminate your sterile hands, you take a deep breath. “It’s okay, I’m okay.” She gives a pained half-ass chuckle. “I’ll always spring back. I’m strong.” You sigh deeply at her confident remark. “But what if, Vi? What if one day the cut is too deep? If the wounds are deadly? What will I do? Huh? I can’t lose you.” Moving closer to Vi now to inspect her wounds, you see a gash in her shoulder covered in the thick red liquid. Maybe from a rough fall, or a gunshot? Maybe a knife. You’re never sure anymore.

You sigh and move to grab the antiseptic cleaning fluid. Vi grabs your shoulder, with her good arm, pulling you back to look at her. “You won’t. I promise.” You both gaze at the other in a silent battle of worry. You nod at her solemnly. “Okay. I trust you. I just am so worried about you all the time. We’re supposed to grow old together and die in each others arms while bad reality shows play on the TV. To do that you need to stay alive that long.” She laughs and nods her head. “Understood, Hun.” A small smile spreads over your face, not quite reaching your eyes. Worry and panic are still flooding your nervous system. She lets go of you, finally able to grab the antiseptic you pour a generous amount over the wound. Blood cascading away revealing the gash is not as big as the blood made it seem. You sigh in relief. “You get away with it this time. It’s not bad, you won’t need stitches I think.” She smiles at you and elbows you, wincing immediately at the movement that shoots up to her shoulder. “Good news then, yeah?” You shake your head, a small smile still present on your face. “How did this even happen?” She looks away from you and mumbles something under her breath. “What was that?” Immediately you know it’s a fight she started. “Ya know, you look so pretty today. Your hair looks different, did you cut it?” You give her a look of annoyance. “Vi.” She groans loudly. Pouting at its finest, truly. “Somebody was being a dick at the bar! It’s not my fault, the guy was practically begging for a fight. It’s not my fault he’s a bitch who brings a knife to a fist fight.” You stare at her, not even surprised. “Vi, you kill me. You know that?” She grins up at you. “Did you win?” You ask, continuing to clean and bandage her, supposed, knife cut. “PSH. You know I did. I win all my fights.” You halt your gauze wrapping. “We both know that’s not true. That girl with the bob fucked you UP.” exaggerating the ‘up’ in your sentence, she squints at you. “Okay, she was fucking superhuman. That doesn’t count! If I was made of drugs I could’ve beat her ass. It was an unfair fight!” Defending herself she huffs in annoyance, most likely replaying the memory in her head; imagining all the things she should’ve done to make that fight go more in her favor. You laugh at her defensive-ness.

Patting her head, you stand up from your place next to her. “Alright, you’re good. Don’t get in any fights until this heals. I’d say don’t get in any period but I know I can’t stop you.” She cackles and nods fast. “Hey, if you think about it, I’m just fighting for your honor. That way anytime someone thinks about starting a fight with you they’ll instantly back off once they remember who your girlfriend is.” You roll your eyes and walk to the kitchen to throw away the trash. Vi comes up behind you and wraps her arms around you, holding you in place, swaying back and forth. Her head rests on your shoulder and she sighs into your neck. “Thank you. I don’t know how I’d be alive without you.” You sigh and grab onto her arms that encircle you. “You wouldn’t be.” Fingers trace circles into Vi’s skin. She presses a kiss onto your cheek and backs up. You turn and smile at her. “I’m glad you’re okay.” You say, dropping your frustrated tone. Her lips quirk up into a half smile and she nods, looking down at her feet for a second before meeting your eyes. “Me too.” You step towards her and hug her tight before pulling away and walking towards the living room once more. Vi watches you walk away from her, adoration adorning her features. You call from over your shoulder, “Well? Are you coming? Shitty reality shows won’t watch themselves.” She leaps after you and bounds towards the couch, swiping the remote before you can even reach the spot next to her. “Snooze ya lose!” She laughs loudly and switches the TV on. You find your place next to her, giggling at her boisterous energy. Impressed with her ability to have such energy, all things considered. You curl into her and sigh with content, happy she’s home safe and all fixed up. Until the next time at least. But, just like every time before and every time after, you’ll be there waiting for her. Waiting to make her feel better and bandage her up. As frustrating as it is for you to constantly have that worrying feeling of ‘when’s the next time? And how bad will it be?’, you’re glad you’re here to help. Glad it gets to be you. 

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

thank you for reading! I haven't written to Vi quite yet so I do hope it's not awful :')

[afriendofblahaj]

OMG

@ccelest1al wrote this AMAZING guide for helping with this. Share it with anyone you know who hates body or facial hair.

It’s supposed to be a markdown file but tumblr doesn’t let me attach files, so I’ve just pasted the contents below the cut

## Introduction

Hello! I don't know who else I'm going to share this with so in case you do not know me, I am Charlie (it/she) and I'm a pre-medical transition MtF trans girl who has been out for 4 years! As such, I have a *lot* more experience than most with shaving extreme gorilla levels of hair, and want to share some advice for people that might be in a similar spot. First I'll cover the different methods of hair removal, then go into my personal recommendations for each area of the body.

## General Shaving Advice

*Above all else, prioritise your skin health.*

There will be times when you will shave wrong and it will *feel* fine. Perhaps you already have some of these bad habits yourself. I often hear about people dry shaving and saying its "not that bad", or using 4 week old razors and saying "oh it works fine". It doesn't. If you care about your skin, you need to do things *properly*.

*Leading off of the last point, take care of your skin in other ways too*

If you are not already moisturising, start. If you ever shave and notice spots, try and shave around the area as to not aggravate it, and get cream for it. If you rash, get some cream for it. The pursuit of being completely hairless is fine and all but I promise you will be a lot happier if you have a SLIGHT bit of hair but healthy skin, rather than horrible skin but no hair.

*You are not attacking your hair, you're getting rid of it*

Be gentle. I know it can be hard with dysphoria, and you sometimes can feel like you want to rip the entire top layer of your skin off, but if you go slow and steady you will get a better cut that will last longer. Ideally you want to aim for a routine that lets you shave each part of the body *before* it becomes a dysphoria problem to avoid this specifically.

## Razors

Razors are the most obvious method of hair removal, they are the Swiss Army knife of shaving, and what you'll use for the vast majority of your body. Choosing razors that are both affordable and good for your skin can take a while, but cheaping out can be seriously bad depending on the brand.

When looking for razors, much to most transfem's distaste I recommend steering clear of women's razors unless you're on E, they just aren't often heavy duty enough, and there *is* a difference: the men's razors tend to have more blades, I've very rarely seen women's quad blade razors. You want to be going for quad-blade; they'll give a much better cut without having to repeatedly go over the same skin over and over.

I have used a variety of different ones over the years, but disposables are what I have found works *for me*. If you want an electric razor, go for it, it will probably save you money in the long run.

You're also going to *need* foam or gel. **THIS IS NOT AN OPTIONAL PART OF SHAVING WITH A RAZOR**. You will fuck up your skin if you do not use one or the other, and a little goes a long way. Gel generally lasts longer but I've heard the sensation can be weird to some people

Replace your blades when they go blunt, you'll get a feel for this eventually yourself, but a good guideline in the beginning is every 2-3 *MAJOR* shaves. "Oh but I don't want to cut myself by using too sharp a blade!", you're more likely to cut yourself on a blunt blade than a sharp one.

### Buying Guide

- Look for Quad Blade razors

- If you want an electric, check how much the heads cost in advance, you're going to be changing the heads often enough that price *absolutely* is a concern

- Avoid BIC like the plague, they might make good pens but they make *horrible* razors

### Usage

This one should be pretty self explanatory but I know no one ever showed me, so I'll explain it anyways, there's no shame if you don't know:

1. Run a tap/shower until you have warm water, just warm, doesn't need to be scalding hot.

2. Get the area you're shaving wet

3. Get out your foam/gel.

1. If you're using foam, get a big scoop in your hand and then apply it to the area. It doesn't need to be too thick, but generally you can't see the hair if you're using foam

2. If you're using gel, you'll be suprised how much mileage you get out of a tiny bit. Just spread it out across the skin until its slick and easy to glide over

4. Run your razor under the tap, then press down (not too hard) on your skin and run it up, do 2-3 passes like this, getting a whole strip of where you've applied your foam/gel, then run it under the tap again to get the excess hair out from between the blades, this will make it last much longer

5. Repeat until you're cleanly shaven!

Don't rapidly run over the same place over and over, it will rash, and there is also a few areas you have to be careful about, which I will mention in the body-part specific portions later.

## Tweezers

Tweezers are a little more specific when it comes to their purpose, but its pretty essential to have these too. They're obviously good at very specific areas of the body, usually places where you typically wouldn't expect or want hair: moles, your nipples, mono-brow etc. However they're also handy for one other specific task: in-grown hairs. The more you shave, the more ingrown hairs are going to become a problem, so have tweezers on hand if you notice any. You might not be able to see them, they often look like little red bumps under the skin, I didn't even know they were ingrown hairs for quite a while. Particular areas to watch for them are on the chest, your pubic hair, and your upper thighs.

### Buying Guide

Tweezers can vary in quality quite a lot, and sometimes you're gonna need different shaped ones based on what you're doing. I would recommend getting a set somewhat like these ones [here](https://www.amazon.co.uk/Smukdoo-Professional-Tweezers-Extension-Multi-Colored/dp/B0998ZQ6F4https://www.amazon.co.uk/Smukdoo-Professional-Tweezers-Extension-Multi-Colored/dp/B0998ZQ6F4). I can't vouch for those specific ones, but that's what you're looking for. You can find them at basically any pharmacy.

### Usage

Once again, should be pretty obvious but I will explain just in case:

- For surface level hairs, simply just grab an appropriate set of tweezers that'll give you a good grip, then pluck from as close to the skin as possible, pulling slowly to avoid just tearing the hair in half.

- For ingrown hairs, sometimes I end up digging below the skin just a *little* with the tweezers in order to hook a thick part of the hair, then pull it out using that. This probably isn't the most safe or sanitary method, so if you're going to do it just make sure the tweezers are clean first. Hook a thick part of the hair, ideally any bits near the surface if possible, then pull gently to get it to unfurl.

## Scissors

Scissors are kind of niche and you're only really gonna use them for one area, and only if you're wanting to simply keep hair *manageable* as opposed to cleanly shaven, and that's your pubic region. Scissors can help clear dense bits of hair that would normally blunt or be ineffective to attack with a razor, but where the other methods (like cream) would be unsafe to use.

### Buying Guide

I have always just used a spare pair of nail scissors, they're small enough that they're quite good for that task. Just make sure you keep them separate from your...actual nail scissors. You can again find these at most pharmacies.

### Usage

*PLEASE be extra careful putting sharp objects anywhere near your crotch*. Do not cut too close to the skin to help mitigate some risk, and I'd really only recommend doing this if you haven't trimmed your bush in months and need a full on weed-whacker to get started. Trim it down to a level where you could use a razor, then immediately switch over to using that, it's much safer and easier to get a cleaner shave.

## Epillators

Full transparency, I *cannot* use an epillator. I own one, and desperately tried to use it for a few weeks, but it was completely unmanageable with my high sensitivity to touch. However anecdotally I have heard they can be quite good. Compared to a razor, you have to actually do your routine significantly less often (around every 3 weeks for places like the legs), and its much easier to do, taking only around 5 minutes. However it is PAINFUL. After a while either your skin gets used to it, or you just get psychologically used to it, and it becomes less painful. It's up to you if you want to pursue this path since it can be *very* good, especially if you don't want a shaving routine of about an hour like my biweekly one is.

### Buying Guide

(Will put the brand of my epillator if i ever find it)

### Usage

This one is pretty simple, but its all in the care afterwards. You're gonna irritate your skin quite a lot doing it, and it can be helpful to have someone else do it so you can just focus on grimacing through the pain. Just apply the epillator to the skin where you need to shave and run it slowly up until you get all of the hairs. Then apply cream to any particularly sore or red areas.

## Hair Removal Cream

Hair "Removal" Cream is a bit of a misnomer, as it's more like "hair thinning cream". Hair removal cream is a big part of my personal routine, and I find it really good as a time-saver for places that are difficult or nearly impossible to shave, namely the ass. *However*, using hair removal cream can go wrong, I have chemically burnt myself on occasion, not anything particularly severe but it was bad for obvious reasons. It's mostly about knowing your skin and how long you can take, the packet usually says around 6-10 minutes, I go on the upper end of that, but my girlfriend burns if she goes for more than 6.

**NOTE: Basically all hair removal creams explicitly say not to use it on your anal, peri-anal, and genital regions. I use it on my ass and I'm fine, but I'm not sure if I'm the exception. However, DO NOT use it to thin your pubic hair**

### Buying Guide

Get name brands like Nair, I go through a full tube every 2 weeks simply because I use it for both my arms and my ass, but the bigger tubes can last a lot longer. You can get Nair from basically any pharmacy as with all of these things.

### Usage

- Apply the cream in a thick, even layer over the hair, do not rub it in

- Set a timer on your phone for 6-8 minutes (for Nair), when it runs out run a warm shower, and grab a flannel

- Wash the cream off, rubbing with the flannel quite hard. The hair should just flake off in big chunks, and whatever is left will be extremely thin

## Autism Specific Considerations

Before going into specific body parts, here are some autism specific considerations that I think are good to be made aware of beforehand:

- Shaving your legs can completely change the feeling of them, this was quite overwhelming for me the first time, especially when getting into bed

- Nair, Shaving Foam, and Shaving Gel all have very distinct smells that can linger for a while

- Nair can change how your skin feels for an hour or two after, I apply moisturiser to my arms and it usually fixes this feeling

- Epillators can often be sensory hell, I'm someone with way less touch sensitivity than most and I still found it unbearable

## Body Parts

### Face

Face is the one that you will be doing the most often, for me it's a delicate balance of doing it often enough to keep my 5 o'clock shadow at bay, while still not irritating too much. I have settled on twice a day, though I know plenty of people that go anywhere from every 2 days, to every day. Use a razor for more general shaving, then tweezers to catch any specific hairs that may irritate you (I have a few on the underside of my chin)

*Tools:* Razor, Tweezers

*Tips:*

- Moisturiser is literally magic and will make shaving significantly less likely to irritate your skin. Always apply afterwards.

- Having sharp razors is particularly important for your face, a cut is going to be a lot more noticeable and bother you for a lot longer

### Chest

Chests are pretty easy to shave but can be awkward to see in the mirror. I have my girlfriend help me with this nowadays, but when I didn't, i made sure to do this in front of a mirror. Liberally cover with gel/foam from your neck down to your boobs, and between your boobs too to catch that weird spot of hair that appears in the middle. Then just systematically go through it. You likely wont get all of it, but it will be enough to not be visible. Then, pick off any larger hairs from your nipples with a pair of tweezers (it doesn't hurt as much as you think it would)

*Tools:* Razor, Tweezers

### Arms

Arms are REALLY fucking difficult to do on your own, but its workable. Generally unless you're a full on gorilla like me, you can get away with only shaving your lower arms, then only using cream on the upper. This is what I did for years, but recent increases in T have made this no longer enough. You should use hair removal cream to thin out the hair first, then simply go over it with a razor

*Tools:* Razor, Hair Removal Cream

### Armpits

If you want to shave your armpits, use lots of foam or gel since they can be VERY easy to irritate. Other than that they're really simple. If you rash them, E45 cream or similar is good.

*Tools:* Razor

### Crotch/Galls

This is easily the most annoying part to keep cleanly shaven. If you're okay with bush, just own it. Make sure you're shaving enough to keep hygienic (yes, you do have to shave SOMETIMES even if you do want bush) but beyond that it doesn't matter too much. For thicker hair use scissors to get it down to an appropriate length to use a razor. When you shave the balls, stretch the skin taut so you can run the razor along it, make sure you're using plenty of foam/gel.

*Tools:* Scissors, Razor

### Ass

The ass is a tricky one unless you are willing to ignore the warnings on the packet of your Nair and just do it. If so it's easy! You can get enough off on the inside to comfortably not have to worry about bum fluff, and if you want a closer shave then just get a razor up there, one leg up on something high (like the toilet seat) and legs slightly spread. **DO NOT LET YOUR NAIR STAY ON FOR TOO LONG, CHEMICALLY BURNT ASS FUCKING HURTS**.

*Tools:* Hair Removal Cream, Razor

### Legs

Legs are the most time consuming, but thankfully the easiest, though it kind of depends on how thick you are. If you're like me and have big thighs, shaving the upper portions can take a while. Just take it slow, and do it in order, bottom half of both legs first, then the top half. In my experience the thigh hair doesn't grow back as thick or as quickly as the lower legs, and since I mostly wear long skirts I rarely bother to shave too rigorously up there. This will always be the most time consuming part of your shaving routine, and you can sometimes feel a bit queasy from being in the weird positions that shaving there requires for so long, so *be slow*.

*Tools:* Razor

## How I Structure My Shaving

Having a routine can help a lot for staying on top of dysphoria, and you can kinda take two approaches based off of how quickly your hair is growing back. Either:

- Shave daily for around 10 minutes before and during a shower

- Shave every 2 weeks for about an hour, dealing with the faster growing hair in the meantime

For me, I find it quite hard to commit to daily shaving, so I do my shaving routine as follows:

- Shave my face twice a day, once in the morning, once in the evening

- Shave my chest once a week

- Shave everything else every two weeks

If you're doing it just to present a relatively hairless appearance, this will be enough, but sometimes dysphoria can be a bitch, so you may want to do it more often *for yourself*.

I hate facial hair and body hair :(

[cheekybirb]

dana's love of raine is so funny too because they're honestly one of the most dull characters in the show for me. their only personality is being a cool badass who even belos thinks is super powerful. but every time i watch scenes with raine i'm just like...ok, what is their motivation as a character? what are their flaws? why should i care about this character? and the only response both the show and the fandom can come up with is, 'how can you not like them? they're so cool!'

Yessssss!!!

Belos is supposed to be THE most powerful witch on the boiling iles! THE MOST! And yet, as soon as Raine comes in, he's beat!! He also just let Raine get away with betraying the emperors coven too!! Raine is only shown to have stage fright and then becomes a rouge and THEN goes against the emperor WHYYYYY???

That is so true for Eda, too! Why did she become a wild witch other than she just wanted to break the rules? and WHY was she never caught??

ITS THE SAME FOR LUZ because Luz beat him with fire magic in s1 FIRE MAGIC

AND THEN THEY GET AWAY

HOW?? WHY DOES BELOS DO NOTHING IF HES THE MOST POWERFUL WITCH

AND WHY DOES THE MOST POWERFUL COVEN NOT DO SHIT???!!

[societyfolklore]

Dangerous Notes – Part 6

Title: Dangerous Notes – Part 6

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Singer!Female Reader

Fic Summary: Reluctantly agreeing to fill in for her sick friend at a prestigious jazz club, The Armoury, Reader finds herself thrust into a world of old- world glamour and unknown danger. The club’s enigmatic owner, Bucky Barnes, has set his sights on making her a permanent fixture on his stage- and in his life.

Chapter Summary:  Caught in a storm of jealousy and possessiveness when Bucky Barnes finally snaps. Tension erupts into an unrestrained confrontation backstage.

Word Count: 3.7K

Fic Warnings: // Explicit Content // Mature Themes.18+, Minors DNI,Dark Romance, Slow Burn, Possessive/Obsessive behaviour, Violence, Smut (eventually)  Chapter Warnings:  Possessive/obsessive behaviour, jealousy, physical tension, emotional manipulation, strong language, fear of implied violence, intense confrontation.

A/N: Updates Thursday bi Weekly  (Probably will be throwing up an extra update in March sine it’s Bucky Barnes birthday month!)   You knew something felt off the moment you arrived at The Armoury.

Maybe it was the lingering tension from the flowers Bucky had sent the day before, the way their presence in your apartment had unsettled you rather than reassured you. Maybe it was the way your mind kept circling back to his words from Sunday night-the way he had pressed you, watched you, tested you. It didn’t help that your coworkers had noticed, teasing you about your supposed 'secret admirer' You had dodged their questions, offering half-hearted shrugs, but the feeling had clung to you like a second skin.

Or maybe it was the way you were starting to feel the lines between your real life and this place begin to blur in ways you didn’t like. The Armoury had a way of drawing people in, wrapping them up in its shadowy embrace, and you were starting to wonder if you were letting it pull you in further than you ever intended. It was dangerous, feeling like this-like you belonged in a world that you knew you shouldn’t be a part of. But the thrill, the intoxicating pull of the stage, the whispers of curiosity that danced through your veins-it was getting harder to ignore.

Shaking off the unease, you made your way through the side entrance, the low hum of the band warming up drifting from the main room. The familiar scent of aged whiskey and faint cigar smoke greeted you, mingling with the subtle spice of expensive colognes and perfumes. You adjusted your bag over your shoulder, exhaling slowly as if the simple act of breathing could help steady your nerves. As you passed the bar, Yelena caught your eye, handing off a tray to one of the servers before leaning toward you.

“You look tense.”

You scoffed lightly, trying to keep your voice casual. “I think Barnes is trying to ruin my life.”

Yelena smirked. “You’re not the first to think that.” She tilted her head, studying you a little too closely. You didn't want to talk about it, but Yelena might have a better understanding, some insight.

"He sent flowers to my school. I was hoping to get out of telling anyone there I was here. You know? Keep things separate."

Yelena’s eyebrow went up. “Most women like flowers.”

Your stomach twisted. “I don’t know what they mean.”

Yelena hummed, pouring herself a short glass of vodka. “Barnes doesn’t do things without a reason.” She took a sip, setting the glass down. “But that doesn’t mean he knows what the hell he’s doing either.”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Yelena leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “These guys? They don’t do emotions the way normal people do. Emotionally constipated.” She let the words settle before continuing, her tone lighter but still edged with knowing. "Maybe you've ruffled his ‘eathers, now he's trying to do it back?"

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Well, that’s unhelpful.”

Yelena just chuckled, shaking her head. “I didn't say I was goin’ to be. But maybe you should start thinking less about what he meant and more a‘bout why you care?"

Bucky was watching. Again.

He could feel Sam was watching him with the kind of knowing smirk that made Bucky want to tell him to mind his own damn business as he got closer to the table Bucky had put himself at. 

Sam slid into the seat next to him with a low exhale, setting his drink down on the table. "It's quiet out there tonight. No movement from Stark’s people. Everything’s as it should be. Steve decided to stay up at the pool hall for the night with some of the commandos. Just to be safe. It’s the closest outpost we’ve got to Queens."

Bucky gave a small nod, still staring at you on stage. "Good."

Sam took a slow sip of his drink, following Bucky’s gaze before smirking. "You’re staring again."

Bucky didn’t respond, swirling the whiskey in his glass, his sharp blue eyes fixed on the stage. He was sure you weren’t looking anywhere near him on purpose. That annoyed him more than it should.

"She’s good for business," he muttered.

Sam scoffed. "That’s your excuse for glaring like she owes you money." 

Bucky’s jaw ticked. "She’s why we’ve got this many people here on a Tuesday."

Sam leaned in, voice dropping. "Sure. But I bet your can think of all sorts of uses for her right now outside of business."

Bucky said nothing, just took another slow sip of whiskey.

Sam let out a knowing chuckle. "I mean, I get it. She’s a fine-looking bird… soft, got that voice that makes a man wanna sit back and let her sing all night. Can’t blame the crowd for coming back. Can’t blame you either."

Bucky’s grip on his glass tightened. "You’re enjoying this too much."

"A little." Sam grinned. "I just like watching you squirm. It’s funny."

Bucky finally tore his gaze away from the stage long enough to shoot him a glare. "I don’t squirm."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you absolutely squirm. I’d put money on it. Just go talk to her after." 

Bucky huffed, shaking his head and looking back at you. "I talk to her."

Sam leaned back, stretching lazily. "Like a person, Buck. You remember how to be one of those dontcha?"

“Shut up and let me listen.” Bucky leaned back in his chair, eyes still locked on the stage, jaw tightening ever so slightly. He took another slow sip of whiskey, but it did nothing to cool the heat simmering just beneath his skin. He could hear Sam smirking beside him, the smug bastard enjoying this way too much.

“You’re really not gonna admit it, huh?” Sam pressed, stretching lazily in his seat. “That she’s got you twisted up.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, rolling the whiskey in his glass. “You done?”

Sam chuckled. “Alright, alright. Keep your shirt on."  Bucky ignored him, eyes following the slow movement of your fingers as they skimmed the mic stand. Every note that left your lips settled in his chest like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He clenched his jaw.

Sam leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You ever think about what you’re gonna do if she finds out?”

Bucky’s grip tightened on his glass. “Finds out what?”

Sam’s grin widened. “That you’re not just watching for business.”

Bucky shot him a glare, his voice coming out lower, rougher. “I said shut up and let me listen.”

Bucky walked through the backstage section heading for your dressing room. He told himself it was just a routine pass, making sure things were running smoothly. But he wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t lying to himself very well.

Sam had gotten into his head. For once, he’d actually listened. Just talk to her, Sam had said. Maybe he was right-maybe this was all in Bucky’s head. The paranoia, the constant years of looking over his shoulder, had made him see threats where there weren’t any. Maybe he was turning her into something she wasn’t-a variable to control, a potential risk to assess.

Then there were the flowers.

He hadn’t even been sure why he’d sent them. Maybe to make sure she came back. Maybe because he’d caught that flicker of hurt on her face when he’d questioned her integrity, the way her lips had pressed together, like she’d been about to say something but changed her mind. And that had done something to him.

It had made him feel like an ass.

There was a difference between being cautious, protecting what was his, and just being a prick. Maybe he’d overstepped. Maybe if he just talked to her, he’d be able to put this whole thing to bed. Hear her voice, confirm she wasn’t a threat-not to him, not to the club, not to his peace of mind.

Because despite the way she had his stomach knotted, he did like hearing her voice. He was so deep in his own thoughts that he didn't notice the sound of another's voice in your dressing room till he got to the open door and stopped. 

Pietro.

The bastard was standing too close. Too relaxed, too comfortable in your space. Bucky saw the way his arm rested behind your back, the way he leaned in just a little too much, fingers drumming along the back of the chair to whatever tune was coming out of your phone. He like he belonged there, next to you. Like you belonged there, tucked into the space he made for you.

"No! I like it."  Pietro was nodding along, his head. Your face lit up at his compliment, the slight blush in your cheek.    Bucky’s fist clenched before he even realized it, nails biting into his palm. He told himself to stay put, to observe a little longer, to let logic dictate his reaction. Maybe there was nothing to react to. Maybe Pietro was just being his usual flirtatious charming self. But then-

"So, coffee tomorrow?” Pietro asked, flashing his usual cocky grin.

You smiled. Smiled. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Bucky saw red.

His chest tightened, his jaw locked so hard it ached. Before he could even think, he was moving, his voice cutting through the air like a blade, low and dangerous. “Maximoff.”

Pietro turned lazily, entirely unbothered. “Boss.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped to you, then back to Pietro. His gut churned, the possessive, ugly feeling twisting like a knife in his ribs. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like the way Pietro had settled so easily into your space. Didn’t like the way you let him, the way you smiled at him. 

“Get lost,” Bucky bit out, his voice even but laced with something lethal.

Pietro smirked, ever unfazed. “Relax, Barnes. It’s just music talk.” He turned to you, tossing a wink. “Call me.”

Bucky barely held himself back from putting Pietro through the damn wall as the white haired man stepped widely around him. 

Instead, he let out a slow, controlled breath, his jaw tightening as he turned to you. His voice was sharp, quieter but no less commanding. “Since when do you get coffee with him?”

You blinked at him, thrown by the intensity in his tone. “What? We're just going to talk about some new pieces, for here. Would of thought you'd-  Why is it a problem?" 

Bucky didn’t have an answer for that. At least not one he wanted to admit.

His fists remained clenched at his sides, his whole body rigid with something he couldn’t name. This wasn’t just about business. Wasn’t just about keeping things in check. It was something else, something deeper, something that made his pulse hammer against his ribs.

You barely had time to react before Bucky was in your space, radiating anger like heat off pavement. It wasn’t just anger-it was something unrestrained, something that felt too big for the room, too overwhelming for you to process. His chest heaved with each rough breath, his body taut, every muscle coiled like a predator ready to strike. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers twitching as if they ached to grab, to possess.

You had never seen him like this. Never seen any one like this. 

“What is your problem?” you managed, voice steadier than you felt, even as your back hit the dressing table.

Bucky’s eyes burned into yours, pupils blown wide, his expression twisted between rage and something else-something deeper, something raw. His chest heaved, breath sharp and uneven, his fists clenching at his sides before flexing open again like he couldn’t decide whether to grab you or hold himself back. The controlled, calculating man you had seen before was gone-this was something different. His movements were sharp, restless, his energy barely contained, each twitch of his fingers betraying the struggle to stay in control. His fingers twitched, his shoulders tense, and when his gaze snapped back to yours, there was nothing composed about it-just raw, unchecked possession. He looked like a man on the edge of something dangerous, like he had already lost whatever grip on control he had left. His jaw worked, muscles tense, his nostrils flaring slightly as if even breathing around you was difficult. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough around the edges, barely controlled. Like he was a second away from snapping. You swore he almost looked unhinged.

“You.” His voice was low, jagged, but it wavered, just slightly, like even saying it out loud made something inside him crack. “You’re in my head, even when you’re not here. I hear you in my sleep. I hear you when I’m alone. I hear you when I should be thinking about anything else. But it’s always you. Like a song I can’t turn off, like a ghost haunting every damn part of my life and you've only been here a few days!”

His fingers twitched, his stance shifting as if torn between pacing, seizing you, or forcing himself to leave before saying something he couldn’t take back. His breaths came uneven, rough, like he was struggling to force them out between clenched teeth. “I can’t turn it off. I can’t fucking stop thinking about you. You don’t just go away. You’re a song I on replay, a distraction I can’t afford. And it’s-fuck-it’s driving me insane.”

Your breath hitched, stomach twisting. Was it the break in his voice that rattled you, or the weight of his confession itself?

“Excuse me?” you whispered, stunned, pulse spiking in your throat.

His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck working beneath his skin, like he was really trying to hold himself together. “It’s like you and that damn voice of yours are haunting me. Since you got here!” His voice was sharp, biting. “You’re making my life impossible. I hear you everywhere-when I’m in my office, when I try to sleep. You don’t fucking leave.”

Your heart pounded so hard it was dizzying. Me? You're saying this is my fault? I’m just here to do my job.”

Bucky let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. It was a stark contrast to the man who always appeared so in control, so calculated. His breath came uneven, sharp, as if his own words had unsettled him. The mask he wore so well-calm, cold, untouchable-was slipping, cracking apart right in front of you, and it left something raw, something unfiltered in its place. His hand raked through his hair too roughly, like he was trying to shake you out of his skull. His jaw clenched even tighter, eyes flickering with something raw, something bordering on unhinged.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me. Then I come in, and your both... Standing there, letting him touch you, letting him sit too close... Like he had any right to. Like he could just take what's mine and I’d be fine with it." 

Your stomach twisted. "It’s just coffee, to go over." Then your brain process what he'd said "Min- What?" Your voice trailed off, because you weren’t sure what else to say. It felt ridiculous. This didn’t make sense. None of it did. Why was he talking to you like this? Why was he this angry? You had seen Bucky cold, calculated, always in control. But this? This was something else entirely.

His fixation wasn’t about business. This was about you.

But why?

His presence felt suffocating, his eyes too sharp, too dark, filled with something you didn’t understand. Something you weren’t sure you wanted to understand.

“It’s not just coffee,” he ground out, voice dark, each word slow and deliberate. “It’s him looking at you like you’re something he can have. It’s your letting him.”

Your pulse stuttered, caught between fear and something more-something you couldn’t name, didn’t dare to. His voice, raw and unfiltered, wasn’t just laced with fury. It unsettled you, sent an unfamiliar shiver down your spine. You wanted to move, to push back, to speak, but your body refused, frozen under the sheer weight of his presence.

“Letting him?” Your voice came out sharper than you intended, but there was no masking the disbelief threading through it. Who talked like this? Who acted like this? "I wasn't-" 

Bucky’s throat worked, his whole body coiled tight, like he was a second away from snapping. His breathing was ragged, uneven.

“Say that all you want.” His voice came out like a growl, low and dangerous. You watched his jaw tick, his muscles flexing like he was fighting some inner battle, one he was rapidly losing. “This is my place. These are my people. And I decide what happens here.”

Every syllable was laced with something possessive, something raw and untamed. “Everything in here is because of me.”

His blue eyes burned into you, demanding something you weren’t sure you could give. Did he want submission? Did he want you to agree with him, to acknowledge his insanity? Or was it something deeper-something unspoken that neither of you were ready to admit? Understanding? Acceptance? Something else entirely? You weren’t sure, but you knew one thing-this was no longer about business.

This was something else.

Something dangerous.

Your actions had set off something deep, something that had been lurking beneath the surface, just waiting for a reason to escape.

For a second, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. The space between you felt electric, charged with something volatile, something on the edge of detonating. His gaze flickered to your lips, and for a breath, it felt like the entire world had gone still.

The silence stretched unbearably between you, thick and charged with something you didn't know how to name. His breathing was unsteady, his fingers flexing at his sides as if struggling against the urge to reach for you. The weight of his stare felt suffocating, his pupils blown wide, dark with something far more dangerous than a tempers edge he was riding. 

“If you’re going to start sleeping with someone around here, it’s going to be me.”

You barely had time to process before he added, voice rough, guttural, “Not some white-haired bastard.”

Then he was gone, storming out, leaving behind air so thick it felt like it was pressing down on you, suffocating, charged with something you didn’t dare name.

The silence in the room was deafening after he left.

You stood there for a few seconds, stunned, your breath still shallow, your heart hammering against your ribs. The space where Bucky had just been still felt charged, suffocating, as if his presence lingered in the very air around you.

Your hands trembled slightly as they pressed into the dressing table behind you, grounding yourself against the solid wood. What the hell had just happened? What had you just seen? That wasn’t the cold, calculated Bucky Barnes you’d come to expect, -the one who always seemed to be five steps ahead, who always played the long game with a smirk and a low, knowing chuckle. Where was the Bucky one who had tried to get under your skin in his office. The side you'd just seen wasn’t calculated at all. He had come apart, unravelling before you in a way you never thought possible.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. Why did he act like that with you? What weren’t you seeing? He didn't even like you. 

The door creaked open behind you, snapping you out of your spiralling thoughts. Pietro leaned against the frame, his usual smirk in place, but when he saw your face, his expression faltered, he looked worried. 

“Songbird?” he asked, his voice softer than usual. “You okay?”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as if trying to shake off the weight of the last few minutes.

“I don’t know.”

Pietro stepped inside, his eyes scanning you, his usual cocky confidence dimmed with concern. “Did he-” he started, but you cut him off with a quick shake of your head.

“No,” you said, your voice quieter than you wanted it to be. “It wasn’t like that.”

But you didn’t know how to explain what it was like. Bucky hadn’t even touched you. But how do you explain someone unravelling in front of you? Someone like him?

Instead of processing it as anger, you felt something else creeping in-uncertainty, confusion, something you didn’t want to name.

Pietro shifted, stepping closer, his concern evident. "Let me get you home."

You shook your head immediately. "No."

If Bucky knew you had gotten in the car with Pietro after... You didn’t want to think about what would happen.

Pietro exhaled, holding his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay... just breathe. You're alright."

You swallowed, but the air still felt thick in your lungs. "He..."

Pietro ran a hand through his hair. "Sometimes the Boss gets... a little off his axis. Stress. Don't hold it against him. Just-let's get you into a cab and home, yeah? I'll get Yelena to call it for you." "Ok.." You felt weak now, drained and he got you into your chair. Pietro lingered for a second, watching you carefully like he wasn’t sure if you might fall apart the moment he left. You wished you could tell him something, anything to shake the feeling creeping over you, but you didn’t have the words.

Instead, you forced a small, tired smile. “I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t look convinced. “You sure?”

No. You weren’t. But you nodded anyway.

Pietro exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, I’ll get Yelena to call that cab.” He hesitated before stepping toward the door. “Look, Songbird… don’t let this get to you, alright?”

You swallowed. “Pietro…”

His smirk returned, but it was softer now. “Hey, it’s nothing you did. Just… sometimes, the Boss forgets we’re not all in his little world.” He tapped the doorframe, offering one last look before disappearing into the hallway.

Silence swallowed the room again.

You sank into your chair, legs suddenly too weak to hold you up any longer. The dressing room felt smaller now, suffocating, like the air had been pressed out of it by the sheer force of what had just happened.

What the hell were you supposed to do now?

Your fingers curled into your lap, gripping the fabric of your dress as if it could steady you. The memory of Bucky’s voice echoed in your mind, rough and unsteady-his words weren’t just an order, they were a claim.

You didn’t know what terrified you more-that he had said it…

Or that some part of you had wanted to hear it.