#they were brothers in all the ways that mattered!!!!!

[smileysuh]

princess & kingpin

🌙 starring. Lee Donghyuck x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. Donghyuck might have a reputation to uphold in the darker world he inhabits with his family, but with you, this is Hyuck, the rascal ward who’d stolen your heart when you were children. Right now, he’s not a future Kingpin, nor are you a Princess. Instead, you’re man and wife, and you intend to reap the new benefits these connected titles give you.

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, arranged marriage, virgin!reader, thick dick!Donghyuck, first-time sex, wedding night sex, body worship, wedding garter, fingering, pussy eating, lots of foreplay, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, good first-time communication, lots of kissing, gentle/hand holding sex, talks of ‘consummation/duty’, Hyuck uses a knife to cut open her intricate laced wedding gown, etc… I pet names: (hers) Princess.  

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 5.7k

🍭 aus.  Modern royal au, mafia au, childhood friends to lovers, strategically arranged marriage, princess! y/n, future kingpin!Haechan

☀️ mlist + an. i had a field day with the au selection for this one haha

Prologue:

There was never any doubt when Donghyuck was born, that he was his father’s son. He’d come out of the womb punching, and despite his mother being a mistress, the renowned weapons dealer had claimed Donghyuck as his own, as he’d claimed other illegitimate would-be heirs. 

The blood of the mother was redundant in Donghyuck’s father’s eyes, all that mattered, was that he was a Lee. This mentality had stayed with Donghyuck in his early childhood, growing up amongst other half-siblings. Mark, for example, was slightly older, and although he had more of his mother’s gentle temperament, he knew how to live up to his name when it mattered. Jeno, in contrast, was very much another mini-me to their father, very bold, very aggressive. 

When Donghyuck was ten, something happened that would change the entire course of his life. 

Having lived in a corrupt monarchy for the entirety of his existence, and having a father who was somewhat of a Kingpin in the shady world of weapons, Donghyuck grew to have a disdain for the King, who was always meddling, always making choices that had negative effects on his people.

The Lees weren’t the only clan who hated the King, in fact, the head royal’s choices were so bad, that he gained the moniker ‘The Mad King.’ His own family had turned against him, and when he would not willingly relinquish his power it was decided that for the first time in a very long time, an internal assassination would be the best choice for the entire realm.

When Donghyck was ten, his eldest half-brother, Lee Taeyong, assassinated The Mad King, thus making way for the thrown to be usurped by the King’s own younger brother, a younger brother who now had ties, and a debt to settle, with Donghyuck’s family.

The first year after The Mad King’s death saw more reform for the better than perhaps ever in the history of the kingdom. There were some who were unhappy with a militia-style arms dealer family injecting themselves into the court through a blood favor, but others understood that sometimes, this type of brute force is necessary for positive change. Besides, the new King understood, as the King before him had not, that having the raw power of the Lees backing him up would be the safest choice of all.

At eleven, Donghyuck was sent to the castle to be a ward for the royal family. He would spend six months of the year learning the ins and outs of the court. This was the first time Donghyuck had felt like a half-son, like the birth of his mother had reflected negatively on him. He didn’t want to be in the libraries studying, or learning how to make diplomatic concessions- that wasn’t who he was. Lee Donghyuck was not a royal, and in the mind of his eleven-year-old self, he never would be.

Donghyuck would spend seven years in between the castle and his family home, feeling torn, feeling less than his half-brothers, who were gaining the benefit of a full-time life with his father. There were a few bright moments with the royals, bright moments when he’d first met you, the Princess. The two of you became fast friends, both sharing a common feeling of dissatisfaction with your fathers’ treatment, both feeling like being the youngest in a large clan had its downsides.

At eighteen, Donghyuck was no longer forced to be a ward. He was a full member of the Lee’s now, and he’d spent all his time in the castle working to be the best asset to his father that he could be, desperately wanting to prove to his father that he could be the best of all his sons, maybe even better than Taeyong, who had been the tool used to secure their spot as royal-adjacents. 

It wasn’t until Donghyuck was twenty that he learned the truth of why he had been the one chosen to go to the castle. He, out of all his siblings, of age, and of sharp mind, was determined to be the most useful plant within the marble walls of royalty.

After he’d found out how his father truly saw him, Donghyuck became a fully unstoppable force, and he never looked back.

One:

“It’s been a long time,” the old advisor to the King says as he takes a seat, staring at Donghyuck from behind his large office desk. 

“It has,” Donghyuck agrees, eying all the official papers that still scatter Seunghyun’s space. 

“I received the letter from your father,” the advisor continues, reaching for the document in question to hold it up. “I suppose I always knew this day was coming, especially after what your family did for our King.”

Donghyuck nods. It would seem to him that the notion of an arranged marriage had likely always been in his father’s back pocket, but of course, when Donghyuck was younger, he hadn’t realized he would be the intended Lee to join the royal family. Now, as a man, the entire play makes sense. He’s not a complete stranger to the princesses, nor is he unfamiliar with the court and the way the royals conduct themselves.

No, Donghyuck was purposefully sent here by his father to infiltrate, to make the exact move that he’s attempting to make right now. 

Lee Donghyuck will marry into the royal family, forever securing an unbreakable bond between them, and it is this mission, that Donghyuck has unknowingly spent over ten years trying to achieve. 

“I have discussed this letter with the King,” Seunghyun continues, “and we assume there is no guess as to whom you would like as your bride.”

“No guess,” Donghyuck responds with a chuckle, looking down at the Lee family ring on his pinky. 

“You always did have a connection with the youngest princess. If it would be amenable to your father… If he has no other specifications as to which Princess you are to be wedded to, the King agrees that you and Princess y/n can be wed within a week’s time.”

Donghyuck can’t help the way his heart thumps in his chest. His father had made him aware of this royally arranged marriage a month ago, but he’s still not quite used to the idea that you’ll be his wife.

He’d always had an attraction to you, an attraction to your body, mind, and spirit- but as a teenager, he’d done his best to push those thoughts aside. He’d been acutely aware that your differing situations in life would most likely keep you from ever being in a union- 

In some ways, Donghyuck feels like he’s entered a very good dream, but there are some anxieties that come with it. After all, he hasn’t seen you in years… what if your opinion of him has changed?

“That timeline works for the Lee clan,” Donghyuck says smoothly, “as does the Princess in question.”

It’s funny how easily Donghyuck slips back into the diction of the castle, the ‘proper’ way of speaking. it’s been years since he’s been here, but in some odd way, it’s as if he never left.

Two:

“The two of you always had a connection,” your older sister Jenni concedes as you sit in front of your vanity, an artist working on your makeup. “But you haven't seen him in years.”

“He can’t have changed that much, right?” you ask, looking between your siblings.

Hwasa exchanges a glance with Jenni. As the second oldest, Hwasa is married already, however, in contrast to your arranged match, she’d been wed to a Prince and is now next in line for a throne half a continent away.

“Certain qualities are bound to stay the same,” Hwasa says diplomatically. “However… I have heard about his more recent reputation.”

You’ve all heard about it. Once upon a time, Taeyong had been the prodigal son of the Lee clan, he’d even overthrown a whole kingdom for the chance to strengthen family ties, but in recent years, the story goes that the eldest Lee boy had become timid, less so like his father. Donghyuck, in contrast, has supposedly risen in the ranks, working all the way up to somewhat of a right-hand man figure, despite him being one of the younger members of the halfling brood. 

“He’ll still be the same boy who wanted to skip lessons to play in the park,” you insist. “The same boy who got high marks without studying.”

“Intellect is an attractive trait,” Hwasa concedes, “however, I seem to remember his reckless disdain for rules got you in trouble a number of times as well.”

“She was always following him into bad situations,” Jenni agrees with a laugh. “It was charming when they were young. A twelve-year-old kingpin’s son, corrupting a princess to go on ‘dangerous’ quests, playing pretend in the castle park.” 

“I guess neither of us thought we’d ever be very important to our families,” you sigh. “I’m the youngest daughter. Sure, I was expected to marry well, but I think we all knew I’d never be more than a princess. I’m no Queen.”

“Maybe not one in name,” Hwasa says, cocking her head to the side as she plays with your veil. “But someone has to run the Lee empire when the kingpin dies, and many sources are pointing toward Donghyuck as being the next in line. Securing you as a match would definitely add some… legitimacy, considering the fact that he’s a half-blood.”

“His father’s wife never bore children,” you point out, feeling defensive. “It made sense for him to have mistresses, children born out of wedlock. He kept his wife, whom he loved, but still needed a line to inherit his work. It’s an arrangement they had.”

“I’ve heard conflicting reports on whether Mrs. Lee was very agreeable to the situation, having a host of children calling your husband father while she herself was not a birth mother,” Hwasa sighs.

“I don’t want to hear about this anymore,” you declare. “I’m getting married today, and these politics and talks of family lines and legitimacy are dampening my mood.”

Your sisters exchange one last look, but then they bow their heads to you, a sign of submission.

You know they’re just protective, that they’re not the only ones dissecting the arrangement with your fiance. 

Having spent your life in a castle, you’re used to gossip. The only person who never truly cared about what others thought was Donghyuck, and you’re eager for the strength he provided you when you were young.

Three:

Donghyuck can hardly breathe when the church doors open and you begin to walk through. Your veil obscures your face, your chin dipped down to pay attention to the floor as your father slowly escorts you up the aisle. Even without being able to fully see you, Donghyuck can tell you’ve only grown more beautiful in the years since he’s seen you, and his heart begins to thump wildly in his chest.

Jeno and Mark are his groomsmen, and he can feel them shifting behind him, clearly reacting to your beauty, as everyone in the House of God is. 

Things seem to move incredibly slowly, and also incredibly fast. The King is handing you off to Donghyuck, and he’s taking you by the hand, marveling at the scar on your palm that you’d gotten from slipping on a rock when you were both fifteen. God, the castle physician had had a field day with Hyuck when that happened-

He can feel your eyes on him, and soon, he’s lifting your veil to see your face.

Donghyuck can feel the smile that appears on his lips, and you shyly beam back, downcasting your gaze. The Lee can hardly hear the minister as he goes through a useless traditional ceremony, it’s all business after all.

The only things that matter are the ‘I do���s’ and the kiss, and when that happens, Donghyuck is fully present. He wets his lips, squeezing your hand gently. You give him a small nod, a wordless show that it’s okay, that he can move forward and solidify the future you’ll now have together, the future that, in some ways, was always meant to be. 

He wants to be gentle with you, cupping your face and watching you intently as you both move in. At the last moment, your eyes flutter closed, and he mirrors the action, pressing his lips to yours.

It’s the most chaste kiss Donghyuck’s ever had, but at the same time, nothing in the world has ever excited him more.

You taste like mandarine oranges and springtime, and a familiar feeling that has been buried for years begins to bubble up in the young man’s chest like the blossoming of a cherry tree. You’re his future, and he can feel it in his very soul.

Four:

You’ve felt as if things had progressed quite naturally at the wedding and reception, but now, going with Donghyuck to his home and finally getting some alone time- well, you’re beginning to feel twinges of anxiety.

This man, who you’d known years ago, has grown up. His hair is a little longer, and his hands bear the marks of an everlasting fighter’s soul, but despite these changes, his smile is still the same, as is the soft way he gazes at you.

“How are you feeling?” Donghyuck asks, walking around his large master bedroom to retrieve some water for you.

“I’m alright, and you?” 

“Never been better,” your husband grins, handing you a cup and sitting across from you in the small seating area of his room by the fire. “Were you surprised by this whole arrangement thing?”

You cock your head to the side, considering the question. “Yes, and no. I hadn’t expected a marriage connection between our families, but once I was made aware of it, it felt like I was stupid for never seeing the intention before. And when I found out it would be you marrying someone from my family, I knew you would choose me.”

“We always got along.”

“We did more than get along,” you laugh, feeling your skin flush. You take a sip of water to steady yourself. “I’d always had a crush on you, Donghyuck, following you around like a lost puppy-”

“You never felt like a lost puppy to me. You were just my best friend six months of the year.”

You can’t help but smile. “Best friend,” you repeat, releasing a sad breath. “I was upset when you turned eighteen and stopped coming. I never heard from you.”

“Life got busy,” Donghyuck frowns. 

“I’ve heard,” you nod.

You can feel him studying you, and he leans forward. “I’m sorry. I should have contacted you.”

“It’s alright,” you wave your hand. “We’re here now.”

“We are,” he agrees. “If it makes you feel better, I’ve been thinking about you.”

“You have?”

“I uh…” He rubs the back of his neck shyly, “I always had a crush on you too, but I figured it would never work out, so…”

“It’s funny how life has a way of bringing people together again,” you muse. “As if our fates were always set in stone, always meant to be…” you search for the right word, and it comes to you both in unison: “aligned.” 

You both laugh, looking down, and it’s as if you’re shy teenagers again, teasing with the idea of a forbidden romance that has now come to fruition, with the full backing of both of your families.

“You look very beautiful,” Donghyuck muses, eyes raking over your wedding dress.

“I thought you might like this one,” you smile, also looking down at yourself. “I remember you used to like the bows I’d wear in my hair, always tugging on them-”

“So you wrapped yourself up like a pretty present for me,” Donghyuck deduces. “How very generous of you, Princess.”

A giddy tingle erupts up your spine. While everyone calls you Princess - as it is your title - it feels different coming from Donghyuck’s lips, and it always has.

“It’s our wedding night…” you point out, “I wanted to gift you something, give you something to unwrap.”

Donghyuck swallows thickly, a motion you don’t miss. “Princess… you’ve gotten… bold since we last met.”

“You’re my husband, can’t I be bold with you, Hyuck?”

He takes a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to be… I mean, I’m willing to give you time-”

“Consummation is a time-honored tradition,” you point out, only half teasing. “It’s our wedding night, and I’m not the only person with expectations.”

“I doubt your family expects me to give you an heir, Hwasa and your eldest brother have more than delivered in that area,” Donghyuck laughs. “But I see your point.”

“Do you?” You set your water down, standing. Turning your back to Donghyuck, you approach the large bed before looking over your shoulder at him. He’s taking in the bows that make the length of your corsetted back, and you can see his mind working to figure out how he’s going to undo everything in a timely manner. “Come, husband, unwrap your wedding present.”

You’ve been dreaming about this night all week- in fact, you’ve been fantasizing about this since you were sixteen. 

Donghyuck might have a reputation to uphold in the darker world he inhabits with his family, but with you, this is Hyuck, the rascal ward who’d stolen your heart when you were children. Right now, he’s not a future Kingpin, nor are you a Princess. Instead, you’re man and wife, and you intend to reap the new benefits these connected titles give you.

You can sense Donghyuck hesitate as he approaches you, coming to a stop just at your back. His hands gently smooth up your arms, and he leans forward to press his lips to your shoulder. “Are you sure about this?” he asks.

“I’ve never been more sure,” you respond, arching your neck to look back at him. 

Donghyuck reaches up to pinch your chin, and then he kisses you.

It’s a soft kiss like you’d shared at the alter just hours ago, but you have no need to put on a chaste show for royals, there’s no one currently in attendance at this special moment. It’s just you and him, and you’re quick to turn things deeper, releasing a small moan of pleasure as you turn in his arms, threading your fingers through his silky hair.

He grabs your waist, but as you kiss, you can feel his palm smoothing to the small of your back. He begins to pluck loose all the intricate bows, not missing a beat as he does so.

You tug at his suit and Donghuck concedes to you just long enough to get his jacket off before he returns to his task. The kiss is turning heated very quickly, and your skin is tingling with excitement, your heart racing like a wild bird in your rib cage.

Donghyuck begins to kiss down to your throat, licking and sucking on the skin while you gasp and whimper. He’s all-consuming, and you don’t know where to focus as he worships you while simultaneously undoing the bows on the back of your dress. 

His lips ghost by the swell of your breasts, pushed up by the corsetted structure in your wedding gown. God, it feels amazing, and you throw your head back, panting deeply.

“Being so good for me, Princess,” Donghyuck muses, his lips trailing back up your throat. He pulls away, looking down at you. “I want you to know- you can change your mind at any time and I won’t hold it against you-”

“Hyuck,” you groan. “Can you just let me want you?” You bunch your hands up in his suit. “Can you accept that I need you? That I’m not being forced, or coerced- that this ‘arranged’ marriage isn’t even really that ‘arranged’ because, for me, it’s always been you?” 

He’s staring at you in shock, and you decide to take matters into your own hands. You muster up all your strength and push him onto the bed before confidently mounting him. You gather up the poofy skirts of your dress, getting comfortable so you can grind down on him despite all the fabric in the way.

“I didn’t expect this,” Donghyuck admits, swallowing thickly.

“Get used to it,” you fire back, leaning down to cup his face, pressing your lips against his with a newfound passion.

He quickly gets to work on the back of your dress again, and now you’re both moaning at the feeling of you grinding down on top of him. 

Something hard is pressing up against your core, and the knowledge that he’s already hard has you feeling feverish in the best possible way. He wants you the way you want him, and you’re starting to regret wearing such an intricate dress.

“Fuck this,” Hyuck groans, pushing you off of him and onto the bed. He grabs you next, flipping you onto your stomach. When you look over your shoulder, you realize he’s produced a knife - had he been hiding that in a clip on the back of his pants this whole time?

With one rough stroke, he cuts through all the ribbons and the lace along the back of your dress, ruining it in an effort to get to you quickly.

“I never had much patience for presents or keeping wrapping paper intact,” Donghyuck muses, leaning over to set his knife on the bedside table. “Let's get you out of this fucking gown.”

He flips you again, and you release a giggle at the manhandling, loving this new side of your husband. He’s clearly insatiable, and it sets your entire body on fire as he grips your dress and practically tears it from your form. 

You’re in undergarments, and unlike your dress, there hadn't been any royal and historical specifications about the details, so the thong and garter are very much a contrast to the now-destroyed gown that’s been tossed aside. 

The corset on the dress has been enough to not merit a bra of any sort, so now, looking up at Donghyuck, you’re already half naked, and it’s clear that he’s taken aback from the view.

He stops, just staring at you, his lips parted in disbelief. 

“Wow,” he breathes.

“Like what you see?”

“Yes, Princess.” He swallows thickly, gaze finally dipping to take in your thong and the wedding garter on your thigh. “This is pretty.” Donghyuck grabs at the lacey strap, pulling it away from your skin to let it gently snap back.

“It’s not the most traditional thing in the world for royals to wear one, but I thought you might enjoy it,” you muse.

“What do I do with it?”

“I was thinking… you could take it off with your teeth.”

“My teeth?” Donghyuck looks up at you with surprise.

“Your teeth,” you confirm, “but… maybe also take your shirt off first.”

“Is this tradition?” your husband asks as he begins to unbutton his top.

“Not entirely,” you giggle, enjoying the look of his tanned skin as more and more of it is revealed.

When you’d known Donghyuck before, he’d always been a little scrawny, but in his years away, he’s built muscle, and the sight of it is making you drool.

There are a few scars that litter his skin as well, scars that likely have stories you’ll have to ask about later, but right now, your focus is of a more primal nature.

Donghyuck shrugs his shirt to the floor, then he gets down on the bed between your legs. He starts peppering your calf in kisses, slowly ascending to your knee, then your thigh.

The feeling of his breath makes you groan and he looks up at you with dark eyes. 

“Keep going,” you urge, grabbing at the bed sheets. 

His teeth tease along the flimsy garter, and once he has an acceptable grip, he begins to tug it down your leg. Donghyuck moves slowly, toying with you and building the suspense. 

You can feel your pussy beginning to throb with need already, and when the garter is discarded, Donghyuck’s lips take the same path up your leg again, but this time, he doesn’t stop where the material had just been.

He continues until his breath is fanning across your covered core, and it makes you whine, gripping the sheets tighter.

“Can I take these off too?” Donghyuck asks, voice low as one of his fingers teases the waistband of your thong.

“Please,” you whimper, lifting your hips a little to help him remove the only piece of clothing still standing between your husband and what you both want most.

Your panties are gone in a flash, and then two hands are snaking under your thighs, adjusting your core. Donghyuck licks his lips, looking up at you. 

You expect him to say something, but he doesn’t, instead, he dives in, licking your pussy and sucking your clit into his mouth while you release a strangled cry. One of your hands flies down to tangle in his hair, and Donghyuck groans deeply, sending a vibration through your core that lights up your entire form.

As a Princess, your virtue has always been protected. You’re a virgin, and while you know about sex, you’ve never known what it is to experience it with another.

Nothing could have prepared you for this, for the way your entire body tingles with pleasure so all-consuming that you can’t help but moan desperately. 

Donghyuck eats you like he’s been a man starved, unashamed to be a little messy. 

There’s something sinful about it, but something that also feels so right- so correct.

Donghyuck adjusts slightly, and you feel a finger begin to gently circle your wet hole. He pushes just the tip in and you mewl from the sensation. Your husband takes your sound as an affirmation to continue, so he presses further inside of you, still moving slowly and gently to allow your body to adjust to the foreign intrusion.

You love how he’s taking his time with you, listening to your body and your cues.

It seems clear that he’s aware this is your first time with a man, and he’s not in some eager, self-gratifying rush to get to the part where he’s the one feeling good. 

Soon he has a whole finger inside of you while he continues to suck on your clit, and he pumps the digit slowly, working you open in the most delightful way.

“Can I add another?” he asks, gently kissing your sensitive bud as he looks up at you.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” you nod, swallowing thickly.

Donghyuck returns to his task, licking at your clit to distract you from the stretch that comes with two fingers now slowly working into you.

He adjusts his hand again, crooking the digits up to hit a sweet spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

“Oh my God-” you whimper, clutching at the sheets again.

“Feels good?” he asks.

“Feels amazing,” you confirm, eyes shut as you can enjoy the pleasure that’s coursing through you.

Donghyuck applies more pressure to the sweet spot inside of you, thrusting in an almost rhythmic fashion as he sucks harder on your clit. 

You’re all consumed by the throbbing ecstasy that’s bubbling out from your core and into the entirety of your body. 

“Do you think you might cum for me soon, Princess?” Donghyuck asks.

“I… I think so,” you nod, swallowing thickly.

“Take your time,” he assures you, “when the feeling hits, just let go for me.” 

He continues to worship your pussy, licking and sucking and stroking and fingering- your toes begin to curl from the pleasure, and the feeling is building quickly in your abdomen. 

You’re gasping now, panting and moaning, clutching at the bed desperately. “Hyuck-” you whimper.

He responds by sucking your clit even harder and your thighs move to close around him, but your husband pushes them open with his free hand. He finger fucks you even harder, and before you know it, the tension in your stomach is snapping.

A wave of euphoria unlike anything you’ve ever felt washes over you like a warm summer rain. You gasp loudly, pleasure throbbing out from your core and engulfing you.

Donghyuck doesn’t stop, he works you through it, ignoring the way your thighs are shaking around him, the way you’re clawing at the bed and crying out.

“Hyuck!” you whimper, finally unable to take any more of the pleasure-

Your husband pulls away from your core, and you hear him lick his lips, but you’re too exhausted to open your eyes.

He pulls away from your core. “You look good like this, Princess.” 

You don’t even have the words to respond, chest heaving, heart racing-

The bed dips as he lays down next to you, and you feel him push some hair away from your face. His lips brush your cheek, his hand moving down to your breast, where he begins to massage your flesh.

“That might be enough for tonight,” he muses softly.

“What?” Your eyes snap open.

“You look pretty tired.”

“Hyuck,” you take a deep breath, “I… I need you to fuck me.”

He stares at you in shock. “I’ve never heard that word come from your mouth before, Princess, this must be pretty serious.”

“It is,” you insist, cupping his cheek. “Please.” 

“If that’s what my Princess wants,” Donghyuck concedes with a grin. “I’ll go slowly, I promise.”

He gets up again, and you watch him take off his pants.

You’ve never seen a cock in real life before, and the way his springs up makes your mouth water.

He’s thick, and a decent size too, or so you assume. You lick your lips in anticipation as he gets back onto the bed with you.

He moves between your thighs, and your legs wrap around him instinctively, your hand cupping his cheek again.

You draw your lips to his as he begins to gently rut, his cock gliding between your soaked pussy lips with easy, teasing by your clit, but not entering you.

It’s as if he’s toying with you, and your patience runs thin very fast. “Please,” you whimper again.

“You got it, Princess.”

He grabs the base of his cock, adjusting so his tip can fully tease your hole now. He pushes in slightly and you grab his shoulders, squeezing and making him stop.

You can feel him watching your facial expressions as you get used to the largest intrusion you’ve ever had inside of you. 

“Just breathe,” he tells you, bringing his lips to your throat in an effort to soothe.

“Okay,” you nod, “okay, deeper.”

He follows your instructions, gently pushing in another inch only to pause and wait for your affirmation to continue.

This continues for a few minutes, Donghyuck diligently taking his time and allowing you to acclimatize to his cock until he’s fully sheathed in your wet and throbbing core. 

“Okay, okay,” you nod, breathing heavily. “You can move now.”

Donghyuck cups your cheek, kissing you softly as he begins to gently rock back and forth. Your pussy walls are getting used to the sensation, and the slick from your orgasm makes things very smooth as he gradually increases the intensity.

You begin to moan from the feeling of him, clawing at his shoulders again, kissing him desperately as he makes love to you in your wedding bed.

One of Donghyuck’s hands moves down to your thigh, hiking it higher on his hip. Suddenly he’s hitting a deep spot inside of you, making you cry out as your toes curl with pleasure.

“Good?” he asks, pressing kisses along your throat.

“Good,” you confirm, whimpering desperately.

“You’re so tight,” Donghyuck groans.

“Maybe you’re just big,” you counter, stifling a giggle.

It’s shocking how natural this feels- there’s no awkwardness with Donghyuck, after all, you might be newlyweds from an arranged marriage, but you’ve been friends for most of your lives. You couldn’t imagine a better man to be with, a better man to be taking care of you for your first time.

“Princess,” Donghyuck moans, “I… I don’t think I’m going to last very long.”

“How… how long do men usually last?” you ask.

Donghyuck chuckles. “It all depends, but- eating you out got me pretty worked up, and now your pussy is gripping me so fucking well-”

God, his words are sinful to a Princess like you, but they’re sinful in the best possible way, making your pussy flutter with pleasure.

You’re making this man come undone, as he’d made you cum, and that knowledge makes pride burn through you.

“Don’t try to last,” you tell him, cupping his face. “Let go.”

Donghyck stares at you for a moment before smashing his lips to yours. He grabs one of your hands and intertwines your fingers, pressing it to the pillow to use as leverage as he begins to fuck you even harder.

The whole bed is rocking by now, each powerful thrust making you mewl and whimper.

“Fuck, fuck-” Donghyuck groans, burying his face against your throat again. “Shit, I’m gonna cum-” 

You hold him tightly, stroking his hair as his thrusts falter, a deep moan escaping his lips.

You can feel the unfamiliar sensation of something filling up your core, and you wrap your legs tighter around his hips, keeping him locked inside of you as he fills you with his release.

He’s groaning and gasping in your ear and it’s one of the most erotic sounds you’ve ever heard.

You can sense when he’s come down from his high, but you continue to hold him, your chests pressed together, racing hearts beating as one.

This man is your husband, and you know he’ll take care of you. It’s a different life path laid out before you than you’d perhaps imagined when you were younger, but you know that as long as you’re with Lee Donghyuck, everything will be just fine.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! Short but sweet this month, longer things to come for nct in February :)

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🔮 preview. In the five years you’ve been married to Donghyuck, he’s helped you come out of your sexually repressed shell. You’ve even tried things with him that you never even thought you’d be interested in. While Donghyuck can be soft and gentle for you, as he was on your wedding night, he’s still a Lee, and that factor comes with its fair share of darker tastes.

cw/ tw. cw/ tw.  Unprotected sex, squirting, bondage, use of toys (vibrator), impreg/breeding kink, multiple positions, dirty talk, praise, fingering, breast worship, body worship, etc…   I petnames. (hers) princess

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 120

🌙 starring. Haechan x afab!Reader

bonus

“Happy anniversary,” Jeno grins as he shows up at your compound, with Mark in tow. 

“Thank you,” you smile, welcoming them into the house.

Jeno is the favorite uncle of your two children, and it’s clear that he feels his congratulatory diligence is done, as he rushes past you to pick up your son and daughter, one for each arm. Mark, in contrast, bears some of the manners that you were used to much of your life, and he steps into your home. “Did you have a nice day?” he asks.

“A lovely family day,” you nod, stepping closer to Mark and lowering your voice, “but between us, I think Hyuck and I are both ready for some alone time.”

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As I was short on time this month and unable to do a teaser, here's another shout out to some of my favourite blogs who interact with my work, I love you guys endlessly

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[fushitoru]

chapter 9: the embers a bridgerton au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

genre/warnings ⸺ enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, suggestive, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly, all they do is bicker 💀, some historical inaccuracies, mentions of sex work

chapter summary ⸺ sukuna takes you on an excurion into town at night, where you both meet a stranger that gives you illustrative insight into gojo. on the other hand, satoru has to suffer his best friend's most terrible plan as of date (10k).

a/n MWAHAHAHA i'll see you at the end :) thank you for my beta readers @/angelina7890, @/purplegemadventures, @/hellowoolf, and @/sinn-clair for helping me salvage bridgerton!gojo efknwekfnw

also note that the warnings have been updated.

prev. the lake | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

Dearest Reader,

It seems that the Gojo name has once again stirred the waters of the ton—quite literally, this time. If you were not present at Surrey Park, then you have surely missed a sight that will be etched in the minds (and no doubt dreams) of many a young lady for weeks to come.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

The rhythmic sound of the carriage wheels against the dirt road filled the silence as you sat between Choso and Sukuna, gazing out of the small window. The events of Surrey Park, particularly the lake incident, replayed in your mind with an insistence that made your temples throb. You clenched your hands tightly in your lap, as if the sheer tension in your knuckles could chase away the image of Lord Gojo, drenched and smirking as though he hadn’t just caused your heart to stutter in ways you loathed to admit.

“What a ridiculous display,” Sukuna muttered, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the seat, his tone conveying pure disapproval. “That man cannot seem to go a day without making a spectacle of himself. I wonder if he has any sense of propriety at all.”

You tore your gaze from the window, startled from your reverie. “I hardly think it was his intention to fall into the lake,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction. The memory of Gojo's intense gaze before he walked away was still fresh, leaving you both flustered and confused.

Sukuna raised a brow, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips. “Intentional or not, it is yet another reason why I cannot fathom what you—or anyone, for that matter—ever saw in him.”

You could not help but think Sukuna’s dismay was not deserved; after all, the man had fallen into the lake in defense of you. Thus, it was not as easy for you to color it obscene and vulgar as easily as Sukuna.

 “Sukuna,” Choso interrupted with a stern look, though his tone was mild. “Let us not belabor the point. What matters is that our sister is no longer tethered to that man. Speaking of which”—he turned to you, his expression softening—“how fares your progress with Duke Nanami? Has he hinted at a proposal?”

You hesitated, shifting uncomfortably under your eldest brother’s watchful gaze. “He is... cordial and kind,” you replied after a pause, your voice measured. “Our conversations are pleasant, and he is undoubtedly a man of good character.”

Choso frowned slightly, clearly unsatisfied with your tepid response. “But is he inclined to offer for you?”

“I suppose,” you murmured, clasping your hands tighter in your lap. The truth, however, was far from what you conveyed. Despite Nanami's quiet, unwavering presence, your thoughts seemed to stray perpetually toward another—toward Lord Gojo, who could unsettle and vex you in equal measure with a single look or word. The mere memory of him emerging from the lake, every detail exaggerated by the sunlight, made your heart flutter treacherously.

Sukuna’s sharp eyes darted toward you, narrowing slightly as he leaned forward. “You suppose?” he repeated, his tone skeptical. “You are not typically this indecisive, Sister. Tell me, where exactly does your mind wander?”

You stiffened, heat creeping up your neck as you struggled to mask your turmoil. “I am simply... weighing my options,” you replied carefully, returning your gaze to the window to avoid his probing stare.

For a moment, Sukuna studied you in silence, his lips pursed in thought. But he said nothing more as the carriage finally pulled into the familiar drive of your family’s estate.

Once the carriage halted and Choso helped you alight, the three of you headed into the Itadori manor. However, as soon as you crossed the threshold, Sukuna’s hand lightly touched your elbow, indicating that you should linger behind. As Choso continued on to go to his study and fell out of earshot, you turned to him, a questioning look on your face.

“Sister,” he began, his voice low but not unkind. “Would you care to join me on an outing to town this evening? I have... matters to attend to, and I thought you might find it of interest.”

“An outing?” you asked, turning to him with curiosity. “What kind of matters?” 

Sukuna’s smirk widened, his expression almost conspiratorial. “Let us call it a meeting of minds. A discussion on the state of affairs, if you will.”

Your heart quickened with excitement at the prospect. If you recall correctly, you have no plans of balls or any outings with the tons tonight, and you longed to engage with something outside of the season’s mundane practices ever since Gojo had similarly taken you into town. Sukuna had been long gone, and this ritual of yours—sneaking into town to experience political meetings—you had long been deprived of.

“I would be delighted,” you replied, unable to keep the enthusiasm from your voice.

“Good,” Sukuna said, a rare note of approval in his tone as he squeezed your arm lightly. “Then prepare yourself for something far more stimulating than insipid dances and idle chatter.”

The moon’s light shone over the two cloaked figures that were you and Sukuna. As the both of you sneaked towards an apparent meeting point that Sukuna had pre-established, your heart raced—not from fear, but from the thrill of doing something forbidden.

The brisk air bit at your cheeks as the sound of the faint crunch of gravel accompanied you both while creeping across the street.

"Keep up," Sukuna whispered, casting a glance over his shoulder. His expression held that mischievous glint you had come to recognize all too well, as though he relished dragging you into his escapades.

 “I am keeping up,” you shot back, pulling your hood further over your face. “I only hope you know what you’re doing.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and unbothered. “Always.”

Soon enough, you spotted a modest carriage tucked behind a grove of trees, its lanterns dimmed to avoid attention. A figure stood waiting beside it, cloaked and hooded, though far more relaxed than someone trying to avoid detection. Sukuna approached the man with an ease that spoke of familiarity, slapping him on the shoulder as though they were old friends.

“Toji,” Sukuna greeted, his voice carrying a note of camaraderie.

“Toji?” you repeated under your breath, squinting your eyes as you studied the man. He was broad-shouldered, with an air of roughness about him that immediately set him apart from the polished gentlemen of the ton. His sharp eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to Sukuna, clearly unimpressed by the effort you’d gone through to remain inconspicuous.

“This the sister you’ve been talking about?” Toji asked, his tone casual as he nodded in your direction.

“Indeed,” Sukuna replied, smiling as he gestured toward you. “Miss Itadori, meet Toji Fushiguro, a man of many talents.”

“Many talents?” you echoed, shooting Sukuna a skeptical look. “And which talents are we referring to, exactly?”

Toji let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “She’s got a sharp tongue, your sister. I like her.”

You narrowed your eyes at the stranger, unsure whether to feel flattered or annoyed, but Sukuna merely grinned, ushering you toward the carriage. “Come on, we’ve got places to be.”

The interior of the carriage was cramped, but warm, the faint scent of leather and smoke lingering in the air. Toji climbed in after you, settling into the opposite seat with the practiced ease of someone who’d spent many nights in carriages like this one. Sukuna took his place beside you, leaning back as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re very familiar with him,” you remarked to Sukuna, your tone edged with suspicion. “I’d like to know why.”

Toji answered for him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Your brother and I go back. He’s got a knack for finding himself in interesting situations, and I’ve got a knack for getting him out of them.”

“Is that so?” you said, arching a brow amusedly at Sukuna. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Sukuna shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Toji’s got connections. And besides, Sister, you’ll be thanking me soon enough for dragging you into this.”

But you were not one to be fooled. You narrowed your eyes, prying deeper into your brother’s words. “What type of connections?”

He sighs, shaking his head and complaining, “Ah! Enough of that. Aren’t you curious as to where we’re going?”

Your skepticism could not be quelled with a dismissive remark, but you waved it aside anyway, acquiescing. “Fine, but do not think I will rest on the matter.”

Toji, who had been silent thus far, chuckled quietly, his sharp gaze flickering between you and Sukuna. “She’s got your measure, Sukuna. You’re not squirming out of this one so easily.”

“Never does,” Sukuna muttered under his breath before changing tack. “Alright, alright. Since you’re so eager to discuss weighty matters, tell me this—are you familiar with Wollstonecraft’s latest work?”

Your brow furrowed as you tried to recall. “The Vindication? Of course, I’ve read it. Why?”

“Then you’ll have some context for what you’re about to hear,” Toji said. His voice was measured, but there was a weight to it that made you sit up a little straighter. “This isn’t just idle talk—it’s about education, equality, and liberty. Ideas that don’t sit well with those who benefit from keeping things as they are.”

Sukuna nodded, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “It’s more than philosophy, though. These people are living it. Fighting for it.”

Your pulse quickened as the conversation took a turn you hadn’t anticipated. You leaned forward slightly as you met Sukuna’s gaze. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” you began, your voice tinged with both curiosity and eagerness. “Wollstonecraft’s arguments are bold, yes, but they’re also deeply practical. Education as the foundation of equality—what could be more sensible? Yet, it threatens the very structure of society.”

Toji gave a low chuckle, his sharp gaze resting on you with renewed interest. “Well said. And what do you make of it, then? The notion that the world might be turned on its head by ideas like hers?”

Your lips curved into a small, wry smile. “I think the world could use a little turning on its head. Though, I imagine the aristocracy would sooner go to war than concede such ground.”

“That they would,” Sukuna agreed, his tone almost amused. “But it’s not just the aristocracy. The changes Wollstonecraft envisions—education for all, women stepping into the public sphere—these ideas challenge everyone who’s comfortable with the way things are.”

“Which is precisely why they’re so powerful,” you replied quickly, your excitement bubbling over. “People cling to the status quo out of fear, but fear is not insurmountable. Surely, with the right voices, the right leaders, minds could be swayed.”

Toji smiled faintly, his expression unreadable. “Optimistic, aren’t you? Most would say such change requires more than just words. Sacrifices must be made.”

“I’m not naïve, Mr. Fushiguro,” you said, straightening your posture. “I understand that revolutions—whether in thought or action—carry a cost. But is that not the mark of true progress? To be willing to bear the burden for a better future?”

Sukuna exchanged a glance with Toji, the latter’s smirk deepening. “She’s quite the firebrand, isn’t she?” Toji remarked.

“She always has been,” Sukuna replied with a shrug, though the faintest hint of pride flickered in his tone. “Keeps me on my toes.”

You ignored their banter, your thoughts racing ahead to what lay in store. “This meeting,” you pressed, unable to keep the excitement from your voice, “who will be there? What will be discussed?”

Sukuna held up a hand to forestall your questions. “Patience. You’ll hear it all soon enough. But I’ll tell you this much—it’s not just talk. These people are doing what others only dream of.”

Toji nodded, his expression growing somber. “There are risks, of course. The kind of risks that come with challenging the very fabric of society.”

You nodded, your resolve solidifying. “I’m not afraid of risk. Ideas like these are worth fighting for.”

Toji studied you for a long moment, his gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, he leaned back and crossed his arms. “You might just survive this night, after all.”

The carriage hit a slight bump in the road, jostling all of you, but it did little to break the energy that now thrummed in the small space. The shadows outside grew longer as the journey continued, but your mind was alight with thoughts of what awaited—a world of bold ideas and uncertain promises, one you were eager to step into.

The rest of the ride was quiet, save for the occasional jostling of the carriage over uneven terrain. When you finally arrived, Toji stepped out first, scanning the area before motioning for the two of you to follow. You found yourself in what appeared to be a modest meeting hall, the murmur of voices already audible from within.

Toji pushed open the door, revealing a room filled with a mix of people—some finely dressed, others in simpler attire, all seated in clusters, engaged in quiet but intense discussion. It was clear you had entered a space where class distinctions mattered little, united by a common cause.

“This,” Toji said, his voice low but firm, “is where the real work happens. You wanted to see it, didn’t you?”

You glanced at Sukuna, who gave you a reassuring nod, and then back at Toji. “Lead the way,” you said, your curiosity outweighing your reservations.

The smell of pipe smoke wafted through the air, accompanying the noise of friendly claps on backs, low murmur of conversation, the scrape of chairs against the floor, and a warped sort of revelry that was present in the room. The place was almost like a tavern, and as you, your brother, and Toji made your way through the wooden tables filled with people, ongoers showed familiarity with Sukuna. The contrast with how he conducted himself here and the demeanor he adopted at balls was almost comical; whereas ladies of the ton would get an uncongenial countenance, Sukuna was even grunting in response to some of the greetings he received. It was truly a marvel to perceive, indeed.

While Toji directed you both towards an empty table for the sake of your privacy, you could hear tidbits of conversations, murmurs, and bold declarations alike surrounding you.

“Evening, Sukuna,” a burly man called out, raising his glass in acknowledgment. Sukuna responded with a grunt and a nod, his lips twitching in what might have been a hint of a smile.

As Toji directed you to an empty table near the back of the room, your ears caught snippets of conversation from the surrounding tables.

“I find Burke’s assertions about women rather daft,” a woman sniffed, her voice tinged with disdain. “To claim that their sensibilities preclude them from education—it’s an insult, not an argument.”

A man seated beside her chuckled, shaking his head. “Indeed. The irony is that these so-called rational men are the ones most ruled by their passions when challenged.”

At another table, a younger man spoke with fiery conviction. “It’s not just about reforming laws—it’s about changing the very way we think about liberty and who truly earns it.”

“And it’s not solely for the falsely-refined, immoral, and narcissistic rich; As Wollstonecraft mentioned, they are weak, artificial beings, spreading their corruption though the whole mass of society.”

You couldn’t help but smile faintly at the exchanges, the fervor and intellect on display so different from the superficial chatter of the ton. Toji and Sukuna, however, seemed unfazed, as though this kind of discourse was nothing new to them. You, on the other hand, were very excited; while Sukuna had taken you out on such excursions often, the extent of it was visiting restaurants in common clothes, and eating freshly baked bread and pastries. This was an entirely different scene, and every time someone echoed your thoughts—before, captive on your diary’s pages—out loud, your heart was set aflutter. 

However, you were a bit wary about fully joining the discussion. While you were undeniably confident that you would be able to keep rapport with those debating, you weren’t fully aware of Toji’s position within the ton. Sukuna may have his trust, but you’d rather not risk joining in; after all, if Toji even were to spread the word about your scandalous…hobbies, Sukuna would not be entirely opposed to you leaving the season without finding a husband, as he’s made clear before.

Once seated, Toji leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on the armrests as you and Sukuna followed suit.“Quite the crowd tonight,” he remarked, his voice low as his sharp eyes scanned the room. “Seems the common folk are growing bolder.”

Sukuna grinned, leaning back in his chair as though he were entirely at ease. “It’s about time, isn’t it?”

You settled into your seat, your hands resting lightly on the edge of the table as you absorbed the atmosphere. The snippets of conversation, the passionate speeches, the clinking of mugs—all of it painted a vivid picture of a world far removed from the ballrooms and drawing rooms you had grown accustomed to. And yet, there was something undeniably captivating about it.

“What do you think?” Sukuna asked, his tone teasing as he leaned closer to you. “Not quite the spectacle of a ball, but it has its charm, doesn’t it?”

You glanced at him, your lips curving into a faint smile. “It’s… different,” you admitted, your gaze returning to the dais where the speaker was now gesturing animatedly. “But perhaps that’s what makes it so compelling.” 

As you turned, you now noticed that Toji was observing you thoughtfully and you tilted your head, giving him a questioning look, to which he spoke up, “Well,” his tone light but probing, “discussion aside. How has the glittering world of the ton treating you, Miss Itadori? I hear you’re the diamond of the season. Must be quite the... adventure.”

You offered him a polite, practiced smile. “It has been... illuminating,” you said delicately. “The season has certainly provided its share of experiences.”

“Ah, I see,” Toji drawled, leaning back in his chair and giving you a look that suggested he saw through your carefully crafted response. “Illuminating. That’s a word people use when they’re too polite to say what they really mean.”

Sukuna snorted, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “She’s being diplomatic, Toji. If you really want to know what she thinks, let me tell you—she’s been dodging proposals left and right while trying not to throttle certain lords.”

Your lips parted in indignation, but Sukuna held up a hand to stop you before you could protest. “Don’t deny it, sister. We both know I’m right.”

Toji chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Ah, now this is getting interesting. So, who’s the thorn in your side, then? Every diamond has one.”

You stiffened slightly but maintained your composed tone. “I wouldn’t say anyone is a thorn, per se. There have been... challenges, certainly, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Gojo,” Sukuna said bluntly, earning a glare from you. “The thorn is Gojo.”

Toji’s brows shot up. “Satoru Gojo? The golden boy himself? Well, that’s a surprise. What’s he done to earn your ire, Miss Itadori?”

You hesitated, unsure of how much to divulge, but Sukuna, ever the instigator, jumped in. “He courted her, dropped her, and now he’s lurking in the background like some lovesick pup.”

Toji let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Ah, that boy. Always knew he’d trip over his own arrogance one day.”

“Arrogance,” Sukuna muttered, “doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Toji smirked, swirling his glass thoughtfully. “Let me give you some advice, Miss Itadori. The one you hate, the one who gets under your skin, makes your blood boil? That’s usually the one worth keeping around.”

You scoffed, but it was half-hearted; you were intrigued. Straightening in your chair, you probed lightly, “And why, pray tell, would I want to keep someone who vexes me so terribly?”

“Because,” Toji said, leaning forward, his tone uncharacteristically serious, “the ones who challenge you are the ones who see you. Really see you. And from what I’ve heard, Gojo’s stuck around, hasn’t he? Defended you when it counted?”

You frowned, your mind flashing back to the lake incident, his swift intervention, the way he had looked at you—like you were the only person in the world. “That’s hardly enough to excuse his behavior,” you said, though your voice lacked its usual conviction.

Toji grinned knowingly. “Conflict like this doesn’t fizzle out quietly, Miss Itadori. Mark my words—this will blow up sooner or later. And when it does, when Gojo realizes he’s been an idiot and comes crawling back, what are you going to do?”

Your breath hitched at the thought, and you quickly dismissed it with a wave of your hand. “He won’t. He’s far too stubborn for that.”

“Maybe,” Toji conceded with a shrug, though his expression suggested otherwise. “But if he does, you’d better know what you want, because boys like Gojo don’t grovel often.”

Sukuna huffed, crossing his arms. “Well, I’d rather she find someone who isn’t an arrogant prick.”

“Maybe,” Toji said again, his tone calm but firm. “But sometimes it’s the arrogant pricks who surprise you the most.”

You shook your head, unwilling to entertain the notion any further. “This is all highly speculative and entirely unnecessary. Lord Gojo and I are... nothing.”

Toji’s words hung in the air, and though you tried to focus on the speaker at the front of the room, the uneasy stirring in your chest remained. Sukuna’s watchful gaze burned into the side of your face, and after a long moment of silence, you turned back to Toji, unable to resist asking the question that had been gnawing at you.

“How is it,” you began cautiously, your tone laced with both curiosity and a hint of suspicion, “that you seem to know Lord Gojo so well?”

Toji leaned back in his chair, his lips quirking in an almost imperceptible smirk. Sukuna let out a low chuckle, crossing his arms as he observed the exchange, clearly entertained. You really wanted to shoot a dirty glare at both of them, but you persisted, your gaze insistently honing on Toji.

“What makes you think I know him?” Toji asked, his voice carrying that frustratingly unhurried cadence that suggested he was enjoying your discomfort.

You narrowed your eyes, unwilling to let him deflect. “Because you speak of him with far more familiarity than most. And because you called him an ‘arrogant prick’ with such conviction that it could only come from experience.”

Toji laughed at that, a low, amused sound that rumbled from his chest. “Sharp as ever,” he remarked, glancing briefly at Sukuna, who rolled his eyes. “Fine, if you must know—I’ve known the boy since he was barely out of leading strings. My father did lots of business with his, as almost all families of the nobility do business with the Gojo dukedom. And for a time, I was … well, let’s say I was observing the business practices of the family.”

You blinked, surprised by the revelation. “Oh? Anything of note?”

Toji shrugged, his expression now unreadable at the mention of his family. “Gojo and I… crossed paths more than a few times.” He then snorted, now shaking his head at what seemed a ridiculous memory. “The boy was only four and ten when he was attending those meetings with the rest of the noble families, while the rest of the men in that room were at least two and twenty.”

“Ah.” You didn’t exactly understand how to analyze this; while you’re no stranger to the fact that Gojo was conditioned for the title of duke since his childhood, courtesy of Mrs. Tanaka, you were fazed by it every time.

“And,” Toji snorts, continuing, “the child would be the most ridiculous sight. Sometimes it felt that he was so enamored by the sound of his own voice that he hardly cared what the meeting was about.” Toji smirked, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed as if reliving the absurdity of the memory. “He’d sit there, bold as brass, making ridiculous suggestions—most of which were promptly dismissed, mind you—but he always had this way of... commanding attention.”

You raised a brow, trying to picture a fourteen-year-old Gojo confidently holding court among seasoned men of business and nobility. The image was surprisingly easy to conjure. “And no one thought to put him in his place?”

Toji let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, they tried. Believe me, they tried. But the boy’s wit was sharper than most men in that room. Even when he was wrong—and he often was—he’d somehow twist the conversation to make it seem like he was the only one making sense. Drove them mad.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought, though it was accompanied by a pang of irritation. Of course, Gojo had been insufferable even as a boy.

“He sounds as impossible then as he is now,” you muttered, earning a chuckle from Sukuna.

Toji tilted his head, a glint of something more serious in his eyes now. “Impossible, yes. But also... determined. Even back then, you could tell he had a weight on his shoulders. He wanted to prove something—to himself, to his family, to everyone in that room. I’d wager that’s still true.”

You frowned, mulling over his words. “And what exactly does he have to prove? He’s already a duke-to-be, with wealth, power, and influence beyond what most could dream of.”

Toji regarded you for a moment, his gaze steady. “Sometimes, those with the most are the ones who feel they have the most to lose. And the most to prove.”

Your chest tightened at the implication, but you quickly shoved the thought aside. “Well,” you said, forcing a lightness into your tone, “it seems Lord Gojo has always been consistent in his… unique qualities.”

Toji’s smirk returned, though there was a knowing edge to it. “That he has. But don’t mistake consistency for simplicity. That boy is a maze, and only a fool would think they’ve figured him out.”

You opened your mouth to respond but were interrupted by Sukuna’s low, dry voice. “Why are we wasting breath on that prick? We’re here for a reason, aren’t we?”

Toji laughed again, a deep, unbothered sound, and gestured for you both to follow him deeper into the meeting hall. “Fair enough. Let’s see if we can find you two a seat before you start debating the virtues—or lack thereof—of Lord Satoru Gojo.”

The sun was low on the horizon, casting the sky in a fiery orange glow as the two men rode side by side along the quiet trails bordering the Gojo estate. The rhythmic clopping of hooves on the dirt path filled the silence, punctuated by the occasional snort or whinny from their steeds. Satoru’s white steed carried him with its usual grace, while Geto’s dark horse moved with a steady, confident gait.

It was indeed a rare moment of calm. Before the season started, these silences would undoubtedly be filled with Geto’s mentions of gossip and business deals, in which investment in the Americas ended up being a damp squib. However, it seems that with the season has come Geto’s new target: his best friend himself, Satoru. And Satoru knew that this moment of calm was before the storm: Geto hopping on his arse.

And indeed, Geto, ever the opportunist, was not one to let peace linger for too long. His lips quirked into a smirk as he glanced sideways at his lifelong friend.

“So,” Geto began, his tone far too casual to be innocent, “why’d you defend her yesterday?”

Satoru groans inwardly; ever since that night of the ball after the Gojo house party, Suguru had been observing him amusedly. It even seemed that Nanami was taking interest in Satoru’s recent affairs; every conversation at White’s had seemed like Kento and Suguru were in collusion together, and it made Satoru very wary. However, outwardly, he continued, his gaze fixed ahead. “Who?” he asked, feigning ignorance. 

Geto snorted. “Don’t play coy with me, Satoru. You know exactly who I mean—Miss Itadori. The lady you so gallantly saved from a rather damp fate.”

Satoru shrugged, leaning slightly forward in his saddle. He would be the air of nonchalance if Suguru didn’t know the subtle signs: his jaw clenching and his posture a bit too tight. “She was being pushed into a lake. Anyone would’ve done the same.”

“Ah,” Suguru drawled, his smirk widening. “Anyone. Of course. But it wasn’t just anyone, was it? It was you.”

“I was simply nearby,” Satoru replied coolly, though his grip on the reins tightened, the leather creaking faintly under his fingers.

Suguru let out a hum, as though he were considering his next move in a chess match. “Nearby? Satoru, you could’ve been halfway across the field, and you’d still have found some excuse to swoop in. It’s rather unlike you to involve yourself in such... trivial matters.”

Satoru’s jaw clenched briefly, but he said nothing.

“You stopped courting her, didn’t you?” Geto pressed, his tone light but with a sharp edge, something almost teasing yet with something to prove. “And yet, here you are, defending her honor like a knight in shining armor. I can’t imagine how she feels about all this... conflicting behavior.”

Satoru scoffed, finally cutting a glance at his friend. “I doubt she thinks of it at all.”

“Hmm,” Geto mused, humming prolongedly. His voice was dripping with skepticism as he drawled, “I doubt that.” 

“I do not see how that is my issue,” Satoru responds bluntly, quelling the irritation inside him at being probed so…closely like this.

To Satoru’s reprieve, Geto had no immediate response. The two rode in silence for a moment, the quiet broken only by the rustling of leaves and the soft sounds of their horses’ hooves. Suguru, however, was far from finished, and Satoru felt that he was going to burst a vein. 

“For someone who has the ton at his feet—every mama scheming, every daughter swooning—you sure are paying a lot of attention to one particular lady,” he said, leaning back slightly in his saddle. “A lady you supposedly have no interest in.”

This was enough. “Drop it, Geto,” Gojo said, his tone low and warning.

But Suguru wouldn’t have earned the title of being Satoru’s closest friend—and now it seemed, his greatest enemy—without crossing his boundaries further, pushing them in, and pulling at his strings. He wasn’t fettered in the least. He tilted his head, a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “You know, it’s almost as if—dare I say it—you’re catching feelings.”

The words hit Gojo with the force of a thrown gauntlet, and for a moment, it felt like the air had been knocked clean out of his lungs. His fingers tightened around the reins instinctively, the leather biting into his gloves as his horse came to an abrupt halt. His pulse spiked, not from exertion but from something he refused to name. It spread through him like wildfire—hot, uncontrollable, and unwelcome.

Catch feelings? 

At some point, Satoru was afraid he had. Holding your unconscious body in his arms and foolishly pretending to be your husband in some childish attempt to play house—but no, Satoru does not have space for a mere thing like feelings. No, more like mere infatuation that he was sure would have died out by ending your courtship. 

But when he had been replacing the flowers by your bedside for the nth time, gazing upon your unconscious form once more, he had felt a sort of panic and lack of control. An unbidden feeling bubbled up inside of him, one that he quickly grew to realize, in the days leading up to the house party and you being roused from your state, that it was dangerous.

It’s an idea he’s instilled in himself since he was just a youth, and it’s a law he follows. Love and duty mustn’t cross paths; the covenant of marriage was a duty, a means to uphold the dukedom and his family’s legacy. To cross it with something like mere infatuation over how your eyes widened whenever Satoru said something outrageous, the traces of the smile you contained talking to other foolish suitors, the feel of your surprise when he walked closer to your chair, how dangerous it was for him to be alone with you in the library at night…it would certainly destroy him and the truths that he, Satoru Gojo, based his life upon.

His mind raced to rationalize, to shove the notion of feelings, something deeper than infatuation and a mere fancy, into some dark corner where it could wither and die. What nonsense. It wasn’t feelings. It couldn’t be. It was...what? Irritation? Protectiveness? The natural response of any honorable man when a lady’s dignity was insulted?

Yet, the memory of you standing by the lake crept unbidden into his mind—your face caught between fury and disbelief, the sunlight glinting off the strands of your hair that had escaped their meticulous arrangement. 

And that damnable dress—how it had dared to hint at the curves he had so traced uncountable times his dreams with his hands, with his tongue—

He could still hear your biting words, sharp and unrelenting, even as they softened into something more vulnerable when no one else could hear.

His stomach twisted. No.

His voice was clipped as he snapped at Geto, desperate to redirect the conversation. “You’re starting to pry into matters that don’t concern you.”

But Geto’s smirk didn’t falter, and Gojo hated him for it. It was as if his oldest friend could see every crack forming in his carefully constructed facade, every thin thread of composure threatening to unravel.

“You could make a fine living consulting mamas on the ton’s gossip, you know,” Gojo continued, the words escaping him with uncharacteristic sharpness. “Perhaps even advising them on matchmaking strategies. Should I make introductions for you?”

The deflection was weak, and he knew it. His heart was still racing, his chest tight as if the very idea Geto had planted was a parasite sinking its teeth into his carefully guarded resolve.

Feelings. For you.

Impossible.

And yet, as Geto’s smirk grew wider, his eyes alight with amusement, Gojo realized with a sinking dread that he wasn’t entirely sure anymore.

Geto grinned, unbothered by the sharpness in his friend’s words, and appeared ignorant of the visceral reaction Gojo just had to the notion. “Oh, I don’t need introductions. I’ve already got your whole life figured out, Satoru.”

Gojo rolled his eyes, nudging his horse forward again. “She’s not anything special to me. That’s all there is to it.”

The silence that followed Geto’s pointed observation stretched longer than Gojo would have liked. It hung heavy in the cool evening air, punctuated only by the occasional snort of their horses and the crunch of hooves on gravel. Gojo didn’t dare look at his friend, his jaw clenched tightly as his mind raced. Catch feelings. The words echoed, taunting him as if Geto had struck a nerve he hadn’t even realized was exposed.

Gojo swallowed hard, eyes fixated blankly on the trees in the surrounding scenery, silent as his usual sharp wit suddenly dulled. His silence wasn’t the confident kind that usually unsettled others—it was uneasy, charged, the kind that gave too much away. He shifted in the saddle, his posture stiff, betraying the internal battle raging within him.

But Geto noticed. He always noticed.

And when Gojo finally glanced sideways at him, Geto’s expression had transformed. His dark eyes sparkled with a glint of pure mischief, his lips curving into a grin that promised trouble. It was as though he had just uncovered a hidden treasure—Gojo’s discomfort, his tells, his unwillingness to admit what they both knew.

“Oh,” Geto said, dragging the word out like a cat savoring the moment before pouncing on a mouse. His grin widened, a wicked gleam overtaking his features. “Oh, this is rich.”

Gojo scowled, his face flushing despite himself. “What now?” he snapped, though his voice lacked its usual commanding edge.

Geto didn’t answer immediately, his gaze sweeping over his friend with an almost theatrical sense of revelation. He leaned slightly forward in his saddle, the reins in one hand as his other gestured toward Gojo as if presenting him to an invisible audience.

“I’ve got it,” Geto said, his tone deceptively casual, though the glint in his eyes betrayed the mischief bubbling beneath. “If she’s not anything special, as you’ve so eloquently put it, then we can visit the brothel tonight. Right?”

Gojo’s head snapped toward him, his jaw tightening further, but before he could respond, Geto continued, his voice laced with false innocence. “Think about it—a little distraction, a reset, if you will. It’ll clear everything up for you, including how you’re feeling.”

The silence that followed wasn’t simply quiet—it was a palpable stillness, thick with tension. Geto’s grin only grew as he watched Gojo’s reaction—or lack thereof. His friend had frozen, the reins slack in his hands as he stared straight ahead, his profile bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun.

“What’s the matter?” Geto pressed, his voice practically dripping with faux innocence. “You’re not hesitating, are you? After all, if she means nothing to you, there’s no reason not to go.”

Gojo hesitated for a fraction of a second too long, and Geto pounced on it.

“You’ve got something to prove, don’t you?” he teased, leaning slightly toward Gojo. “Come now, Satoru. Let’s see just how unaffected you truly are.”

And then, like a man trying to prove something—to himself, to his friend, to the world—Gojo finally spoke, his tone clipped, almost defiant. “Fine.”

But Geto wasn’t fooled, and Gojo knew it. He could feel the weight of his friend’s amusement, his sharp gaze cutting through every layer of pretense Gojo had built around himself. And for the first time in a long while, Gojo felt like he was losing control of the narrative.

Geto’s grin widened, triumphant. “Good. Let’s make an evening of it.”

The carriage ride was tense, at least for one of its occupants. Gojo sat stiffly on one of the plush seats, his legs stretched out in front of him, though his right knee bounced incessantly—a restless, nervous tick that betrayed the calm expression he worked hard to maintain. His hands gripped the edge of the seat, his fingers curling into the fabric as he stared out of the window, his pale blue eyes unfocused.

“This,” Satoru finally said, his voice cutting through the heavy silence like a knife, “is a truly foolish idea.”

Across from him, Geto reclined with the ease of a man completely at peace with his choices, one arm slung casually over the back of the seat. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Then why are you here, oh wise one?”

Satoru shot him a flat look, though the movement was stiff, lacking his usual flair. “Because you said so. And because if I didn’t, you’d never let me hear the end of it.”

Geto chuckled, tipping his head back against the carriage wall. “Indulging your closest friend for once in your life—what a burden.” He then sighed, as if truly wounded and continued to lament, “You’ve never once gone with me—or rather, anyone—for an excursion to the establishment.”

Satoru didn’t dignify that with a response, his gaze flickering back out the window. The city rolled by in a blur of dim lantern light and shadowed alleys, but he barely registered it. The air in the carriage felt stifling, pressing down on him despite the open window beside him. His jaw clenched as his thoughts raced, looping over the same nagging feeling that had been gnawing at him since Geto suggested this ridiculous outing.

“I don’t even go to brothels,” Satoru muttered, almost to himself. This was truly a foolish idea.

Geto hummed amusedly, crossing his arms and leaning back. “So you’ve said. But everyone indulges now and again, even you.”

Satoru turned his head sharply to glare at him. “It’s not a fancy of mine.”

Geto leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he grinned. “Not your fancy? What, women? Or fun in general?”

“Brothels,” Satoru snapped, though the edge in his voice lacked conviction. “They’re… I don’t know, pointless. The whole idea is dunce-like. Superficial company cannot satisfy me. I find the banter found in of these establishments lacking conviction, and if I wanted such artificial banter, I would have found it in the balls of the ton. I have never found engaging conversation with any of the ladies of the ton,” except for you, “and I daresay it would not be an oversight to observe that I would not get the company I desire at a brothel.”

“And yet here you are,” Geto quipped, gesturing grandly to the carriage they occupied.

Satoru sighed heavily, his leg bouncing more insistently now. It seemed as if the foolishness of this idea had cast a cloud over his heart, never truly leaving him and permeating him in a sense of anxiousness, as if something was truly amiss. “Just this once. I fear that you may never stop troubling me if I do not.”

“As if I’d believe that.” Geto laughed, leaning back again, clearly enjoying his friend’s discomfort.

When the carriage finally came to a halt, Satoru felt a sinking sense of dread settle in his chest. He stepped down with an unusual stiffness, his body tense and his movements robotic, as though he were forcing himself to go through the motions. The chill of the evening air hit him, but it did little to ease the heat creeping up the back of his neck.

Geto followed close behind, his hand coming down heavily on Satoru’s shoulder in a gesture that was equal parts encouragement and teasing. “Relax, Satoru. It’ll be fun,” he said, his tone almost sing-song as he gestured toward the entrance of the establishment ahead.

Satoru gave him a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure,” he replied dryly, though the tension in his shoulders made it clear that he was anything but.

As Geto led the way, Satoru lingered a step behind, his feet dragging just enough to make his reluctance palpable. He couldn’t shake the gnawing sense of unease, the quiet voice in the back of his mind telling him that this was a mistake. And yet, here he was—following Geto into the lion’s den, his heart pounding with a mix of dread and something else he couldn’t quite name.

Suguru and Satoru’s footsteps resound on the wooden floorboards. Feminine perfume wafts through the air, but Satoru finds it a bit too strong. Unbidden, the memory and trace of your scent of sandalwood flashes through his mind, but before he can linger on the memory of your scent got stronger the closer his nose inched to the delicate arch of your neck, Suguru stops in front of him, talking to a woman at the counter. 

As if second nature to Geto, Suguru flirts with the madam in charge of the finances, but to Satoru, it goes in through one ear and out the other. He’s too busy observing the tacky decorations and abundance of flowers that seem to surround the place and the halls he can peer into. And there are women.

They crowd by, some loitering by their doors and peering at the pair that just walked in. They giggle to each other in groups, no doubt wishing that Geto may choose them today, but Satoru knows that it would not be the case, for he hears Suguru murmur something along the lines of the usual girls. While some of them are enraptured by Geto, there are just so many eyes on him.

He’s undoubtedly someone they haven’t seen before; he doesn’t look too young, one that would end the whole session too early. Gojo feels eyes on him, salaciously trailing up his body, but he is unfazed by it. It is rather the prospect of being in a room alone, of having to touch or being touched that has, for some reason, him nauseous for a reason he is yet to figure out. So he attributes it to the waste of coin, for he is sure not to take any enjoyment.

“Satoru, move along this way,” Geto waves him into the hallway he’s walking towards, now that he has sorted out the details with the madam. Begrudgingly—but not before running a hand down his face in exasperation—Satoru follows. It’s almost amusing how whoever Geto gazes upon seems to faint, his siren eyes carrying an allure to them that even makes these ladies shy. Satoru, on the other hand, keeps his gaze trained on the ceiling and traces the detail and design of the crown molding.

When it appears that Geto has finally found the room he intended for, he opens the door and walks into it.

The atmosphere inside the room was surprisingly plush, though it carried the same overpowering floral scent as the rest of the establishment. A low-burning lantern cast a warm, flickering light over the deep reds and golds of the furnishings, creating an almost intimate glow. 

Suguru strode in first, his posture relaxed and his expression bordering on smug. He let out a low whistle as he surveyed the room. “Nice, isn’t it? I always tell them to reserve the best for me.”

Satoru followed reluctantly, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He barely glanced at the room’s opulence, his focus instead on staying as close to the door as possible without actually leaving. “I suppose it’s marginally better than the hallway,” he muttered, his tone as dry as ever. 

Suguru smirked, unbothered by his friend’s sour mood. “Come on, Satoru, don’t sulk. We’re here to unwind.” He dropped onto the sofa with a contented sigh, stretching out his arms along the backrest. “You’re supposed to sit, you know.”

Satoru raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe instead. “I’m fine right here, thanks.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Suguru groaned, motioning toward the empty seat beside him. “Just sit down before you ruin the ambiance completely. I won’t tell anyone you’re enjoying yourself—promise.”

Reluctantly, Satoru peeled himself away from the door and took a seat at the far end of the sofa, as far from Suguru as the furniture allowed. He sank into the velvet sofa with all the enthusiasm of a man preparing for execution, his long legs stretched in front of him, his arms folded stiffly across his chest. He tried to laze back, be the appearance of equanimity, but inside he was anything but.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Suguru teased, pouring two glasses of wine from a decanter on the side table. He slid one across the table toward Satoru, who eyed it skeptically before finally picking it up.

“This is still a waste of time,” Satoru muttered, swirling the wine in his glass but not drinking it. His gaze wandered toward the window, though the heavy drapes blocked any view of the outside.

Suguru leaned back against the sofa, crossing one leg over the other as he sipped his wine. “You say that, but you’re here, aren’t you? Deep down, you must’ve been at least a little curious.”

“Deep down,” Satoru said, casting Suguru a sideways glance, “I fear I may be losing what little sense I have simply by remaining in this room.”

Suguru laughed, a deep, rich sound that filled the room and echoed as if to haunt and taunt Satoru. “You’re impossible. But I’ll give it ten minutes. You’ll relax. You always do.”

Before Satoru could retort, there was a soft knock at the door. Suguru’s smirk widened, and he set his glass down, rising to answer it. “Ah, perfect timing.”

Satoru tensed, his fingers tightening around the stem of his glass. He leaned back slightly, watching as Suguru opened the door with all the confidence of a man who owned the place. When the door swung open, two women entered with an air of familiarity and charm, their laughter light as they greeted Suguru.

“Back so soon, Mr. Geto?” one of them purred, her hair bouncing with each step. Her gaze lingered on Suguru, enraptured as though she could see no one else. His friend has that effect on women, Satoru supposes. He’s definitely no stranger to it.

 “As if he could stay away,” added the other, her blonde hair catching the warm light as she smiled, all charm and sweetness.

Suguru offered a roguish grin, gesturing broadly to the room as he drew his legs apart impossibly wider. He was truly the epitome of a man relaxed and in bliss. “Ladies, your wit does me a disservice. I couldn’t possibly keep myself from such delightful company.”

The two women giggled, each draping herself over Suguru’s shoulders with the familiarity of longtime favorites. Their laughter chimed softly, though Satoru barely heard it. He was too busy trying to reconcile the absurdity of this situation with his growing discomfort.

“And who’s this?” the blonde asked, her curious gaze flickering toward Satoru, who sat at the far end of the sofa. His unease must not have been apparent to anyone but Suguru, because in Gojo’s periphery, he saw the other girl in between him and Suguru turn her head in surprise, as if she truly hadn’t noticed him but definitely seemed to like what she saw. Soon, she was moving out of Geto’s space and inching herself closer next to Gojo’s seat on the chaise, but Satoru kept his eyes trained on Suguru, awaiting his response to the blonde.

“Oh, that?” Suguru quipped, waving a hand in his direction as though introducing an unruly pet. “That is Satoru, a dear friend of mine—and a woefully inexperienced one at that.”

Satoru shot him a withering glare but said nothing, his lips pressed into a smirk as if to mask his unease and instead show amusement, an air of nonchalance.

“Do be kind to him,” Suguru added with a knowing smirk. “He’s not accustomed to such pleasures as these.”

The other woman rose with a soft laugh, gliding across the chaise with practiced elegance. “Then I shall endeavor to make him feel at home.”’

As she settled beside Satoru, he felt a strange prickle of apprehension, a sense of something amiss. Then he turned his head, and his breath caught in his throat.

It was you.

Or at least, it felt like you. The resemblance was so striking it bordered on cruel—the shape of her face, the curve of her lips, the lashes framing her warm eyes. She even smiled like you, though this smile carried a polished charm that felt foreign, detached.

“Good heavens,” she murmured, her voice light and lilting. “You’re dreadfully tense, aren’t you? Let me help you with that.”

Her words might as well have been spoken in another language, for they barely reached him. Satoru was still staring, his mind spinning as the room seemed to shrink around him. She shifted closer, the scent of her perfume—a cloying blend of florals—filling the space between them. It made his stomach turn, but not because it was unpleasant. No, it was wrong. It wasn’t your scent.

The memory of sandalwood hit him like a punch to the chest, unbidden and consuming. The delicate trace of it, how it lingered faintly whenever you passed by, how it deepened when he leaned closer, just enough to catch it at the hollow of your throat—

Her touch drew him back abruptly. Her fingers skimmed lightly along his arm, trailing upward to rest against his chest. “You must relax, sir,” she tittered, her tone teasing but soothing in equal measure. “Let me ease your troubles. There’s no need to hold yourself so tightly.”

But Satoru barely felt the pressure of her hand. Instead, all he could feel was you—the ghost of your touch from the salacious dream he’d had not long ago, a dream that had plagued him since. You, standing in his room in nothing but your night shift, your figure outlined faintly by the moonlight filtering through the window. He remembered how his hands had reached for you in that dream, the warmth of your skin beneath his palms, the sound of your breath catching as he—

“Sir?” Her voice broke through the haze, soft and curious. Her brow furrowed slightly as she tilted her head to meet his gaze. “Are you unwell?”

He blinked, forcing himself to focus, though it felt like dragging his mind out of quicksand. His throat worked, but the words caught. “I’m fine,” he managed, though the stiffness in his tone betrayed him.

Across the room, Suguru observed the exchange with a smirk, his chin resting lazily on his hand. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, I’m afraid,” he drawled, his amusement clear. “The man’s wound tighter than a clock.”

The woman beside Satoru laughed softly, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “No matter,” she said brightly, her hand trailing further across his torso. “We’ve ways of loosening even the most stubborn. You ought to be at ease, my lord,” she teases, “I have no aim to bite you.”

But Satoru wasn’t paying attention. His mind was still back in that dream, with you. It was an image he couldn’t shake, no matter how much he tried. And as she leaned closer, her hand pressing lightly against his chest, his thoughts screamed louder than ever: What am I doing here?

The woman’s touch began to drift lower, her hands brushing over his hips, and Satoru’s entire body went rigid, as though struck by lightning. A peculiar kind of heat climbed up his neck—not the kind born of desire but something closer to panic.

His chest felt tight, his breath shallow. The air in the room seemed to shrink, pressing down on him from all sides. Her laughter, sweet and tinkling, rang in his ears, but it sounded muffled as if he were underwater. He couldn’t do this—not with her, not with anyone. Not when her face, her scent, and even her touch were so painfully wrong. It was truly uncanny, something that put Satoru too much at unease

He knew he must get out of there.

In one sharp motion, Satoru stood. The movement startled the woman, her hands falling away as she looked up at him with wide, confused eyes. Similar to when you both tripped at the stream, you looking up at him, your bosom close to his—

“Sir?” she asked, tilting her head, her voice laced with surprise.

Satoru offered a dazzling smirk, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but was charming enough to serve its purpose. He gently took her hands in his, his fingers curling lightly around hers as he raised them to his lips. His kiss was featherlight, fleeting, and entirely calculated.

“My dear,” he began, his tone smooth as silk, though a faint tremor lay hidden beneath it, “while I deeply appreciate your gracious efforts, I am afraid I must take my leave. A rather urgent matter at home has just crossed my mind.”

She blinked, startled and unsure of what to say. “But—”

Satoru stepped back, his smirk widening as he released her hands with a flourish. “Do forgive my abrupt departure. You’ve been nothing short of delightful.” He inclined his head toward her in a courtly gesture, his gaze flicking briefly to Suguru, who was now watching him with one brow arched in amused disbelief.

“Geto,” Satoru said, his voice tight but steady, “it seems I must bid you adieu. Do enjoy yourself. You appear to be in good company.”

Suguru leaned back, his arms draped lazily over the back of the sofa, an almost predatory grin tugging at his lips. “You’re leaving already, Satoru? The night’s barely begun.”

“Oh, but the night is full of pressing demands. I fear I have just remembered a pending task in my ledgers expected to be resolved tomorrow” Satoru replied breezily, though his legs were already moving toward the door. “Another time, perhaps.”

Before Suguru could respond, Satoru slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him with an almost frantic speed. The sound of his boots echoed down the hallway as he strode quickly toward the exit, his pulse racing as though he were fleeing some great calamity.

By the time he stepped outside into the cool night air, his heart was pounding, and his chest felt like it might burst. He inhaled deeply, letting the chill fill his lungs as he tilted his head back to look at the sky. The stars above were cold and distant, but they steadied him.

“Good grief.”

As the door clicked shut behind Satoru, Geto’s smirk deepened, his gaze lingering on the spot where his friend had stood moments ago. The tension in Gojo’s shoulders, the too-tight smirk that barely concealed his panic—it had all been immensely entertaining. Geto couldn’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction. For all his bluster and charm, Satoru Gojo was, at his core, so damn oblivious to the raging currents inside of him. 

He sighs inwardly, now excited. He couldn’t wait for the theatrics that would occur soon, for his friend was a ticking time bomb—one to explode very soon.

He leaned back further into the sofa, stretching his arms along the backrest as he glanced at the two women beside him. The blonde was frowning slightly, clearly perplexed by Satoru’s abrupt departure, while the one that had approached Satoru was still staring at the door, her lips parted as if to call him back.

“Don’t fret, my darlings,” Geto drawled, his voice low and smooth as honey. He shifted slightly, letting his arm curl around the blonde’s shoulders, his hand resting lightly at the nape of her neck. “Our dear Lord Gojo is... a complicated man.”

The blonde huffed, crossing her arms in mock indignation. “He didn’t even stay long enough for a proper introduction. Was it something I said?”

“Not at all,” Geto assured her, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. “He’s simply overwhelmed by beauty. I’m afraid he’s not accustomed to the kind of attention you so graciously bestowed upon him.”

The other woman’s pout melted into a soft laugh, her earlier confusion replaced by amusement. “Well, that is rather charming, in its own way.” Geto turns his eyes away from the blond to look at the other lady and has to bite his cheek to stop the laugh from coming in. 

He truly did a good job of describing your features to the madam when requesting her.

“Indeed,” Geto said, his smile widening as he turned his attention fully to them. “But let us not waste another thought on him. I, for one, am most delighted to remain in your company.”

His words seemed to ease whatever tension lingered, and the two women exchanged a glance before smiling in unison. The blonde leaned into him, her fingers trailing lightly over the fabric of his coat. “You’re far more gracious than your friend,” she murmured, her voice taking on a playful lilt.

“I do try,” Geto replied, his tone teasing as his other hand came to rest on the woman—the one previously attending to Satoru—’s knee. “And if I may be so bold, I’d say we’ve quite the opportunity here—one we shouldn’t waste.”

She comes closer to him, remarking while looking up at him through her lashes, “I would say you’re rather right.”

With that, the three met passionately in an exchange of limbs, certainly making do…even with the lack of a certain white-haired duke-to-be.

prev. the lake | next. soon!

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a/n HEY BRIDGERTON!GOJO POOKIES HOW ARE WE!! this chapter was sooo messy for gojo lmaooo. we're sooo close to the slow burn arc ending and this was a biiiggg epiphany for geto. now comes the next stage of the plan 😈

one thing i also wanted to clarify (and make sure everyone noticed) was that we got the reason why gojo dropped reader. he got a lil crush and got scared :( a lot of people have been asking me about it, and a lot of people were already commenting their theories, which nailed it completely on the head. whether surprised or not, i hope it makes sense :3

also idk if this goes without saying but if you didn't like that gojo agree to go to the brothel / dont agree with sex work / dont like that geto indulges / yadda yadda pls dont make it my problem <3 im just writing what was common at the time, it's not indicative of my views on anything

gojo after realizing the woman looked like you

reblog and comment to let me know ur thots! :3

TAGLIST@ncitygreen @backstagepaige @serinatly100986 @nappingmoon @coochellati

@extremelyexh4usted @yoshisaurmuchakoopas @nixiepixee @generalstephkenobi @vernasce-blogs

@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs

@megumiivs @anthastudios @arranacosmist @arishaxml @jingyuun

@undercooked-chaos-noodle @jaegersity @camzzn @bluelai @1sweetheart1

@hyori2 @babyblue0t7 @iwanttoberich420 @rosso-seta @ladytamayolover

@kalulakunundrum @r0ckst4rjk @mo0sin @angelina7890 @jaeminaur

@yamiyas @cherry-blossoms-in-red @r3inae @lagataprrr @sasfransisco

@fortunatelyfurrygiver @aurora-tiny @gojonegs @luna-v-roiya @xxemmarldxx

@soobssedwithyourex @manyno @samkysnks @stefnarda @bbqsauceonmytitties2

[beloveds-embrace]

AND ALSO POLY!141

joking around and calling them your brothers and they go deathly silent because what do you mean tou don’t see them romantically? doesn’t matter if they’re already involved with each other they want you to be just as involved too.

also this is toxic but threatening your various dates, stalking them and taking them out (not in the romantic way) so they have an excuse to hold you close. you get comforted, and they get to embrace your warmth #win-win

Friendzoned? Nah, it’s bro-zoned now 😭

The one good thing about grueling and long missions- were the post-missions.

Without fail, each time, you’d be invited to their house where Price would grill up something delicious and juicy on the barbecue, and everyone would be able to unwind. You enjoyed that time, spending it and relaxing with them.

The dynamic you all shared was easy, comfortable, and fun- at least for you.

You rolled your eyes and tossed a fry at Johnny, who caught it in his mouth with a proud grin and wagged his eyebrows, daring you to try again. “You’re like an annoying big brother, you know that?” you huffed at last, a matching grin on your face.

Johnny froze mid-chew, but you didn’t notice, too busy thinking. “Actually… all of you are like annoying big brothers, now that I think about it.”

You chuckles at your own thought, grabbing another fry from your plate and popping it into your mouth without once realizing the shift in the atmosphere. You didn’t catch the way Soap’s grin had vanished completely or how Price’s hand tightened around the armrest of his chair. Gaz’s usual easy smile was gone, replaced with a cold, unreadable expression, and Ghost… well, Ghost’s dark stare had become a touch more menacing.

The silence hung heavy, but you were blissfully unaware, waving your hand dismissively when no one responded. Your focus was on your phone, scrolling through your social medias. “What? You all went quiet on me.”

Soap cleared his throat, but it came out strained, his voice low. “Brother, huh?”

You hummed absently. “Yeah, you know- family. You guys are my family. Like brothers, watching each other’s backs and all that.”

Price exhaled slowly, sitting back in his chair and running a hand over his beard. “Family.” He repeated, almost under his breath, his voice calm but tight.

Gaz tapped his fingers against the table once, then twice, before stopping abruptly. “Is that all we are to you?” he asked casually enough, though his tone carried an edge you didn’t catch.

“Of course,” you replied with a shrug, not bothering to look up from your food and phone. “I mean, it’d be weird to think of you any other way. You’re my team, my brothers-in-arms.”

You missed the way Ghost’s hands curled into fists on the table, his knuckles white, or the way Soap’s jaw clenched, demeanor replaced with something far darker. Price exchanged a look with Gaz, silent communication passing between them while you obliviously chewed on your steak, still oblivious to the storm brewing around you.

If you’d glanced up, even for a second, you might’ve noticed the way their gazes lingered on you- too intense, too sharp. But you didn’t. And they weren’t about to correct you.

Not yet, anyways.

The first time it happened, you didn’t connect the dots.

Your date, some charming guy you met at a café off base, canceled on you last minute, claiming he “didn’t feel safe” after someone left a threatening note on his car windshield. You shrugged it off as a weird coincidence- maybe it was the universe looking out for you, even. You didn’t want to be dragged into whatever that guy was stuck in.

The second time, a woman from the gym you’d been chatting with stopped replying to your texts entirely after she mentioned being followed home one night. You’d honestly tried to call and check on her, but she just… blocked you. Weird.

By the third time, when a guy you’d met on a dating app ghosted you entirely after his apartment was mysteriously broken into, you started to suspect something was up.

You mentioned it offhandedly to the team one evening, voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t know what’s going on, but every time I try to date someone, something weird happens. It’s like the universe doesn’t want me to find someone!”

Soap hummed, a little too casually, but you simply discarded that thought. “Maybe the universe knows what’s best for you, bonnie.”

Gaz leaned back in his chair, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Or maybe these people weren’t good enough for you anyway.”

“You’ve got us to look after you. Don’t need anyone else mucking things up.” Even Price added in his own two cents, making you pause.

You laughed, thinking they were joking, but Ghost’s silence was unsettling- actually, none of them were laughing. He just stared at you, his eyes glinting in a way that made your stomach twist. But that was normal for your L.T… even if it’s been quite a long while since he’s made you feel like that.

The fourth time, it wasn’t just a weird incident. It was a full-on assault.

You were on another date- though even you had to admit this one was just… not going well. He was too dismissive, too loud, and the first thing he’d said before you even sat down was that you’d split the bill, and then he made a comment about you eating too much.

You’d sent a simple text to the team groupchat, telling them you really weren’t enjoying this one, and they’d left you on read. Bastards.

But then you date had been walking you to your car when someone stepped out of the shadows- a big, familiar hulking figure in a balaclava. Your date didn’t even have time to react before they were on the ground, unconscious.

“Come on,” Simon said, gently but firmly clasping his hand around yours. You were too shocked to even say anything- what the fuck? “Let’s get you home.”

You didn’t argue. Your heart was pounding too hard, and Simon took advantage of that to guide you to his car.

“Simon-“

“No.”

And thus the silence continued.

When you got back to their house, the others were waiting for you. Price immediately pulled you into a hug before you could demand answers, his hands firm but gentle on your lower back. “You’re safe now.” He murmured, as if soothing an angry kitten lashing out at him from fear. Despite your confusion and the flurry of emotions swirling in your chest, the tension in your body began to melt anyways, always so trusting of your Captain.

Gaz’s hand brushed against yours as he handed you a steaming cup of tea immediately once Price let go of you. His smile was kind, but his eyes seemed… off. Too sharp. “Drink this, yeah? It’ll help.” He said, his fingers lingering a second too long before retreating.

Before you could question the strange atmosphere, Soap tugged you down to sit beside him on the couch. His arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close as though you were on the verge of breaking. “You’ll be alright,” he murmured, tone light yet firm. “We’ve got you.”

Simon remained silent, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. His presence loomed heavy in the room, his gaze never straying from you. It wasn’t comforting exactly- more like being caught in the sights of a predator lying in wait. Is this what the enemy soldiers thought and felt? You pitied them- but more than that you pitied yourself.

Your hands tightened around the warm mug, your confusion bubbling up like a shaken-up fizzy drink. “Okay, what the hell is going on?” You glanced between them, searching for answers. “Simon knocked out my date! What if he presses charges? And what’s with all this- this hovering?”

“Hovering?” Soap echoed, his arm tightening ever so slightly. “We’re making sure you’re alright, bonnie. That’s all. You said your date wasn’t good, no?”

Price leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke calmly, like he was explaining something obvious to a stubborn recruit. “That man wasn’t worth your time. None of your dates have been. They can’t protect you- not the way we can.”

“What are you even talking about?” you demanded, finally pulling away from Soap’s hold. Yet the feeling of being a bleeding sheep surrounded by wolves didn’t abate. “You’ve been acting so weird lately- ever since I mentioned dating. If there’s something you’re not telling me, just spit it out!”

Gaz sighed, his tone carrying a note of exasperation as he leaned against the couch. “We’re trying to keep you safe, love. Every time you step out with someone, you’re putting yourself at risk. You don’t know these people like we do.”

Your stomach churned. “What do you mean-?”

Gaz chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it, and you did not laugh. “Do you think we’d let you go out with someone without knowing everything about them first? Their names, their jobs, their pasts…” His voice dropped, a edge bleeding into his words. “How to get rid of them.”

Your blood ran cold, and you stared between them. They were dead serious, you realized. “That’s… You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking.”

No one answered.

Simon pushed off the wall, his massive frame closing the distance between you in just a few steps. He crouched down in front of you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. You were essentially boxed in from all sides. “We’re not joking. You don’t need anyone else. You’ve got us.”

“…This isn’t normal.” You whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to process what you were hearing. “This- I don’t-“

“It is normal,” Price’s voice was steady and calm, eyes dark. “For us. For the people who care about you most.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as the implications of their words sank in. They weren’t just being overprotective or overbearing. They were sabotaging your dates, controlling who could get close to you, and now- God, had they hurt people? How many had they hurt? All those people- you-

Your hands trembled, though you braved on even if bravery was the last thing you felt. “You can’t just decide this for me. I’m not some possession you can keep to yourselves.”

“We’re not keeping you from anything you need,” Gaz spoke so softly, you could trick yourself into believing he was saying you could leave and this was all just a mean prank. “We’re protecting you from what you don’t.”

“You should be thanking us,” Proce sighed, pulling out a cigar to smoke. Yet his eyes did not leave you even once, not even for a single second. “We’re the reason you’ve been safe so far.”

Simon’s gloved hands rested on your knees, pinning you down to the couch. “We’ll take care of you,” he said, his voice low and almost soothing. “Always.”

You wanted to argue, to push them away, but the realization- the full weight of what they had done hit you like a freight train. You stood abruptly, pushing past Simon and cutting through the tense silence in the room. Their eyes followed your every move, like predators watching prey.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” you stammered, stepping back toward the door. “This isn’t normal. None of this is normal. You can’t just- control my life like this!”

“Sit down, love.” Price said, his voice calm, but the edge in it was unmistakable.

“No, no,” you shot back, shaking your head as you took another step toward the door. “I’m leaving. I need some space. This- this is insane.”

Gaz rose from his chair, moving to block your path to the exit. His expression was so deceptively soft, but his stance was firm, unyielding. “You’re not thinking clearly, love.” He said, low. “Just sit down. We’ll talk it through.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you snapped, your voice rising with panic. “You’ve been stalking me- sabotaging my life! That’s not protection. That’s obsession!”

Soap stood then, and his expression made you flinch. He stepped closer, effectively boxing you in again as he joined Gaz. “We’re not letting you walk out that door.” He said simply, but his words were anything but.

You turned toward the only other way out, but Simon was already there, his massive frame looming in the doorway to the hall. He didn’t say a word, just stared, his presence alone enough to make your stomach twist.

Your breathing quickened as you turned back to Price, the only one still seated, though his gaze was sharp and calculating. “You can’t keep me here, Price,” you said, your voice trembling but still clinging to the traces of defiance. “You don’t have the right-“

“We do have the right,” Price interrupted, standing slowly. The sheer authority- the sheer finality in his voice made your knees weak. “Because we’re the only ones who care about you the way we do. The only ones who’ll keep you safe. Your team, remember, darling?”

“This isn’t safety,” you hissed, backing toward the wall. “This is prison.”

Price mouthed the word, then huffed a humorless laugh. “We’re not locking you up. But we will stop you from running into danger. Even if you don’t understand it now, you’ll thank us later.”

“You can’t just-“

“Enough,” Simon cut in, sharp and blunt, his voice cutting through your protests like a knife. “You’re not leaving. Not now. Not ever.”

Your back hit the wall, your escape routes blocked on all sides. Your chest heaved as you looked at each of them, searching for even a sliver of remorse. But all you saw was determination, faces set in stone…

Much like your fate.

[bluetimeombre]

☽｡⋆ Learning to fly, starting to crawl

Over one hundred years ago, you lost your wings but the wound still hurts like it was only yesterday. When your brothers mate wants to learn to fly, he doesn’t hesitate in teaching her, right in front of you. And nobody can see the scars except the one you love…

[OMG I'M ALIVE!!!! I've had this sitting in my drafts for months but have only just got around to posting. Basically, I have too many hobbies but i'm in a writing mood again., very fitting to start with my boy AZRIEL, whom i love very much. I hope you enjoy. This is linked to my other Azriel fic but of course can be read alone. Not proof-read and yes, she lost her wings. It's becoming almost a thing but it makes for some good ass angst. ENJOY!!!!]

☽｡⋆

The inner circle all sat around the table, eating and chatting merrily. Rhysand sat at the head of the table, as was tradition, while his mate- Feyre- sat next to him, their hands entwined. They smiled at each other, as so in love they were. Cassian and Mor were joking around along with Amren and Elian listened politely. Every now and then, she glanced the shadow singers way to invite him into the conversation but there was no such luck.

Azriel only stared ahead of him, glaring at the empty space where you usually sat. He wasn’t at all surprised you hadn’t turned up, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t be angry about it.

For a few weeks now he’d noticed the shift in you. You snapped easily and often rolled your eyes at anything your brother- the high lord- had to say. He’d heard you pace your rooms at night and his shadows (that favoured you above all) had reported that many nights you went to Rita’s.

But your empty seat irked him. And it irked him that Rhys seemed to not care in the slightest.

Az was the first to be aware of your presence, the echo of the door opening alerting them all and your scent hit him in the face. He inhaled it- your lavender, your sweetness, tinted by the alcohol lingering.

Rhysand huffed and everyone seemed to notice the shift. ‘I apologize about this, Feyre darling.’

Just then, you and Nesta stumbled into the room, arms linked and laughing your heads off about something or other.

Azriel drank you in. Your cheeks were flushed, your dress creased as you struggled to stay up right. Gods, what had you done?

You pouted dramatically, throwing a hand on your hip. ‘Uh oh, Rhysands got his grumpy face on.’

‘Isn’t that his usual?’ Said Nesta, causing the two of you to laugh again.

Everyone watched the two of you.

‘Where have you been?’ Az asked, wanting to rush to you and support you, but Rhys seemed one breath away from snapping.

‘We’re trying to have a pleasant meal, don’t ruin it,’ he grumbled.

‘Yes sir!’ You saluted.

Rhys growled and Feyre took his hand, squeezing it tightly.

‘Something tells me we’re not wanted, y/n,’ Nesta said to her.

‘Alas, we do not want to be here,’ you said, stumbling your way past the table. Before you went, you gave Feyre a squeeze on the shoulder, leaning down to whisper to her. ‘Feyre darling.’

‘Enough!’ Rhys shot up, hands on the table.

You barley spared him a glance as you and Nesta went about your way. You tripped on a plant pot, stumbling and apologizing to the object.

Azriel got out his seat, ready to follow you to wherever. No matter if you wanted him or not.

‘Sit down, Azriel,’ said Rhysand, taking his seat again. He picked up his fork and smiled at his mate like nothing had happened. All the while, your scent got further away from him.

He looked between where you’d disappeared and his high lord. He settled down and promised he’d find out what had made you act so.

☽｡⋆

You woke with unbearable pain in your head the next day. And your back. Your head was granted with the amount you and Nesta had drank, seeking to out-do one another so much so you drank out most of Rita’s.

But your back, the pain was new. Almost as if it knew why you were so angry, so bitter and it sort to make it worse.

Your curtains were drawn but the wind blew them back, letting you glimpse the outside world you dreaded to be a part of.

Shadows curled up your bed, brushing your hair back affectionately. They seemed to always be around you, as if they knew the bond that heaved in your chest even if their master didn’t.

You offered them a poor smile. ‘I’m fine.’ But they caressed you and smelt your lie.

From beyond the curtains, you caught a glimpse of figures in the sky. You’d always loved your room for the view it granted, of the sun, the moon, the stars. But after losing your wings, the view turned cold and the sky never seemed as bright.

It only got worse.

Though you knew the pain it would bring you to see, you wrapped a blanket around you and treaded over to the window.

Feyre was trying out her new wings, the black gifts she’d been given. Once mortal, she now had everything you wanted. The power, the wings. Your freedom was now hers.

And you hated it.

Azriel was looking close to her, encouraging her as she went. Though they were small figures to you, you could see his smile, how he held his hands out to her should she lose confidence.

How many times had you flown side by side, acting like the clouds abided you. The times you’d raced or dropped just to have Azriel catch you.

Never again.

The bitterness invaded your mouth again, blocking out all other logical senses.

Your door burst open- the shadows rushing to your side and curling around your shoulders. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was, the anger radiating from him was enough.

‘How dare you turn up in the state you did last night,’ snapped Rhys. You didn’t turn to face him, shielding yourself from his fury. ‘You had no right to ruin a lovely evening. We are trying to make Feyre and her sisters feel welcomed, its a shame my own sister can’t seem to do that for me.’

The words twisted in your gut. For him… had you not done everything for him? Lost your wings because you wouldn’t give in? Lost fifty years of your life to be with him?

‘Get over whatever it is going on and only return to us when you want to act like a decent human being.’ Rhysand snapped before leaving again, slamming the door- causing her to flinch.

The shadows ran down your hair, your cheeks, your sides. Giving you any ghostly comfort they could. ‘I’m fine,’ you told them again, retreating further into your room.

The shadows followed you, but only half of them. The other half had returned to their master, clouding him and whispering in his ear.

Her wings. She misses her wings.

She hadn’t had to say it out loud, they knew her pain.

Azriel paused in the sky, alerting Feyre. She’d seen the shadows surround him in flourishes. She couldn’t understand they were reporting in on you, that Az needed you to have something there when he could not be.

‘What is it?’ She asked, beating her wings.

He stared at her then at the wings. He was filled with the longing to be with you, in the sky, playing. Your wings were beautiful, just because they were you. A beautiful part of you.

‘I need to speak with the high lord.’

☽｡⋆

‘Ask someone else to train Feyre to fly,’ said Azriel.

He’d insisted he needed to see the high lord on urgent matters that could not wait. He’d expected it to be of the war, but Azriel opened with the line.

Rhysand was sat behind his desk, looking up to Azriel with some amusement. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Ask Cassian,’ he said, he didn’t need to repeat himself.

‘Feyre wanted you.’

‘I can’t do it anymore,’ he said, stating it all simply.

Rhysand waited, wondering if he’d be graced with an explanation, but it never came. ‘Might I ask why.’

‘Your sister.’

Rhys’s amusement turned to a deep scowl. ‘My sister has asked you to stop flying with Feyre?’

‘No. She hasn’t asked, she never would. But I can’t teach Feyre to fly anymore.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m confused- what does any of this have to do with y/n?’ He asked.

Azriels shadows wound tight around him, coating him like a second skin. He wanted to yell, and he never let his emotions get the better of him. Instead, he curled his hand into a fist and clenched his jaw. ‘Do you really not think that this is hurting her?’

‘After her behaviour the past couple days I think it’s her who’s doing the hurting,’ he said, picking a bit of invisible lint from his shoulder.

‘She lost her wings,’ said Azriel with barely contained annoyance. ‘She lost them. They were cut from her back and she was left to bleed out.’

‘I do remember that Azriel,’ said Rhys, closing his eyes at the words. ‘I was there when we found her.’

‘So do you not think that teaching your mate to fly doesn’t effect her?’

Rhysand looked at him. His eyes changed, the hue turning darker. No, he hadn’t thought that. You’d never let on to feeling anything for your wings or lack of them. But then again, even if you had, would you ever have gone to your brother.

Azriel took a measured step forward. ‘Do you not think it hurts her that you teach your mate to fly, the same mate that gasped in horror when she saw the scars on your sisters back? That you have us fly in front of the house where she can see? Did you even know that when she bathes y/n covers all the mirrors so she doesn’t have to get a glance at the scars.’

The high lord held up a hand. ‘I understand.’

‘No, you don’t. You could never know what it’s like, neither could I, or Cassian. She had a part of her ripped off and she has to live without it every day. But you’ve gifted Feyre them as if it’s nothing.’

‘Because my mate has the powers,’ argued Rhys. ‘If I could give y/n wings I would- in a heartbeat, I would.’

Azriel nodded. He knew that, he knew the relationship between you and Rhys was fractured at best, but he also knew that if anything or anyone hurt you, Az would kill them. ‘I don’t want to reach Feyre to fly because it hurts y/n.’

Rhys leaned back in his chair, studying him. ‘And you care about her?’

‘More than I can express.’ He would give her the wings from his back if he could. ‘And if something hurts her… it hurts me.’

Rhysand nodded. ‘I’ll take her flying from now on. We’ll do it in the mountains, to spare y/n from seeing it.’

Azriel bowed his head. ‘Thank you.’

Rhys nodded but averted his gaze. ‘Look after her, Azriel.’

‘I always have.’

☽｡⋆

Nesta had gone to Rita's, expecting you later but you'd already snuck down to the Wine cellar and picked out the finest to drown your sorrows alone in. You'd past Cassian on the way, the male worried about your shifting gaze and the way you held yourself but you brushed him off and carried on your way.

You hesitated outside your door, where shadows lurked. Yes, they liked you and yes they were often with you, but never guarding your door.

Then, you smelt it. Not wine but sweet cedar and moss. Az.

You didn't want this. Didn't want him to see you like this, in pain in your mind and back, in longing for the wind through your hair. You knew he'd noticed your behaviour, he was the spy master, you'd only hoped... only hoped he didn't care as much as he did.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door and braced yourself for shouting.

Azriel stood there, looking regal and beautiful. His back was too the balcony, the door open and wind rusting his wings and sheets. His hands were behind his back and his gaze was... soft? It wasn't dark with anger or clouded in annoyance.

It was just Az.

'Azriel,' you do your best to smile, clearing your throat. 'What are you doing? I thought you had flying with Feyre?' you were trying but you were also just you and you missed your wings.

'I'm teaching her anymore,' he said.

You chuckle. 'Is she that bad a student?'

'I'm sorry.'

You look up to him, taking out the cork of the wine. Rose filled your senses. 'For what?'

'That she flys when you don't,' he mentioned it simply, as if you'd already told him what was hurting you and he'd accepted it.

You hadn't said it. You wouldn't. You hated yourself enough for being weak, you didn't need him, perfect Azriel, caring Azriel, to see how horrid your jealousy had made you. 'I don't know what you mean.'

'y/n,' he steps close to you, taking the bottle from you. He drops it at his side but no smash is delivered. The shadows swallow it up. 'Why won't you talk, instead of drowning yourself in pain?'

'I'm not drowning myself in anything,' you deny, moving away from him to close the balcony door. The air drifting in and moving everything but you only mocked.

'You can't fly,' he said.

Your eyes squeezed shut in pain. 'Yes, I know, you don't have to remind me.'

His boots sounded close behind her and he took her shoulders. He didn't force her to turn around, he only held her gently and soothed his thumbs over the knots in her back. 'You can't fly and words don't exist to tell you how sorry I am. If I could i'd give you the own wings off me back-'

'Don't say that.' The only thing worse than your pain, was Azriel going through it all.

'I would and I mean it just to see you smile again, if only for a second. I'd be glad to give them up,' he whispered. Your shoulders slumped under his grasp and he sighed in relief, it was better than tensing up again. 'I miss you smiling. I miss you laughing. I miss you smiling at me. I'm sorry if teaching Feyre to fly has hurt you.'

'It wasn't you, Az,' you turn in his hold, never letting him feel like it was his fault. In doing that, you admitted to being bothered. 'I can't be who I was, because I don't know how. And I don't want to try to only fail.'

He listened, hands trailing down your arms to rub.

You gulp. 'And it's not just losing the wings, it's everything I lost with it. Freedom. I can't join you or Cas, or anyone when you take to the skies. How am I going to cope in battle? I can't run as fast as I can fly, I can't fight as well. I can't hit Cassian over the head when he's being an idiot, I can't-I can't wrap them around you when we hold each other, and it's painful to think of everything I've lost when I've gained nothing.'

He listened, tears watering his gaze. You had not lost any of that, not to him.

'And Feyre,' you pulled away, crossing your arms around each other and looking out the window. 'I don't hate her, I wish I could but I can't. But she's been Fae for five seconds and she has everything I've ever wanted. Wings. My brother loves her. She's happy. I hate it and I hate myself.'

Your confession weighed your gut but your chest rose in a deep breath. You couldn't see Azriel behind you in the reflection of the windows and you couldn't hear him.

He'd gone. Of course he'd left, you'd whined about what you'd lost when you were at least alive. You'd complained about the High Lady- treason in Rhysand's book.

No, you were all alone.

But you weren't.

Az crept behind you and slowly- so you could pull away- wrapped his arms around your shoulders. He pulled you into his chest and matched his breaths with yours. 'I won't insult you by saying I get it, because I could never. But that time, when I found you after you'd lost your wings, I thought i'd lost you and that-that is how I imagine your feelings. Because I stopped breathing and I didn't think happiness would ever be in the world again. And your blood, you bleeding out has been in my nightmares since. If my hands were to be stained with it, let them, because it was the last thing i'd ever have of you.'

You had no idea. He'd felt terrible yes and been there the weeks and months it took to heal but you'd been so full of pain and guilt you hadn't thought of how he fared. Your greatest friend... your lustful secret.

Your hands came up to hold his arms.

'You do not have to be who you were before,' he whispered, head resting on your shoulder. 'Become better. Become something more. As for training, you're the strongest woman I know and still the only person I'd trust with my life.'

A tear escaped you.

He nudged your chin with his nose. 'And you can still hit Cass as much as you like.'

You laugh through tears, holding onto Az like he was the last thing anchoring you to yourself.

His wings slowly inched over you. 'And I will hold you all day, every day till I die, and i'll keep you safe.' His wings closed around the two of you as yours used to do.

Neither of you realised how much you'd missed it, needed it, craved it until it happened.

You'd lost your wings, but you had never and would never lose him.

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

itoshi rin was the best striker in the world.

he won the u20 world cup and actual world cup, winning both the golden boot and golden ball at least once, he played for the prestigious paris pxg, and he had the highest income of every soccer player in the world. at age 24, itoshi rin was truly the pinnacle of soccer players. he was romanticized, and soccer critics always had high expectations for him, no matter how detrimental it was to his health or reputation or even his own wants.

meanwhile, you didn’t have much—if any—soccer experience or knowledge at all despite growing up with the itoshi brothers and literally being the itoshi rin’s girlfriend. despite that, you would sometimes play against rin just for the fun of it, expecting to lose miserably, but that’s never the case.

rin is always the one losing dreadfully, not you.

it’s not like he doesn’t try against you or purposely allow you to win. no, in fact, rin tries as hard as he possibly can to win against you, knowing that he’ll get showered in praises and ego inflations from you if he does. but when he sees your slightly flushed pink cheeks and your eyebrows knitted together from how “locked in” (that’s always what you say) you are, rin’s legs feel like jelly.

rin’s feet aren’t kicking the ball, instead, they’re planted onto the ground right in front of you. and when he does play, his balance is terrible because no matter how hard he stares on the ball, his eyes always wander back to you.

whether it’s in a stadium full of tens of thousands or a small soccer field in the park, rin only sees you.

a few years later, at 26, you’re standing at the aisle with that long white dress and a bouquet of flowers, rin kisses you. but afterwards, his forehead is placed against yours. “i’ve never won against you. whether it was in academics or confessing first or saying ‘i love you’ first or asking about kids first or even in soccer, i’ve never won against you.”

your hands found their way to rin’s cheeks. and in that moment, it was as if there was no officiant standing next to the both of you, there were no crying family members frantically taking photos of the both of you on either side, there were none of rin’s crazy loud friends cheering, and there was no sae with a small yet soft smile and eyes full of pride sitting near rin.

it was only you and him.

“we’re just getting started with our lives. we have so many more opportunities for you to be first, rin. we’re only in our 20s, after all.” you brushed your lips against his. rin’s eyes wandered to yours, and a surge of warmth bloomed in his chest.

“will you stay with me until i meet you again in my next life?” rin whispered, doing the same to you and placing his hands on your cheeks. you smiled at him, tears finally beginning to sting your eyes.

“of course, rin. i love you, and i’ll be joining you no matter which life we’re in.”

to the rest of the world, rin was the world’s best striker. the man with high expectations. the man with enough potential to last decades after his retirement in the future. the man who will impact the future of soccer history. the pinnacle of soccer, skill, and fame.

and yet rin could never even defeat his own wife in a one-on-one soccer match.

but itoshi rin really wouldn’t want it any other way.

—————

a/n: was rewatching hxh and then realized that rin and meruem shared the same va. and welllll look at where we are now.

[kingedbishop]

The android Bishop had already filed the exchange away and was ready to focus entirely on his knitting. He still glared at Dan when the snap startled Vincent, but otherwise didn't care to stop. He only briefly slowed down when the other further pressed against him and he lifted his arm to make way for him.

When Vincent went into stasis, he shifted to sit more comfortably, then got back to knitting.

Meanwhile, Bishop had put on his best poker face, which wasn't too different from his usual resting face. Acing a game of cards was hardly what his training was aimed at, but he would not give away information to the enemy no matter how many scans he could run on him.

He pushed his shades up, never averting his gaze. Nines seemed to be the only remotely competent one. Now he just had to see if he could get away with his own lie.

So far, he felt optimistic.

Willow kept browsing the toys, not really minding what Sixty was up to.

"That would justify Vincent's behavior, yes. Though he may improve with time. He seems to have found something of a friend already, as unlikely as that one may be. There is hope."

In any case, she couldn't really judge Vincent for who he felt safe around when she too happened to somewhat enjoy arguing with Bishop.

"Though I wonder if there are androids who deviated for acts of kindness instead."

It would have been nice to know, if anything. As they were provided with boxes, Willow decided to pick a few toys as well.

"Dan was built to be a caretaker and is exceptionally good at it. He understands how much he can push for information and perhaps he is compelled to help you because you look like his brother." she added then, "Perhaps now that you saw how simple it was to let him in, you might find yourself more willing to quiet your concerns and share your burdens with others. The reason we are here is to help the survivors of PATHOS-II." She looked over, "That of course includes you."

"He's going to be a burden if he doesn't talk to me. I have a hard time with people as is, not knowing what I can say around him isn't making it easier." Rook complained, "I already put up with that with my father and I don't want to do it again because this time I actually care about what Strasky thinks of me."

But she still listened to Dan's advice. Her methods had failed, she might as well try a different approach.

"Well, good thing I have plenty of trauma to share." she mused, "I still feel like there isn't going to be space for me until all his friends will be alright, but I'll give it a shot."

The android seemed to always be on his best behavior around Vincent, even when he wouldn't have minded bothering Dan. Sure, the other's systems always seemed on the verge of overloading and he didn't enjoy some casual brawling. But he was harmless, thus he could afford to lower his guard.

The only real threat in the house was Bishop anyway, the other humans simply looked odd. They could be ignored and he could spend some time knitting.

"Mh." He looked down as Vincent leaned in and started apologizing profusely. That was a lot of words just for daring to get a little closer. He supposed he appreciated the concern, but he didn't really care.

"You may rest." It wasn't as if it'd compromise his mobility.

Bishop smirked. The temptation to say he already knew Strohmeier's name was strong, but he managed to hold back for the sake of the game.

"The name's Bishop." he said, looking at his cards. He picked a three and placed it down, then looked at the androids.

Willow kept an eye on Sixty, if anything, to be ready in case something got knocked down.

"Even twins have different personalities. These androids have been individuals for a short time and have been molded by their most recent experiences, but they still qualify as such." the cyborg replied, taking her gloves off, "But they're hardly at the end of their path. Perhaps Daniel will improve over time and so might Vincent. Artificial beings can heal too."

That went for Strasky too, as far as she was concerned. Willow reached for the nearest toy, taking a moment to focus on the feeling of the fabric provided by the sensors in her hands.

"The children need more items to decorate their rooms with. Their preferences, according to the last survey, seem to be dogs, felines, birds and have showed less interest in toys with bright colors." she listed, "Erica will likely claim whatever they will turn down. I suppose we should pick whatever catches our attention."

Then again, she could have used a few new plushies as well.

"Well, the hope is that they'll sort each other out…and maybe be nicer to him. Strasky basically felt responsible for everybody else, which worked out as well as it sounds." Rook said, giving a shrug, "And I feel like he doesn't want the help. I can try to cheer him up, but I'm not Strohmeier or one of the others."

She paused for a moment, then carefully reached out to pet Prince.

[xoxo-sarah]

If the Roles Were Reversed

My Wife part 2

Part 1

↝a/n: I have been given so much love for the first part and I can't express how grateful I am for it. It fills me with so much joy when people express how much they like my work. I have been asked to make a part two and who am I to say no?

↝pairing: season 1!Daryl Dixon x wife!reader

↝warning: season 1 episodes 3 & 4, angst, death, arguing, gore, zombies, typical twd stuff, not proofread, Ed

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 1.25.25

Daryl Dixon masterlist

“You can't go, Daryl. Listen to me-” You threw your hands around, watching Daryl pace in front of you. The peaceful expression he once had, when he had reunited with you, was wiped clean off of his face.

He was told the news about Merle and instantly became furious. No matter how much you tried to calm him, it was no use.

His brother was out there. Daryl argued that Merle would be out there looking for him if the roles were reversed.

“Listen, there are too many.” You stepped closer, trying to make him understand, “After the racket everyone made trying to leave, I bet there’s even more now.”

“They left my brother on a roof.” You could tell he was trying his hardest not to yell at you. He was never one to take his anger out on the one person he loves more than anything in the world. He was always gentle with you, just like you deserved.

Sighing, you didn’t know how to counter that. As much as everyone who was waiting on the other side of the R.V wanted you to talk some sense into your husband, Daryl had a point. After all, he had gone out to find you, even against Merle telling him not to.

If it had been Daryl who they had left behind, you would’ve already been in the city, searching. Even if you had to go by yourself, it wouldn’t matter.

None of that changed the fact that it’s dangerous. You couldn’t let him go.

You just got him back.

“He was out of control, you know how he can get. I don’t think they had a choice.” You whispered, trying to convince yourself just as much as him.

Daryl’s nostrils flared, as he tried to calm himself. He didn’t want to lash out on you, he never did. But he was about to break. “Merle is a prick, but he’s my brother.”

With that, Daryl walked around the R.V, shoulder checking Shane, who looked disappointed that you hadn’t helped de-escalate the situation. Daryl was stubborn, there wasn’t much you could do.

Carol quickly went back to what she was doing, not wanting to seem like she was being nosey. Which didn’t do much considering everyone in the camp was waiting. After the brawl that had happened when Daryl was told about Merle, everyone was interested in how this whole situation would turn out. Everyone else tried hiding their obvious interest as Daryl came into view. You walked behind him, head hung low, defeated and slightly scared.

Daryl walked toward the box truck, ready to leave.

Rick walked over to you, “So?”

“You shook your head, “He’s not gonna change his mind. I tried.”

He nodded in understanding. Lori looked on at the interaction. She had been the one to offer Rick showing Daryl the way to Merle. She was adamant on it, but at the same time mad at him for leaving. It was almost like she was testing him, seeing if he would actually leave his family to be the heroic cop from before. She wanted him to choose her and Carl over ‘the right thing to do’.

Rick cleared his throat, “It’ll be alright,” he nodded fiddling with the gun holster before turning back around.

Glenn backed the box truck closer, Daryl impatiently standing in the back. You walked toward him when the vehicle stopped. He squinted down at you against the beating sun, watching as you climbed into the truck.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Going with you.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Four’s enough.”

You didn’t care if Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog were also going. You had stayed in the city for a while, you knew your way around. Plus, you would be going for a different reason than the rest. They were going for Merle, you were going for Daryl.

“Stay here.” His voice was softer now. Truthfully, he didn’t want anything to happen to you. You were safer at the camp, with people you had grown comfortable with in such a short amount of time. “They’ll need somebody who knows how to hunt for somethin’ to eat. Fish is gonna get old fast.” You cracked a smile at his slight humor at the situation. Still, you didn’t want him to leave.

Daryl stepped closer, bringing you into his arms, his head resting on yours. The stench of sweat, dirt, and god knows what else didn’t bother either of you. He didn’t care that you didn’t smell like the sweet shampoo he loved, and you didn’t care that he didn’t smell like the body wash that you had bought him the last time you had gone to the store, or the cologne you loved.

“Keep an eye on everybody,” He kissed your forehead, mumbling against the skin, as he stayed close. “Don’t let anyone mess with ya.”

“When do I ever?” A smile threatened to make an appearance. But it wasn’t the time. He was worried about his brother.

Rick walked by, casting a glance back at the two of you, nodding. Inhaling deeply, you moved away from Daryl, jumping down from the truck. He sent you one more look before pulling the roll-up doors down. You stood there, listening to the box truck’s engine start. You continued to stand there even after the truck faded into the distance.

-

Dale watched as you fiddled with the rag he had given you to wipe the sweat off your brow. You kept fidgeting; ever since Daryl left.

He was quick to offer you to help him keep watch, but you were elsewhere ever since you climbed onto the roof of the R.V. You were trying, Dale could tell. But he saw the gears turning in your head, greased with the terrible thought of what could happen to your husband. The thought of Daryl always overpowered any other thought.

His greyed eyebrows raised as you shot up from your seat.

“Think i’m gonna go help with the laundry. To keep myself busy.” Dale didn’t say anything, only moving out of your way so you could climb down.

Making your way to the quarry, you focused on the voices in the distance and the sharp rocks under your feet. You walked past Ed, who sat comfortably in the back of the car, smoking while keeping an eye on Carol. He glanced up, taking a drag of his cigarette. Ignoring him, you carefully navigate your way down the rocks toward where Carol, Jacqui, Andrea, and Amy sat.

“Can somebody explain to me how the women wound up doing all the Hattie McDaniel work?” Jacqui grumbled, watching Shane and Carl fail at catching frogs, their laughter echoing.

“The world ended. Didn’t you get the memo?” Amy wrung the water out of a shirt, flicking hair out of her face. Carol glanced back, looking at Ed. She saw you walking toward them. Sending you a small smile. “It’s just the way it is.” Her eyes fell back to her husband.

“Care for some help?” You squinted at the group through the sun beating down into your eyes. Jacqui motioned to a turned over bucket, “Please.” Giving a tightlipped smile, you sat down ,grabbing a scrub brush and a piece of clothing.

The way the women conversated put you at ease. It was familiar. People at the office that you worked at, were exactly like them.

“I do miss my Maytag.” Carol said, scrubbing clothes against the old washboard.

“I miss my Benz, my Sat Nav.” Andrea added.

“I miss my coffeemaker with that dual-drip filter and built-in grinder, honey.” Jacqui smiled.

Amy pouted, “My computer…and texting.”

“I miss my t.v. And wine. Especially after a long day.” You groaned, remembering the days after work; where you would come home, take your shoes off and get wine and a movie ready. Daryl would come home a little later and join you.

Your reminiscing was cut short by Andrea, “I miss my vibrator.”

Stopping your scrubbing, you looked up at her, a surprised chuckle leaving your lips.

“Ohhhhh.” “Oh my God!”

Carol glanced back at Ed, “Me too.”

You laughed harder, along with the others.

“What’s so funny?”

Just like that, the atmosphere was ruined. Ed walked down, instantly taking the joy out of the air.

“Just swapping war stories, Ed,” Andrea looked back at him, before looking over at Carol. “Yeah.”

Ed walked closer. From your spot beside Carol, you could feel Ed looming behind. Carol instinctively folded in on herself, head sinking into her shoulders.

“Problem, Ed?” Andrea glared at him.

“None that concerns you,” He took another puff of his cigarette, “and you ought to focus on your work. This ain’t no comedy club.”

Andrea huffed, plopping the brush in the tin bucket.

“Just trying to make the best out of a bad situation.” You looked at him, face blank. He stared down at you. You waited for him to say something else. Surprisingly he only blew the smoke out, throwing the butt away. He stepped back, lighting another. Rolling your eyes, you turned back to the laundry. Andrea stood, walking toward him.

“Ed, tell you what, you don’t like how your laundry is done, you are welcome to pitch in and do it yourself. Here,” She threw the soaking wet piece of clothing in her hands at him.

He threw it back. Andrea gasped. “Ain't my job, missy.”

Amy stood, wanting to de-escalate the situation. She touched Andrea’s arm, “Andrea, don’t.”

“What is your job, Ed? Sitting on your ass, smoking cigarettes?”

You glanced at Carol, who sat quietly, still working.

“Well, it sure as hell ain’t listening to some uppity smart-mouthed bitch. Tell you what,” He motioned for Carol, who was out of her seat in a second. You grabbed her arm before she could fully stand up. You could see the fear and timidness in her eyes.

“C’mon, let’s go.” He continued to beckon her.

You stood, keeping a soft but comforting grip on her arm.

“I don’t think she needs to go anywhere with you, Ed.” Andrea continued.

Carol glanced up from the ground for a split second, meeting your eyes. She didn’t want to cause any more trouble. She would be dragged back to camp by Ed if that meant nothing else would happen. She knew Ed, what he was capable of.

“And I say that’s none of your business.” Ed beckoned for Carol again. “Come on, now. You heard me.”

Carol moved away from your grip. Andrea turned to her, “Carol,”

“Andrea, please. It doesn’t matter.”

Ed glared at the interaction, “Hey, don’t think I won't knock you on your ass, just ‘cause you some college-educated cooze, alright?”

Andrea scoffed at the audacity of the male in front of her. You stepped forward, grabbing Carol by the shoulder. You weren’t about to let her go with him when he was clearly becoming hostile.

“Now you come on now or you gonna regret it later.”

You softly said her name, ignoring her husband’s glare, and stepped closer to her in a protective manner.

“So she can show up with fresh bruises later, Ed?” Jacqui piped up for the first time since Ed walked over. “Yeah, we’ve seen them.”

Ed chuckled, “Stay out of this,” his harsh gaze pierced through his wife. “Now come on! You know what, this is none of y’all’s business. You don’t want to keep prodding the bull here, okay? Now I am done talkin’. Come on!”

You cringed at his words, moving in front of Carol as he walked closer. He ignored you, reaching around to grab at her arm with a harsh grip. The embarrassment was clear on her face. He pulled, knocking your balance slightly off as he yanked Carol from behind you. Her shoulder crashed into yours, feet moving in a jumble over your own.

“No. No, Carol. You don’t have-”

Carol muttered something under her breath, ignoring Andrea.

Ed swung around, spitting in Carol’s face. “You don’t tell me what! I tell you what!” His grip tightened, jagged nails biting into the soft skin of her upper arm. She whimpered quietly at the force. He raised his hand, striking her against the face. Gasping, you caught her as she fell back, grabbing her reddening cheek.

Everyone clamoured; Andrea hitting and pushing him away, you cursing him as Carol started crying. She fell further into you, as you held her protectively, hauling her away from him.

Ed was pulled back and thrown to the ground, before being dragged by the back of his shirt. Shane threw him further into to the ground, before throwing a punch, and another straight after.

“No!” Carol cried, trying to get away. Shane kept throwing punches, more skin breaking every time his fist hit Ed’s face. Carol covered her mouth, body swaying.

“Shane, stop!” “Enough! Enough!” “Just stop!”

Shane stopped, pointing a finger in Ed’s swollen and bloodied face. “You put your hands on your wife, your little girl, or anybody else in this camp one more time, I will not stop next time. Do you hear me?” He grabbed Ed’s face, squishing it in the process. “Do you hear me?!”

Ed slurred, “Yes.”

Shane let go, pointing again. “I’ll beat you to death, Ed.” With one final punch, he stood, kicking the man on the ground and walking away.

“God!” Carol cried, using strength you had never seen from her before, to break from you, running over to her husband.

-

The tension in the camp was suffocating after that. There was a tiny victory after Andrea and Amy went fishing and brought back dinner, but it was short lived. Jim had been found digging graves, which disturbed a lot of you.

Night fell and everyone began eating the fish-fry.

You smiled at Sophia as she passed the pan of fish. She was well-mannered; all thanks to Carol. She was a shy girl, but became a seemingly different kid when she was around other kids. She found friends in a world that would probably take them away before you could blink. She, along with the other kids, didn’t understand what was out there, all of the bad. They held an innocence that would be demolished in front of your eyes.

“I gotta ask you, man. It’s been driving me crazy.” One of the men that you met in the city, Morales, spoke up, directing it at Dale.

“What?”

“That watch,” he pointed at the watch on Dale’s wrist.

Dale smiled, “What’s wrong with my watch?”

Morales continued, “I see you everyday, the same time, winding that thing like a village priest saying mass.”

“I’ve wondered this myself.” Jacqui smiled.

Dale threw his hands up playfully, “I’m missing the point.”

You looked between him and his watch, the fire casting a warm gleam over it, brightening the brown leather.

“Unless I've misread the signs, the world seems to have come to an end. At least hit a speed bump for a good long while.” Jacqui shrugged her shoulders.

“But there’s you, everyday, winding that stupid watch.” Morales raised his eyebrows at the old man.

“Time- it’s important to keep track, isn’t it? The days, at least. Don’t you think, Andrea? Back me up here.”

They shared a knowing look, their faces glowing in the fire from where you sat. She sent him a seemingly warning glare, but his smile didn’t falter.

“I like- I like what, um, a father said to son when he gave him a watch that had been handed down through generations. He said “I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire, which will fit your individual needs no better than it did mine or my father’s before me; I give it to you not that you may remember time, not that you may forget it for a moment now and then, and not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it.””

Huh,” Morales nodded at the answer, not really expecting it.

Everyone sat in silence around the fire, before Amy broke it, “You are so weird.”

Laughter echoed as you took a swig of beer. It wasn’t wine, but it wasn’t pure water so it would do.

“It’s not me. It’s Faulkner, William Faulkner.”

Amy rolled her eyes at Dale.

The older man chuckled, “Maybe my bad paraphrasing.”

Amy stood, walking away from the fire. Andrea stopped her, “Where are you going?”

“I have to pee.” The younger sister raised her brows, “Jeez, you try to be discreet around here.” She quickly walked off, toward the R.V.

Dale turned to you, “What about you? You fiddle with that on your wrist.” You looked down at the bulky thing around your wrist. “Was my dog’s collar.” Dale’s smile turned sad. While rushing out of your house, you had grabbed the collar from the leash you would walk her around the block with. Her name was embroidered; a gift from Daryl when he first surprised you with a puppy.

You tightened it into a bracelet, holding her memory close. Truthfully, you had forgotten about it being on your wrist. You didn’t notice how much you fidgeted with it. Dale did, when you were on watch with him.

You didn’t think about the dog for long.

The R.V door opened, and Amy stepped out. “We’re out of toilet paper?” She yelled. Before she could get an answer, a hand grabbed her forearm from behind the other side of the door. She stood in shock as a walker moved closer to her. She screamed, feeling the walker bite down.

Your head instantly snapped up, eyes growing wide at the sight. More walkers came from each direction, limping forward. Everyone screamed, jumping up. Parents grabbed their kids, others grabbed weapons. Gunshots echoed, making your ears ring. You were quick to instinctively reach for your gun. Unfortunately, that gun was still in Glenn’s bag with no bullets.

A hand on your shoulder had you swiveling around, pushing the walker that simply snarled at you. Pushing with all your strength, you didn’t wait for it to hit the ground before you were running.

Another walker stumbled toward you from behind, dirty nails digging into your skin. This walker was closer, a stench wafting into your nose before you could push it away. You tried, but from the angle in which the walker had grabbed you, you could only push its head away, fingers avoiding its snipping teeth.

You screamed, still hearing Shane unload his gun in the distance.

Andrea wailed, watching another walker bite a gash out of Amy’s shoulder, right where her neck meets it.

The grip tightened on you, making you hiss. Their nails were long and had the bite to prove it. One final hit had the walker staggering back, grip falling off. You turned, running toward the R.V, where Shane, Lori, Carol, Morales, and their families were. More gunfire rang out.

Making it to the vehicle, you turned back, seeing Daryl and the others coming out of the woods. He was the first out, head snapping in ebery direction. The other were soon to follow.

Daryl spotted you. He looked around, making sure no more walkers were around, before running toward you. Your bodies collided, knocking the breath out of your lungs.

He pulled back, “You hurt?”

“No, i don’t think- I don’t know.”

You were in shock, your jumbled words and wide eyes proving it. You couldn’t think. You rubbed where you were scratched.

In your time since the world ended, you had hidden in the top floor of a building. If you were ever met with danger, you always had a gun or knife handy.

Tonight, you were completely unprepared.

In the dark, you couldn't tell if the skin of your arm was broken. Clinging back to Daryl, you turned your head to where Andrea laid beside Amy. Blood pooled around them. Amy’s body went limp, sending Andrea to sobs. Closing your eyes tightly, you turned back to Daryl, pushing your face into his neck. He held you close, hiding the shake in his hands.

He had heard your scream.

That’s what had him running through the woods with only you in mind, leaving the other behind.

•2021-2025 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

Tags from the last chapter who wanted part 2: @notmirnda @vomiting-blood @i93jjk @multifandomfan @gaudesstuff @cymbalta-slut

[777heavengirl]

kitchen

remus lupin x reader one-shot ! warnings: my beta reader rated it 12/10 angst, do with that what you will. word count: 2,889 masterlist a/n: this is so sad. this is rlly just me partly reflecting my break up onto Remus i AM SO SORRY IN ADVANCE.

You stared at the side of Remus’s face as he talked with James. Your brother ever the animated man, waved his arms around and spoke excitedly, to which Remus could only muster small chuckles and low-toned responses. 

You knew he was tired. 

Work was tiring. 

The moon was tiring. 

His body was tired. 

Part of you was still left with a bitter aftertaste from his apathy. You pressed a kiss against his bicep.

Remus’s lips pressed into a thin line resembling a smile. You knew it meant he was itching to leave. But you didn’t move. You sat, and stared, at him, at James, at Lily. At nothing at all. You laughed when they did, and put your hand on his forearm as to remind yourself of the spark between you. To remind yourself that he was here, with you and that he loved you.

That you loved him too.

You wondered if he had always been this way. Had you just been too in love to notice the apathy? The way he seemed to not even try to reciprocate any energy? Were you just being too needy? 

Was James not bothered by his friend’s lack of emotion? 

You and Remus had too much history. You could not remember what life was like without being with him. It had been years. Years of running up and down behind your twin brother and his friends, years of hands intertwined with Remus’s, kisses first shared in the dark— Merlin forbid your brother found out at the time. You had been happy. For years. Even with the ups and downs and the mercurial nature of his moods. Maybe lunar is a better word for it.

The waning and waxing phases of the way he felt about the world. You thought that might be the hardest part of it all. 

The way he’d be enthusiastic about the future one week, talking about job postings that had piqued his interest, talking about a future. But other weeks, the dark side of the moon reared its ugly head. He’d be riddled with doubts and fears. Days and weeks were he simply wallowed, days where he haunted your room or your kitchen, for hours. He’d reluctantly go to his muggle job, the monotony of it all bringing his mood down even more.

Weeks like those it was hard. The talks of aspirations went up in a cloud of smoke and you were once again left with nothing.

 He always did say that even though he wasn't sure what he wanted to do, he was sure about you. That you were the one constant in his future. No matter what, it was you. It wasn’t as reassuring as he believed it to be.

You tried not to think about it.

You eventually bid goodbye to your brother and his darling wife. The picture of a perfect family, with a baby on the way, in a small flowering cottage. You itched to ask Remus if he ever wanted that. Did he ever think about it at all?

But, you loved him. That was all that mattered.

Besides, you had real history. Too many years invested. If it wasn’t with him, you were probably just going to end up alone.

You were in love with him for Godric’s sake. Maybe that was the reason you could never choose yourself. 

“Have you given what we talked about some thought?” your words were barely above a whisper, unsure, scared about what his answer could be. You could see him look around uncomfortably. Maybe you should’ve waited until you actually got home not walking through the streets. 

“Y-yeah, I did…” his hand gripped yours tighter as you walked, like you might slip from his fingers “I think I should maybe wait a few weeks…” his shoulders tensed when the sigh inevitably left your lips. “I’m sorry I know it isn't what you wanted to hear but- I don't know if the Ministry would even take me… I did see a new posting for an entry-level in the department of magical creatures maybe I could apply”

“Apply soon yeah”

He nodded silently and you kissed his shoulder to wordlessly tell him thank you, as you walked home from James and Lily’s. Maybe he’d actually do it this time. Maybe one day, he’d see his own potential, he’d see how much farther he could go. 

Maybe someday he’d be brave enough to take a leap and fulfill his promises to you and himself. Maybe one day you’d finally be in a spot to build a family together. Or at least plan for it.

After all, you and Remus had real history. And he promised. Many moons ago.

Your love for him was why it was always so hard to do the right thing. 

Because as soon there was some disagreement, you knew, as much as he did, that no matter how upset you might be with him he could sweep you into his arms and all worry would melt away. 

In the small flat, you and Remus shared, under the warm light of the stray table lamp you’d dance. He’d take you in his arms and move along the soft rhythm of the music he’d put on. He’d kiss your temple and swear and promise.

Shallow words that at this point went in one ear and out the other. Promises of a future together, of applications that would never get done, of steps that would never even be attempted. 

But nevertheless, you forgave. 

You forgave four years of broken promises. You forgave the lack of a ring on your finger. You forgave the lack of planning for the future. You forgave his indifference.

You made yourself think you forgave him.

You tried to forget too.

Tried to forget his lack of ambition because why try when they would never want to hire someone like me? Tried to forget the way your mother had warned you about this a year back. Tried to forget the way Sirius called your phone last month from France, telling you you’d love it there, telling you it was a shame Remus didn’t want to go. How much of a shame it was that you had to miss out on life-changing experiences because Remus couldn't. 

Wouldn’t. 

Same thing.

Sirius called again a few days after you visited your brother.

“Is it raining there? The weather’s shit here at the moment” You ask, staring at the window, the raging storm outside banging against the glass and drowning the usual sight of the street bellow. 

“Meh- could be worse, I reckon it’s starting to warm up soon, so m’pretty excited about that,” He said, you hummed in acknowledgment “Have you talked to Moony again about coming? It really is beautiful in the summer doll— besides you can stay with me for free obviously”

You sighed

“No Sirius, I honestly don't even want to ask I already know how that one will go”

“So what? you’re not vacationing at all?”

“The only place I’m vacationing is in rock bottom Black-” you said, staring at the closed bedroom door. No doubt Remus was taking a small nap. The full moon was approaching.

Sirius tskd’d.

“You know you can always come… by yourself I mean, stay with me for a while”

“Sirius…”

“I know I know… I’m sorry-” Sirius tried laughing it off, the chuckle not lasting long as he asked, “Are you happy at least? With him.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that” You tried fighting the way your eyes seemed to immediately water.

“I fear it’s a pretty straight-up question- yes or no?”

“I don’t know if this is what happy is anymore” you whispered, afraid to state it fully aloud

“Then it isn't. When you’re happy, you know” Sirius sounded somber “You have to do the right thing, whatever is right for you not for him”

“It is never that easy”

“Yes, it is doll. It is always that easy”

You bid him goodbye soon after.

You chalked it off as Sirius not knowing what it was like to be with someone for years. You couldn’t just throw away the past four years of your life just because what? He was tired? He wasn’t putting as much effort as you wanted?

It could be fixed.

You were convinced you’d fix it as Remus trudged out of the room, hair disheveled as he rested his head on your shoulder. A kiss to the crook of your neck.

“Was it Pads?” he mumbled against your skin, you ignored the way you felt caught

“Yes”

“Is he okay?”

“Yes, better than okay”

“I wish we could go to Paris” you tried not breaking down in tears right there and there. 

It was never about money. You could go on brooms for fucks sake. You could portkey right into Sirius’s little French apartment. 

You didn't ask him why not. Why not go? You drowned the question in the tea he eventually handed you. You had always been more of a coffee person, but much like everything else, you sacrificed it for his preference for tea and its calming effects.

You tried your best to fix it, for months. You’d lay down with him after work, card your fingers through his light brown locks, trace his scars while he fought off sleep, press a chaste kiss to his lips before he fell asleep. 

You started calling Sirius more often than not, in hushed whispers. Tears were often spilled. You stopped feeling bad eventually. It was just calling a friend in a time of need. Draining the disappointment you didn't dare throw in Remus’s face. 

He was going through enough.

You continued to hold on to hope.

You’d nudge him along. Try for new jobs, call friends to see if anyone, anyone at all, could find him an in with the ministry.

“He just needs to apply sweetie- this is stupid” Marlene rolled her eyes, her auror uniform casually unbuttoned after her day of work, she twirled the spoon in her tea with a small wave of her finger. “They’re starting these werewolf allocation programs, they make sure they’re given jobs and such…”

“I don't know if he’d like that” You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. You could imagine him already, turning his nose away from any sort of Ministry help.

“Can I ask why he isn’t the one asking me these things?” Marlene said a glint in her eye that let you know she knew the answer already. You looked away.

“Sometimes it's hard to do the right thing Marls”

“You need to do the right thing for yourself”

“Marlene-” you scoffed “Me and Remus just have too much history- how can I ever just choose me? It’s us”

“Maybe it’s time it’s just you” 

You stared at Remus that night, the soft music that played from his muggle radio filling the air between you. You stared at him silently, the curve of his lips, the soft of the apples of his cheeks. The silvery scars that ran across his face. 

You loved him, you did.

But you also did feel the very worst you could feel. No dancing in the kitchen could fix it anymore. No kisses and fake promises could fix it. Not anymore.

As soft as he made you feel, as much history as you had together. You couldn't help the overwhelming need to cry every time you looked at him. 

What the hell was he even doing? What were you doing?

Any plans you had dreamed of with him were now very quickly crumbling in front of your eyes. He continued to silently make tea. You hoped he wouldn't notice the stray tears that managed to escape your eyes.

You and Remus had what your brother always called real history. He just meant it was deeply engrained, in your bones, in your heart. He said it poignantly last time you popped in for a visit. His tone didn’t fail to chip at your heart.

Your years together weren’t something you could erase. Not that you wanted to. 

You were happy with him. Right? You loved him.

Maybe if you just gave him more time. You had graduated Hogwarts a mere two years ago. 

He had always been more than good to you. Even at your lowest. Even at his lowest. He was nothing but gentle and loving.

Maybe. Sometimes, love wasn't enough.

You didn’t say anything as he finished cleaning up the kitchen. He kissed your temple goodnight. You stayed up, staring at the phone line debating on calling Sirius, again. 

“I just don’t know what I should do…” you leaned against the wet metal railing of your balcony, the drops seeping into your pajama pants. You grabbed the base of the phone with one hand, the other holding the receiver up to your ear

“I don’t know why you’re asking me angel, you already know what my answer is going to be”

“Don’t be mean Sirius” he could hear the pout in your voice, and he laughed

“I’m not- you know I love Moony, we’ve been friends for ages but…”

“But?”

“I love you more” You didn’t respond. “And I think you need to love yourself more than you love him too” You could hear him inhale what you guessed was a cigarette

You hummed in acknowledgment, not daring to open your mouth at the fear that sobs would break your words.

“Don’t wear yourself out for someone that isn’t doing the same for you…”

“That’s unfair… he does”

“He forgot a card for your anniversary”

“It was a few days after the full moon…”

“Okay, what about your birthday? Or Christmas for that matter? What? D’you think I’d forget how you called crying? Every single one of those times” He said, you could feel your lip wobbling. “Come to Paris with me-”

“Sirius-”

“Just think about it okay? Promise me you’ll at least do that…”

“Okay, I will—”

“Right… ‘night love,” he said, you muttered a small goodnight “and for the record…” He hesitated for a second, almost as if he shouldn’t say it. Sirius was never one to stay quiet, he did this time. “Nevermind, I love you”

“Love you too Sirius” you answered, head hanging in defeat. The phone call clicked off.

It really wasn’t about Sirius you thought, as you guiltily crawled into bed with your boyfriend. Not about France either. You stared at his sleeping form.

It wasn’t about your and Remus’s history. It didn’t matter how long you had been together if there was no future.

It wasn’t about what your brother or Marlene, or even your mother thought. 

It was about choosing you. 

Right?

“Remus” you padded over and stood next to the small dining table that morning. 

“Yes?” He didn’t look up from his book, a bad habit he had picked up. He was never truly listening when he did that

“Remus have you applied to the job at the Ministry?”

“Mhm? Ministry…” he still didn’t look up, he took a sip of his tea “No I haven't yet, I’ll get around to it though, I just want to take my time with it you know?”

“Its an application how long can it take?” you could feel yourself start getting angry, and you looked away from him. Not that he had looked up to look you in the eyes anyway.

“I just want to give myself the best chance to get in.” he finally looked up from his book, an exasperated look on his face. You refused to meet his eyes “What's wrong with that?”

“You’ve been saying the same thing for ages Remus”

“We’ll I have other things going on— just because you have different ideas about what my progress should look like doesn't mean I’m not doing anything you know? Because I do, I do a lot actually” He said, staring at you as if daring you to deny that he did anything. 

Of course, he worked hard. You could never refute tthat. He moved his eyes down to his book.

You bit your tongue for a second, but the words slipped out nevertheless.

“Remus I don't think we can be together anymore”

“What?” the tone in his voice was nothing short of heartbroken. He searched your face for anything. Any hint that you weren't serious. “No”

Godric it was so hard to do the right thing.

“I don’t think we are on the same page anymore, you say things, you promise but…” you rubbed your temple, you could feel a headache coming “None of those promises ever come true” you sighed, finally looking at him

His eyes were rimmed red.

“You’re right,” he said, defeated, breathless.

“If you know I’m right why didn’t you just do it? I have never asked you for anything else, just for you to apply for yourself Remus, because you had said it was what you wanted”

You and Remus stared at each other. A blank look on his face as he looked at you, his nose red and tears threatening to streak down his cheeks. 

“Can you say something? Anything? Why didn’t you just do it?”

“I don’t know”

“You never know Remus, but I do and I refuse to wait for you to figure it out anymore”

permanent tag ; @laufeysvalentine @heyyyloverr

let me know if you want to be added onto the permanent tag list ! also please check out my new series bless the telephone if you haven't already! MWAH thank you for reading <3

[secretlysamcro]

Black female reader x Jax teller PLOT SPOILERS! smut, explicit language & violence If you're under the age of 18. haven't finished the show or dislike any of said topics, please read no further.

Request: Jax x black reader where reader is his old lady and deals with imas or Tara’s jealously/flirty comments and puts her in her place by beating the shit out of her in front of the club and Jax supports her control over lady’s business and ends with smut or not

Backstory: Jax Teller had always been a man of fleeting connections. Casual hookups and one night stands, that is until y/n came into his life. She was the little sister of T.O, the former Grim Bastards president, now turned SAMCRO. It wasn’t long before y/n became known as Jax’s old lady. Jax and Ima had a brief history. Meaningless encounters that were more convenience than connection. Even with y/n in the picture, she continues to flirt and beg for Jax’s attention, being the trifling whore that she is.

Jax strolls over from his bike as he began to approach the bar which was once the heart of the Lodi chapter of the Grim Bastards. With the former president T.O now a member of SAMCRO, an agreement has been made. The bar was now going to be used as a front, a place to launder any dirty money rolling in from future SAMCRO dealings.

“You lost, white boy?” T.O calls out to Jax as he strides down the side path of the bar. He lets out a laugh, Jax joining in. They pull each other into a tight embrace, Jax taking a moment to look T.O up and down, his gaze fixated on the new kutte he now wears.

“Looks good on you, brother” he says, a sense of pride from within, he’s proud to now call T.O a member of SAMCRO. The Grim Bastards had always been there when needed. Having their backs in ways that other clubs never did, their loyalty running deep, proving time and time again that they could be trusted when it mattered the most.

They step into the bar, Jax noticing a few familiar faces amongst the sparse crowd. Even the faces he doesn’t recognise, seem to know who he is, their respect clear in the way that they acknowledge him. As Jax continues to scan the room, he notices the GB memorabilia being taken down from the walls and carefully packed into boxes.

“What’s happening with all the old club stuff?” Jax questions, leaning against the bar beside T.O, he takes in the scene with a sigh.

“Sending it to the South Gate charter” T.O replies, slipping off his signature black shades and setting them on the bar “I'm sure them mother fuckers’ can find somethin’ to do with it all”.

They continue their conversation, discussing the future of the club, T.O’s new role within SAMCRO and the logistics of setting up the bar. They talk through how things will work and how they’ll manage everything moving forward. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Jax notices you.

You walk towards them, your knotless braids moving softly with each step. Jax’s gaze is immediately locked onto you. The lights above catching your perfectly lined lips, brown liner paired with a slick of clear gloss - chef’s kiss. The sound of your knee high boots grow louder, drawing T.O’s attention. He glances over, following Jax’s stare. The moment he clocks its you his jaw tightens, he turns back just as quickly. “off limits” he mumbles under his breath with an eyebrow raised, almost as if he could read Jax’s mind.

“Where the fuck you goin’ dressed like a ten dollar hooker?” T.O snaps, his eyes narrowing at the little black dress hugging your curves and your long leather jacket draped over your arms. “Fuck you, bald ass” you fire back with an unapologetic smile.

Jax leans back, arms crossed, holding back a laugh as he watches the interaction unfold. his curiosity getting the better of him as he tries to piece together the dynamic between the both of you.

You move around the bar, pouring yourself a drink without any hesitation. Jax cant help but notice how comfortable you seem, though inside your heart is racing. The man sitting with your brother is so damn fine its almost infuriating.

“You know you gone’ pay for that right?” T.O mutters, keeping a close eye on you.

“Put it on my tab” Jax cuts in smoothly, a grin tugging at his face as his eyes linger on you just a little too long, ignoring T.O’s first warning.

“Jax Teller” he says, extending his hand, the playful smirk never leaving his face as he eye fucks you just a little. No introduction was needed from him. You already knew who he was, even if he didn’t know you.

You place your hand in his, the slight squeeze of his grip sending a wave of tension between the two of you. Both of you have rings decorating your fingers, the soft clink of the metals meeting each other breaks the silence between the locked stares.

“y/n” you reply, maintaining the eye contact without faltering. “so... you're my brothers new boss?” you ask, a slight teasing in your tone as you throw a look towards T.O.

“Brother?” Jax repeats, his brow raised slightly, now understanding why you were off limits.

“Yeah, this my little sister” T.O confirms, giving Jax a stern look, that says everything without even saying a word.

It was the night of Jax’s birthday and despite his insistence that it wasn’t a big deal, his brothers couldn’t let the day go without a celebration. The SAMCRO clubhouse was alive, filled with laughter, music and conversation. Everyone affiliated with the club had shown up for the Presidents birthday, from patched members to close friends.

You were sat beside your brother at one of the central tables in the clubhouse. At the table with you were a few of the other patched members you had become more familiar with over time. Opie, Happy, Chibs and to your left, was Lyla. She was Opie’s girl, and although you had spent most of your life around your brother and his MC world, this club was different. There were new dynamics alongside a new set of rules. Lyla had been quick to help you when it came to any unspoken codes that came with being a part of this new family.

“Ugh” Lyla’s eyes flick to the entrance as she lets out a sigh. “I thought she wasn’t coming” she remarks, her voice portraying a hint of disgust, as she takes in the woman who just made an entrance.

She walks in confidently, as if she was familiar with the place even though you’d never met her. The boys glance at each other, their own irritation proved by their faces, especially Opie's. The way he looks between Lyla and the blonde, there’s definitely a history there, just one you weren't aware of.

You glance around, noticing the less than thrilled expressions on everyone’s faces, “Anyone gonna fill me in?” You ask, confused by the tension.

“That, my friend…is Ima, one of the Diosa girls” Chibs starts, only for Juice to cut in with a grin as he joins the table.

“Did anyone actually invite her, or does she just crash wherever she wants?” He jokes, finding her brazen confidence somewhat awkward.

“Word probably spread around Diosa” Happy adds, a man you’ve discovered, of very few words. You catch Opie fidgeting, avoiding Lylas gaze. When you meet eyes with her, she gives you a look, one that clearly says, I’ll tell you later.

“Well, that’s Jackie’s birthday ruined” Chibs chimes in with a chuckle, fully aware of how Jax will react to her presence. Juice nudges him to shut up as Ima confidently strides past the table, not acknowledging anyone sat at it.

The boys begin to disperse, leaving you alone with Lyla. She leans closer, the scent of alcohol evident on her breath.

“So.. you two have beef or what?” you ask, eager to get to the bottom of the tension. Lyla sighs, draining the last of her drink, “A while ago, me and Ope had a stupid argument. He never came home that night...” she starts, your face screwing with disappointment, already guessing where this is going.

“With her? are you foreal?” you interrupt, eyebrows raised. She nods, her expression now dim. “Yeah, I mean, you know... I wasn’t always behind the camera at Red Woody. I used to be in front of it...with Ima” she cringes. “When me and Ope first got together it put a lot of pressure on us” she sighs deeply, her eyes becoming distant.

“Girl, please tell me you beat her ass” you say with a sly smirk, your attempt at lightening the mood. Lyla lets out a soft laugh. “Not my style” she admits, her tone now sounding defeated.

“So why is the bitch still around?” you ask bluntly, the frustration creeping in.

Lyla shrugs, “The clubs dealing with a lot right now, you know and she’s the main attraction at Diosa. She brings in the money, and the club really needs it” Lyla, being a members old lady obviously knows a lot more than she’s letting on. However, you nod your head in understanding even though you think she still should have caught a beating someway or somehow. “and... her and Jax?” you try to sound casual, not wanting to sound too concerned.

“Ima and Jax?” she laughs, shaking her head. “that’s not been a thing for a while. They hooked up back in the day, on Jax’s terms obviously, but to be honest I don’t think he can stand her now, especially after the Opie thing. He doesn’t get involved with her Diosa stuff either, Nero handles all that. Its like he does whatever he can to avoid her”. She chuckles softly, gesturing with a tilt of her head “see what I mean?” you glance around and spot Ima following after Jax like a lost puppy. He’s clearly uninterested, his body language screaming avoidance but she’s relentless.

“Damn” you drag the word out, as you use your hand to discreetly cover your laughter. “It's giving desperate”. The two of you burst into laughter, leaning into each other and bumping shoulder’s as you can’t contain your amusement any longer over Ima’s shameless antics.

You haven’t actually had a chance to talk to Jax tonight, he is of course, a popular guy and always in demand. And when things did finally quite down, Ima was stuck to him like a fly on shit. None of that stopped either of you stealing looks at each other all night, just like you always do when you’re in the same room. It’s funny though, and not in a conceited way, but you’ve always known you were pretty, and so did everybody else. But being T.O’s little sister, none of the men around you would dare try anything. None of them, that is, except Jax.

This time, when you locked eye contact, he looked around to make sure no one was watching, motioning for you to come over. As you approached, you noticed he already had a drink waiting for you. “Happy Birthday” you say with a smirk.

“Thank you, y/n” he replies, his lips curving into a smile, raising his arms to pull you into a hug. It’s not the first time you’ve hugged Jax, but just like the first, it stirs something warm in your stomach, and lower. Igniting a feeling you cant quite ignore.

He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes, as usual, lingering a little longer than they should. He takes in every detail, biting his lip softly as he catches his distorted reflection in your chunky gold hoops as they sway with your movements. “I like what you’ve got going on there” he says with a small smile, lifting his beer to his lips as he casually twirls a finger in the air, gesturing towards your hair.

You slide onto the stool beside him, settling yourself into the corner. “And what’s that?” you respond, your voice teasing and your eyes holding his with a slow taunting glare as you sip your drink.

“Your hair” he says, his tone confident and eyes locked onto you.

“My hair?” you echo, raising an eyebrow as you cross one leg over the other, leaning back slightly, your upper thigh now exposed.

“Yeah, the twirly bits” he says with a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed. You bite back a laugh, nodding in response to him. “You mean my baby hairs” you add, nudging him gently with your shoulder, a silent reassurance that you’re not offended.

“If that’s what you call them” he grins, his laugh more relaxed now. “How’d you do them?” he asks, genuinely curious now. “It’s an art”, you tease, tracing your nail around the rim of your glass “Not as easy as you’d think” you take a slow sip, giving direct eye contact.

“Ahh, so you’ve got to be good with your hands?” he says, his voice dipping into a more playful tone, his eyes scanning over you in a way that mirrored the first time you met.

“You got that right” you reply, your smile widening as you shift slightly on your stool, trying to ignore the heat building inside of you.

“And are you?” his aura more serious now, like he’s asking for something much deeper than what he’s letting on.

Your tone, now matching his “Wouldn’t you like to know” a knowing smirk on your lips. You can feel Ima’s eyes burning into the side of your slicked back bun, but you really couldn’t give a shit.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no” he chuckles, his face flushing slightly as he looks away for a moment, trying to mask the slight excitement.

“Hmm, not sure your lil’ friend would like that” you say, looking in Imas direction. You knew it was a cheap shot bringing her up but you can’t help yourself, you want to see how he’ll react.

He lets out a quick laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, I’ve learnt my lesson with that one” The way he says it, makes it clear there’s nothing left on his side and he really does regret it.

You giggle softy, “Post nut clarity and all that” you tease, giving him a knowing wink “happens to the best of us” you add.

“Wouldn’t happen with you though” he replies smoothly, his eyes lifting slowly to meet yours, waiting to see how you’d react, so he could work out if he should make his move or not.

Before you even have the chance to respond, Jax’s attention shifts to someone standing next to you. You turn to your left, of course. it’s Ima. You look her up and down, already bracing for whatever drama she’s about to start.

“I’ve got that birthday present for you, Jax” she says, twirling her hair and giving him a look dripping with lust. You hold your glass in front of your face, doing your best to not laugh at her mere desperation.

“Nah, I’m good” Jax shuts her down instantly, not even sparing much attention. You don’t miss the way her posture stiffens, her body language switching to frustration. She turns her attention to you instead, it’s obvious she’s got an attitude. “Sorry, and you are?”she asks, her tone irritable. It’s clear she’s annoyed that Jax’s attention is on you, and not her.

“y/n” you answer, giving her a sharp look before cutting your eyes back to Jax. You catch the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, I’m Ima” she says, trying to assert her dominance.

“Good for you” you reply casually, finishing off your drink with a deliberate sip, refusing to give her the reaction she’s looking for.

You rise from the stool, adjusting your skirt as you do. Just to get under her skin, you lean in close to Jax, your lips brushing his ear as you whisper “I wouldn’t say no either, by the way” A sly smile spreads across your face as you pull back, sharing that same eye contact again, before you stroll towards the bar, a purposeful sway in your step.

“What’s her problem?” Ima snaps, watching you walk away with a scowl.

“She doesn’t have a problem” Jax responds flatly, his patience already wearing thin. He looks her up and down, silently willing her to leave him alone.

“Seriously Jax?” She scoffs “she was a total bitch to me. You’re just gonna let her talk to me like that?”

Jax raises an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of confusion and annoyance. “Let her? Ima, what the hell are you even talking about?” He hangs his head down.

“She disrespected me!” She insists, raising her voice slightly. Jax exhales sharply. “And why would I care? You’re not my problem” he retaliates. His voice steady but covered in irritation. Ima freezes, her mouth pressing into a thin line “I was just saying-”

“Yeah, well, dont” he shakes his head, turning and walking away from her. Clearly done with the conversation.

Jax then bumps into Juice, slapping him on the shoulder. “You good brother?” He asks, noticing Juice’s glazed over eyes as he tries to form a coherent response.

Jax chuckles, shaking his head “damn, you’re out of it man… hey you seen y/n?” He adds casually, but Juice just laughs, too high to fully grasp the question.

“You’re walking a fine line there, Jax” Tig cuts in, appearing at Jax’s side. His tone amused but the raised eyebrow says enough. Jax smirks, brushing off his comment “come on, Tiggy I can handle it”

Tig sighs “she stepped out not long ago” he says pointing his head in the direction of the door. Then, with a slight grin, he adds “Guess I better go distract big brother” Jax laughs, patting him on the shoulder. “Good man” he says, before heading for the door, already set on finding you.

Jax steps outside, discovering you tucked away in a quiet corner near the clubhouse door, the orange glow from the joint in your hand giving you away. “So this is where you disappeared to” he says with a smirk, his usual teasing tone present.

You take a slow pull from the joint, then hand it over to him gracefully. “Needed a breather from all the desperation” you let him know, he laughs, knowing you’re talking about Ima.

You watch him take a drag, exhaling the smoke smoothly. He presses his lips together, tasting the sweetness left behind from your gloss.

Wiping his thumb across his mouth, he tilts his head with a smirk “Vanilla?” He questions, his voice low and teasing. You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Coconut, actually” you say, biting your lip, daring him to disagree.

“Nah” he says, standing firmly. “That’s definitely vanilla” he says, keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“Why don’t you come and make sure?” You tease, your voice dripping with challenge, forcing him to make the first move.

He steps closer. His stride slow but the confidence impossible to ignore. His hand brushes your cheek, the warmth of it sending a shiver down your spine. Then, without hesitation, he leans in, kissing you deeply.

His tongue explores your mouth and yours doing the same to his. He pulls back slowly, catching your bottom lip gently between his teeth. He deliberately runs his tongue over his lips, “Vanilla” he says, smirking knowing he’s right.

You chew the corner of your lip slightly, unable to hide your grin. “Vanilla” you admit, you knew all along, you just wanted to see if he’d take the bait. He lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head as if he can’t believe he fell for your game, a glimmer of admiration in his eyes though.

Suddenly, the air shifts. The silence between you both speaks louder than words. The weight of the moment settling in. It’s a rare moment for you both to be alone like this. No distractions, no eyes watching, just the two of you. Both of you knowing it will most likely be a while before you find yourselves like this again, so why not make the most of it?

He pins you against the wall with an urgent intensity, his hands moving over you with a hunger that speaks of all the times he’s had to hold back. You lean into his neck as his lips find your skin. Your fingers fumbling with his belt buckle, making your intentions crystal clear.

“You okay with this? Out here?” He asks softly, between kisses. His voice still low and full of concern, making sure you’re certain before he agrees.

“Why not?” You smirk, biting your lip just enough to drive him crazy. He leans back slightly, glancing past the wall towards the clubhouse “anyone could come out” he warns, though the hunger in his voice proves he’s more than willing.

His eyes flash with mischief, “gimme your leg” he says, gripping your thigh as you lift it, bending his knees and manoeuvring himself so he’s placed exactly where you want him to be.

You moan softly throwing your head back a little in pleasure as he unfastens his jeans. He places his throbbing cock between your legs, sliding your dampened panties to the side with his hardness.

Gathering your slickness with his tip just before he pushes himself into you. He bends down slightly, adjusting his stance as he scoops you up, holding you securely against him now.

You let out a loud whimper as he finds his way inside of you, his hand instinctively covering your mouth, loosening his grip on you. “If…you…want…me…to…keep…fucking…you…shut…the…fuck…up” Jax murmurs in a low hush, the words punctuated with each thrust.

He lets his hand fall away, wrapping his arms around you tighter. His movements are a bit uneven, caught between holding you steady against the wall, keeping you quiet, and giving you everything you’ve been craving. He can tell that you’re loving it though, the way you keep whispering his name and how your hands grasp at his hair like you never want to let go, lets him know that he’s doing just fine. The sounds of your pleasure pushing him further, making it harder for him to hold back.

The sudden creak of the clubhouse door startles you both, freezing you mid motion. Your breath catches, your body tense as you feel him still pulsing inside of you. Jax’s hand flies to your mouth, covering it firmly. His own breathing heavy as his eyes dart towards the sound. Your dark brown panicked gaze locks with his, like a deer caught in headlights, both waiting to hear who it is.

Gemma steps out with Nero, their laughter filling the quiet night. “Not bad for an old man” Gemma teases, covering her cigarette from the wind as she lights it.

Nero grins, pulling Gemma in for a kiss. “Old man, huh? I didn’t hear you complainin’ a minute ago mama” he says, pulling her in for a kiss. Jax cringing, shutting his eyes in disgust as your laugh bounces off the palm of Jax’s hand.

As they talk, you move ever so slightly, one of your gold hoops sliding from your ear, clinking softly against the pavement. Both you and Jax instinctively follow it with wide eyes, as it rolls just out of reach.

“What was that?” Nero asks, his head snapping in the direction of the sound. Jax clamps his hand tighter. “Don’t move” he mouths silently.

“Probably nothing” Gemma says, not paying much attention. “This place is falling apart” she takes another drag from her cigarette, looking upwards to the ‘Teller Morrow’ garage sign.

Nero tilts his head thoughtfully. “That girl, y/n, that's T.O’s sister, right?” Gemma nods, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Yeah, why?” she questions.

He clears his throat. “Nothing, you know just saw her whispering somethin’ in Jax’s ear. Ima was standing there too... looked pretty pissed” Gemma smiles knowingly, flicking ash from her cigarette. She had sensed something brewing between the two of you though she’d kept her observations to herself, Nero’s comment now confirming her suspicions.

“I thought something was happening there” she tells Nero.

“and how do you feel about that mama?” he asks, now holding Gemma by the waist.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing. I know she’d keep my boy in line, that’s for sure”. She smiles gently, thinking about it.

Nero smiles in response, nodding his head slowly. “She’s got that fire, huh?” he laughs, guiding Gemma back into the clubhouse as she finishes her cigarette.

The clubhouse door closes behind Gemma and Nero. Jax finally able to move, pulling away from you and adjusting himself back to normal. You smooth out your clothes and fix your hair, doing your best to look innocent.

Jax’s grin still plastered on his face. “Think my mom’s ready for some caramel grand babies” he jokes. You laugh shaking your head and smacking his chest “Shut up, Jax” you say, trying to hold back your own smile.

“Go on” he gestures towards the door, motioning for you to head back inside first. “Don’t wanna make it too obvious”. His dick is still hard, being restrained behind his jeans. He fidgets slightly waiting for it to settle, as you turn to leave, he suddenly calls out your name. You glance back, seeing him holding your hoop. “Don’t forget this” he says, handing it back.

“Thanks” you mumble, noticing ever so slightly how he’s shifting back and forth.

As you turn to leave, you raise your skirt just enough for him to see your ass cheeks, slipping out from the bottom.

“Not helping y/n” He laughs, biting his ringed knuckles. you giggle as you head back inside, that ‘I just had sex’ sway in your step.

As you step back into the clubhouse, still fiddling with your earring, T.O spots you immediately. His gaze sharpens, tracking your every move as you slide into the space next to him.

“You good?” You ask, keeping your tone light as you twist the hoop back into place. “Where you been?” He asks, his voice calm but a hint of curiosity there.

“Needed some air, just went for a smoke” you reply, looking around the room, as if you weren’t just getting sloppily fucked by your brother’s president.

He nods, almost convinced, until his eyes catch Jax, walking in through the doors minutes after you. Pulling at the waistband of his jeans, his expression relaxed, maybe a bit too much.

T.O’s jaw tightens, his teeth gritting together as he glances between the two of you. “You and Jax been breathin’ the same air out there?” He questions, the suspicion shining through.

You shrug pretending not to notice the obvious tension. “Didn’t see him” you reply before taking a sip of your drink. Your brother doesn’t respond, just leans back and keeps a sharp eye on Jax as he moves through the room. “Aight” he mutters, but you can feel the heat of his doubt.

Lyla slides into the seat opposite to you, her easy smile offering a welcome distraction from the tension with your brother. “Hey, where you been?” She asks, noticing you’ve been absent for a little while.

“Just stepped out for some air and a smoke” you smile in her direction. She leans closer, lowering her voice as if she was telling you a secret. “Ima’s pissed about whatever happened at the table earlier, with you and Jax”.

You open your mouth to respond, but your brother interrupts, his tall frame casting a shadow over the table. “Scuse me” he says, his voice deep, waiting for you to move your legs aside so he can step out. You do as he asks, your eyes narrowing as you watch him head straight for the bar where Jax is currently standing, another beer in hand.

“Oh shit” you sigh under your breath, your heart racing as the tension follows T.O to Jax.

“You and y/n outside together? What was yall talking about?” Jax chuckles, trying to play it off “Nothing serious, just talking” trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, but he knows T.O can sense the truth, he narrows his eyes slightly analysing Jax’s words.

“Look,” Jax says, finally meeting his gaze. “Id never disrespect you, or your family. You know that, brother” he’s telling the truth, sort of anyway, fucking his sister against a wall minutes away from him, could be classed as disrespect. T.O nods slowly, his stance now softening.

He trusts Jax, and knows that Jax respects him and wouldn’t do anything to purposely hurt you. In a way, he wouldn’t even mind if you and Jax became a thing, Jax is a good man and T.O sees that.

“It’s not about disrespect, brother” T.O replies, his voice calm. “It’s about her being my little sister”

“Yeah I get it” Jax nods, fully understanding. He’s your big brother of course he’s gonna do what he can to look out for you, and the idea of you being with any man is probably the last thing he wants to think about.

T.O gives him a long look before finally letting out a small laugh. “Just don’t make me regret trusting you with her, man” Jax smirks, slapping T.O on the shoulder. “You won’t, brother”.

It had been a few months since you officially became Jax’s old lady. To your surprise, the relationship was treated with total support and respect from the moment you both announced it. Even your brother, who you suspected might have a hard time with it, embraced it without hesitation. In fact, it seemed to have brought him and Jax even closer, solidifying their bond in a way you never expected.

The air in the room was a mixture of tension and banter as the sons sat around the table, the club meeting in full swing. Despite the serious matters at hand, everyone couldn’t help but notice how Jax seemed particularly cheerful today.

“So, what does T.O stand for then?” Rat whispers to Happy, his voice low. Happy glances at Rat, knowing that if T.O catches wind of the conversation, he’s going to be pissed. “Taddarius” Happy responds, hushed and with no emotion.

Rat laughs, thinking happy is just messing around. “Wait, you’re not joking?” he asks, slightly sceptical.

Quinn then pipes up, “Call him that and see what happens”.

The others, T.O included begin noticing the quiet conversation. He narrows his eyes “what are you guys whispering about?” he asks, in a low tone.

Happy and Quinn exchange a brief glance, a silent warning, which Rat, does not pick up on. “Nothing...Taddarius” he says aloud, almost proud of the newfound information he has discovered.

Chibs, overhearing mutters under his breath “Jesus Christ”.

T.O’s expression hardens. “Unless I came out of your goddamn womb, don’t ever call me that, ya dig? Lil indie biker boy” he snarls.

Chibs has his face hidden in his hands, shaking his head trying not to laugh, whilst the others chuckle.

Opie, leaning back in his chair, and a smirk on his face tries to break tension. “Alright, man. Spill it… why do you look so damn happy this morning?" He taps his pen against the mahogany table, pointing at Jax when the word 'you' leaves his mouth.

Jax tries to keep a straight face, leaning forward his usual unbothered demeanour. “Can’t I just be in a good mood?” He tries to deflect, though his mind briefly wandered back to this morning, his head buried in your perfect pussy.

He catches a faint trace of you still clinging to his upper lip. Every so often, he slyly brushes his tongue over his lip, reliving the taste and the way you left him wanting more.

Tig also leans forward now, grinning wide. “Come on man, we all know what’s up. Chocolates good for the soul” he gives a small wink.

T.O groans, “watch it” he warns, pointing a finger at Tig, though the small smile tugging at his lips shows he’s only playing.

“Don’t look at me brother” Tig interjects, with that signature smile on his face. “We all know what’s got him smiling like that. Ain’t it true, Jax? the darker the berry-” he raises his hand as if he was conducting an orchestra.

“The sweeter the juice” the others finish for him, as the table explodes into laughter, everyone expect T.O.

Jax shakes his head, trying to hide his amusement as he looks over at T.O “you gonna let em talk about your sister like that?” He says, sarcastically, making light of the awkward situation.

T.O finally looks up, shaking his head in disgust. “Man, I don’t even wanna know” he says, though he couldn’t help but laugh along with the rest of them. Jax raises his hands in a false surrender, flashing a knowing grin towards T.O. “All love, brother, all love”

On the other side of the chapel doors, y/n and Gemma sit sipping coffee and chatting casually. Gemma noticing a little glow about you, too.

“How's Jax holding up?" She asks, curious about her son “coping with the club okay?” she follows up. You let her know that Jax is doing okay. Of course he has his moments but that comes with being the president.

She soon shifts her questioning, her tone turning more curious. “and you? how are you adjusting to the whiter side of the biker life? You doing okay sweetie?” Before you can answer, the door swings open, Ima walking in, dressed in next to nothing, she struts in like she owns the place.

Gemma looks to you, her coffee cup in front of her face “what the hell is porn princess doing here” she retorts.

Ima flips her hair, getting closer to you both “I’m here to talk to Jax. My Diosa check hasn’t cleared” she says, leaning against the bar.

“Jax doesn’t deal-” Gemma starts, standing from her seat, you cut her off before she can finish.

“Jax doesn’t deal with your Diosa shit” you say firmly, staring her down.

Gemma gives you a quick look, her expression proud, clearly impressed with how you're standing your ground regarding Jax. Ima, however, doesn’t seem fazed and folds her arms. “Well, Nero hasn’t answered my call and I need to get paid” she insists.

You shake your head, voice sharp. “Then call him again, Jax ain’t handling shit for you” you say, rising from your own seat.

Ima still, not backing down, takes a few steps closer towards you “Ill just wait for him in the dorm” she begins taking off her coat.

You grit your teeth, letting your eyes trail slowly over her. Sizing her up as you weigh your options. The frustration simmers beneath the surface, your mind racing between keeping your composure or flipping the fuck out.

As the tension between you and Ima reaches boiling point, Juice is peeking through the blinds, his eyes widening at the scene unfolding. “Uh...” he stammers, unsure how to handle what he’s seeing.

“Jax...T.O...” he calls out, unsure of who to summon, your brother or your man. Everyone in the room looks over to Juice with puzzled expressions.

“Looks like things are about to kick off between y/n and Ima” he says, everyone now intrigued.

“What is that gash doing here?” Chibs questions Ima’s presence.

Jax, who’s been expecting something like this for a while now, exhales deeply, rubbing his hand over his face. Without a word, he gets up and the rest of the guys follow. Filing out of the room one by one.

As the door opens, Ima immediately zones in on Jax. She wastes no time, sliding up to him and grabbing hold of his arm, her voice dripping with forced sweetness.

Jax locks eyes with you from across the room, his expression apologetic. It’s Ima's next move that pushes things over the edge. She leans in closer to Jax as if she was about to whisper something only meant for him. T.O, who’s standing just behind Jax, immediately clocks the shift in your expression. The familiar fire in your eyes and the way your jaw is currently set. “Here we go” he mutters under his breath, bracing for the inevitable.

You lunge towards Jax and Ima, grabbing a fistful of her hair and wrapping it tightly, twice around your hand. Without hesitation, you drag her backwards just a little before throwing her to the ground, the back of her head hitting the concrete with a sharp slam. T.O starts to move forward, ready to pull you away, but Jax steps in, holding him back. “No” he says calmly, getting comfortable against the wall with his arms crossed. “She’s got this” he says unfazed and fully confident you can handle yourself.

You give Ima a moment to steady herself as she stands, but instead of backing down, she sneers “stupid bitch” she throws herself at you. Her bloody hands grab at your necklace. Snatching it clean off, shattering to the ground.

The sound of your chain hitting the floor fuels your anger. You grab her wrist, shoving her back against the bar, trapping her. With no hesitation, you start swinging, each punch landing, forcing grunts of pain to spew out of her.

Blood trickles from the corner of her mouth, smearing across her lips as she spits a crimson pool onto the floor. Her teeth flash red when she tries to speak. “stop” she manages to say, through her swollen trembling lip.

You don’t stop, in fact you carry on, each punch connecting harder than the last. “She’s gonna kill her” Gemma says, turning around to glance at Jax, both concerned and impressed. “I know” Jax replies with a proud grin, his eyes fixed on you.

T.O watches on, torn between pride and caution. “Jax, you know she really gone’ kill her right?” he mutters, agreeing with Gemma’s unease.

“Jax!” Gemma shouts, louder this time. She’s not defending Ima, but the last thing she needs is to help clean up after another dead body.

Jax glances over at T.O, who gives him a look that confirms Gemma’s right. With a heavy sigh, Jax pushes himself off the wall. “Fine” he grumbles, striding towards you.

He forces his way between you and Ima, grabbing your fist just as its about to land. “Enough!” he shouts, his voice firm. You struggle against his grip, trying to break free but he tightens his hold. “I SAID ENOUGH!” this time, his tone carries authority and it cuts through your anger.

“Look at me!” he demands, gripping your face. Ima’s blood splattered across your skin. Jax’s eyes meet yours, calm but commanding “Thats enough” he echoes. He steps back, pushing your arm gently towards your brother and then gesturing towards the dorm “T.O, take your sister in there” he orders. T.O nods, his face unreadable as he guides you away before things escalates even further.

As T.O pulls you away by your arm, you manage to twist and break free, charging back to Ima. Your fist connects with her face one last time. “That was for Lyla, Bitch!” You shout in her face, Jax pushes you back, but you just laugh. T.O finally getting hold of you again, and forcing you back to the dorm.

The guys watch Ima for a moment as she slumps against the bar, hand pressed against her bloodied face. A few mutter amongst themselves, shaking their heads before heading back into the chapel, leaving her alone with Gemma and Jax.

Gemma stays back, her expression cold as Jax steps forward. Ima, looking up at him, not wanting y/n to have the last laugh. “you should learn to control your whore” she sneers, spitting her dirty blood directly onto his kutte.

Jax’s expression darkens, a snarl curling his lips as he grabs the back of her head, slamming it against the bar with brutal force. Ima lets out a sharp cry, but that doesn’t stop him. He spins her around, pressing her back against the bar as his hand tightens around her throat. “You ever bring that rancid pussy near my club or my family again...” he growls, his voice venomous. “I’ll kill you. You understand?”. Ima doesn’t respond, too stunned to speak, but Jax doesn’t care to hear her answer.

He curls his tongue, gathering a mouthful of spit before forcefully spitting it back straight into Ima’s face, pointing a finger directly at her, his voice drips with anger as he growls “Whore!”.

He shoves her face hard as he lets go, giving his mom a small nod, silently telling her to ‘deal with it’. Picking up a cloth from the side, he casually wipes Ima’s spit off his kutte, his movement calm but deliberate.

Chucking the cloth to the side, and without looking back, he strides down the hallway, his steps heavy with purpose. He has a swagger in his walk, but the rage is still unmistakable.

The anger fades slightly from his face, replaced with concern as he approaches the dorm door, making it clear his only focus is making sure you’re okay.

Gemma, tasked with the job of getting Ima out of here, picks up the same cloth, tossing some ice into it before shoving it into Ima’s hand.

Leaning in slowly, she locks eyes with her, the eye contact sharp and unforgiving.

“She’s not his whore” Gemma hisses, her voice filled with poison.

“She’s his old lady” She drags out each word, making sure Ima fully understands her place.

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

Honestly, I fucking loved doing this one. I had so much fun writing this, literally played out in my head like an actual episode. Hope you all love it just as much. I also always try to write from a perspective so that multiple readers can connect with the story, so like not to describe skin or hair colour/texture etc. However this story is looking through the eyes of a black female reader. I, myself am black. So please don’t take anything said, described or done as a generalised or stereotypical view. I was literally writing as if it was me in the situation (which I always do, duh) but yes, I hope it portrays well! Oh and also I am from the UK which is why sometimes spellings are a little off depending where you’re from lol.

Jax Teller Masterlist

xoxo secretly samcro

[lilou0401]

Choi Seunghyun, let's not fall in love

Choi Seunghyun x fem!reader

Summary: G-Dragon's younger sister struggles to escape his shadow, yearning to be known for herself rather than as "his little sister." Her life becomes more complicated when she falls for his best friend, T.O.P, a charming gentleman she knows she can't have. The emotional tension peaks when she watches the band rehearse "Let's Not Fall in Love," a song that mirrors her forbidden feelings.

Warnings: a bit angst

Masterlist

You have always lived in his shadow. Being G-Dragon’s little sister isn’t as glamorous as people think- it’s a title you never wanted. To everyone else, you're just "his little sister," nothing more. No matter how hard you try to make a name for yourself, you're always overlooked.

You had to expect that he hardly has any time left, or that people would take pictures of you and follow you, but worst of all, that girls would try to suck up to you just to get closer to him. You've already lost so many friends because of this and it was exhausting.

But what made it worse was him- Choi Seunghyun. Your brother’s best friend. He’s kind, charming, a true gentleman… and completely off-limits. Yet, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop your heart from betraying you.

You hated yourself for it. For the way your chest tightened every time he smiled at you. For the way you catched yourself stealing glances when he was not looking. And for the way you imagined, just for a second, what it would be like if things were different.

But they were not. He was your brother’s best friend, part of the world you have been desperately trying to step out of. Falling for him wasn’t just wrong, it was impossible. You knew that.

But you still couldn't help but be proud of your brother, he has achieved so much in his life and he has done so with a lot of hard work. He and his friends have managed to grow together and they now called themselves Bigbang. You really had respect for them and had supported your brother all the way to this point, even if it meant suffering yourself. But there were also good things, you were invited to each of their concerts without having to pay anything, you were allowed to stand in the front row, and you were also allowed to watch them at practice and even give tips.

And that was exactly what you were planning to do, your BMW turned into the narrow street of the studio's driveway. To the left and right stood men in suits, shoulders broad, and serious looks. They nodded at you as you drove between them to your personal parking space that your brother had organized for you. The tires rubbed against the pebbles as you came to a stop, perfectly parked in the space.

Your eyes briefly wandered to your rearview mirror to check your lip gloss and mascara before you opened the car door, slipping out. You slammed the black car door behind you shut before you made your way to the entrance. Two more men were standing at the door, bowing to you as you smiled at them before they opened the door for you.

Gratefully, you walked past them and through the door, the cold air conditioning circling your face as you walked down the long hall to the stairs on the far right that leaded up to the studio, where your brother and the others were surely already located.

When you get to the top, you straightened your top before clearing your throat, pushing down the door handle. At first they didn't notice you and you took the opportunity to sneak in, your gaze gliding around the room. Your brother Ji-Yong stood with his back to you as he speaked to his manager, his hands moving wildly as he speaked. All the back dancers had sat down on the floor, some sipping their water bottles from time to time as they talked to each other.

Daesung was talking to a sweet looking girl who was also one of the back dancers, her hands clasped together as she told him something to which he nodded in agreement. You put your purse in the corner with the rest as your eyes wandered to the last two members of the band.

First, your eyes tried to ignore the obviously tall silhouette of the handsome man with white dyed hair as they wandered to Taeyang, who was pressing his hips against the wall, talking to the man in front of him. Although your gaze didn't even land on that person, your body seemed to have thoughts of its own, as your pulse increased in seconds and beads of sweat formed on your neck.

It felt like the walls of the studio room were getting tighter with every breath you took, almost crushing you as you looked down at the floor as soon as his head turned in your direction. Your fingers pulled through the cotton fabric of your top to distract yourself, because it felt like his eyes were drilling burning holes through your head.

"Stop panicking, he's just looking at you. Calm down, gosh." You whispered to yourself, your breath shallow as you shook your head before you looked up again, but deliberately not in his direction, but at your brother, who now also spot you. He gave you a small smile and gestured to the chair next to you for you to sit down before he turned back to his manager.

Nodding to yourself, you sit down on the chair, your body a little tense as you tuck the strands of hair that have fallen out of your high ponytail behind your ear.

"Alright let's start." Your brother's voice brought everyone out of their conversations, and immediately everyone got into position and you had to force yourself not to look in his direction, your eyes fixed on everyone else but him.

The studio was alive with music, the beat of Let’s Not Fall in Love filling every corner of the room. You leaned back against the wall, trying not to be seen, but your eyes were glued to them. To him. And you cursed yourself for not even having managed five minutes without looking at him.

Seung-hyun moved with such ease, his tall frame perfectly in sync with the others. Every step, every gesture, was deliberate yet natural, like he was born to do this. You could tell they were trying to capture the bittersweet longing of the song in their movements, the subtle push and pull, the hesitant touches that mirrored the lyrics so perfectly.

But then it happened. His eyes met yours. Just for a second, his movements faltered, barely noticeable to anyone else, but you saw it. And in that moment, it felt like the room froze. The way he looked at you, with something you couldn’t quite name, was it curiosity? Concern? Something deeper?- made your heart race.

You wanted to leave, to escape the intensity of it all, but your feet wouldn’t move. The choreography continued, each step tugging at your emotions, until you couldn’t tell where the music ended and your feelings began.

Your heart was pounding so loudly in your chest, you were sure everyone in the studio could hear it pounding. Your ears buzzed from the bass that resounded loudly through the room and a lump formed in your throat as you saw a emotion in his brown eyes, his hand holding his microphone at an angle in the air as he sang his lyrics into it, without even looking away from you.

Watching him move, his focus, his grace- it was all too much. For a moment, you thought he looked at you differently. But maybe that was just your heart playing tricks on you again.

It felt like everything you have been holding back threatened to spill over. The lyrics of the song took on another meaning, a much more serious one, and it hurt, it hurt to know that things would never work out between you.

You told yourself to look away, to break the moment before it consumed you. But you couldn’t. His gaze lingered longer than it should have before he turned back, falling back into the rhythm as if nothing had happened. Yet you knew he felt it too- the tension, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

The choreography became more intimate, the dancers moving closer, hands almost touching before pulling away. It was a perfect visual for the song’s meaning: love held at arm’s length, restrained by fear and doubt. It was heartbreak in motion, and every step felt like it was pulling you further into your own feelings for him.

You clenched your fists, trying to steady youeself. What were you even doing here? Watching him like this, torturing yourself with something that could never be. When the music stopped, the silence was deafening, and you realized you’d been holding your breath.

"Did you like it?" His voice startled me. His breathing was heavy from dancing, his dyed blond hair laid wildly on his head, he wore a blue shirt that was unbuttoned at the top and yoz noticed light eyeliner under his big eyes.

You hadn’t noticed him walking over, his face glistening with a light sheen of sweat, his usual confident demeanor softened. He wasn’t Ji-Yong's’s best friend in this moment, or a global star. He was just Seung-hyun. And that made it so much harder.

"It… it was beautiful." You stammered, your voice barely above a whisper and you scold yourself in your head for sounding so nervous

He smiled, that same warm, disarming dimple smile that always left you reeling. "Good. That’s what we’re going for."

You nodded, afraid that if you said any more, your voice might betray you. Because if he knew, if he even guessed at the feelings your were fighting so hard to hide, it would ruin everything.

There was a brief silence, your gaze on the floor, avoiding eye contact, while you still felt his eyes on your. He seemed to be analyzing you, as if he wanted to guess what you were thinking. And you prayed that he couldn't see how nervous his presence made you and how your palms were sweating, which you immediately wiped on your black leggings.

You heard him sigh softly before he sat down on the chair next to yours, his body turned sideways towards you, upper body leaning forward to be closer to you while his arm rested on the back of the chair. Your eyes widened momentarily before you forced your body to relax as you lifted your head and gave him a small smile.

His features softened as he smiled back, your eyes immediately going to his little dimple, your heart skipping a beat and you had to stop yourself from pocking it. Your mouth opened a crack before you closed it again, shaking your head, not even knowing what you wanted to say, but he seemed to do the job for you.

"You okay? You look a little uncomfortable." His voice is soft and his eyes wander down your face, searching for any discomfort. Your lips pressed together, unsure of how to respond, spreading your lip gloss accidentally. "Uhm... no, I'm fine, I'm just a little cold."

His lips curved into a smile as he watched you, his hand lifting for a moment before he slowly and carefully placed it around your chin, his thumb slowly running under your lip, his touch so gentle, and brushing away the now painted-over lip gloss from there.

Your lips parted in surprise, a shaky breath escaped you and a tingling sensation spread throughout your stomach. He paused briefly to look you in the eyes before his hand moved away and hung loosely down his side.

If you weren't mistaken, you could have sworn you saw a hint of pink on his cheeks, but you were sure your cheeks were twice as pink. He cleared his throat and with that the moment ended and you leaned back a little, your body still on fire.

Without thinking twice, his hands reached for his jacket, lined with warm fur on the inside, before he slowly placed it over your shoulders. Goosebumps spread across your arms as the fluffy fur brushed against your arms and immediately your fingers gripped the sides of his jacket so that it wouldn't slip off your shoulders when he pulled his hands back.

"There. It'll definitely keep you warm. Daesong turned on the air conditioning so we wouldn't faint from sweating during rehearsals." A short laugh escaped him, the sound music to your ears, as he leaned back in his chair, running his hand through his white hair.

"Makes sense." You replied with a grateful smile as you pulled the cozy jacket closer to you, the sweet smell of his perfume revealing your nostrils, possibly the only reason you pulled them even tighter. You would love to smell them all until his scent was the only thing your sense of smell could smell and he was the only thought in your head.

Before him or you could say anything else, one of the dancers called his name, pulling his attention back to the group. He gave you a small nod before turning away, leaving you sitting there, your heart racing and your chest tight.

You should have left then. You should’ve walked out of that studio, out of this situation, before your emotions swallowed you whole. But instead, you stayed. You watched as they started again, the music filling the space, their movements perfectly synchronized yet brimming with raw emotion.

This time, you focused on the choreography, trying to distract yourself. The way their hands reached out but never quite connected, the way their steps carried them closer only to pull them apart again- it was beautiful and devastating. It felt like a reflection of everything you were feeling, a silent reminder of the line you couldn’t cross.

But then there was Seunghyun again, moving like the song had been written for him. Every glance, every step seemed so effortless, yet you could see the focus in his expression. When he turned toward you mid-routine, his gaze landed on yours once more, and your breath caught.

It felt like he was dancing just for you.

You shook the thought away, silently scolding yourself for even thinking something so ridiculous. But when the music stopped again and the room filled with chatter and laughter, you noticed him walking back toward you.

"You’re still here, how long are you staying?" he asked, his voice low and calm. You shrugged, trying to play it off. "It’s a good song. Hard to walk away from something like that." You began, before your gaze wandered to your brother, who was laughing at something Taeyang said to him, his head thrown back, and immediately your heart sank and felt heavier, guilt for allowing yourself to think like that about Seunghyun again making its way into your chest.

"Uhm well I'm waiting for Ji-Yong, he wanted to meet me for dinner after practice." You continued while exhaling deeply as you looked up to meet his eyes and you couldn't help but want to melt at the way he looked at you.

He smiled again, but there was something different in his eyes this time, something searching. "You’ve always been honest, you know that? It’s one of the things I like about you."

Your heart skipped a beat. What was he doing? Why was he saying things like that? "Thanks, I guess." You mumbled, unsure what to think of his sentence, your head lowered again, your fingers playing with the end of your top.

A deep laugh escaped him as he tilted his head slightly to the side, his hand came up to scratch the back of his head, a habit you often noticed him doing when he was nervous. "You're welcome, I guess."

You smile uncertainly at him as you slowly stood up from the chair, his jacket slipping off your shoulders, your hands caught it before it could fall to the floor and carefully placed it around the back of your chair before you slowly intertwined your hands and turned your head to Ji-Yong, who at that very moment finished his conversation with Taeyang and made his way towards the two of you with his signature grin plastered on his face, completely unaware of the tension lingering between you two.

Your heart was still racing, but you forced a smile, hoping Ji-Yong wouldn’t notice how flustered you looked. He throwed an arm around your shoulder. "I told you we are good, didn’t I?" He gestured toward Seung-hyun and the other members, completely oblivious to the moment he had just interrupted.

"Yeah" I murmured, my voice unsteady. "You really are." A small smile graced your lips, your breath shallow as you laid your head on his shoulder.

Seung-hyun cleared his throat, his expression now calm and unreadable. "Your sister’s a good audience." he said casually, addressing Ji-Yong. "She’s honest. You don’t get that a lot." His eyes wandered down to you for a moment, a small smile on his lips as he winked at you discreetly, causing your heart to skip a beat.

Ji-Yong grinned at him, clearly amused. "That’s because she’s not afraid to call people out. Don’t let her fool you- she’s tough." I managed a small laugh, trying to keep up the facade. "I’m not that bad."

Your body stood up straight again as your brother's arm slowly slipped from your shoulders, ruffling your hair playfully, completely unaware of the tension still simmering beneath the surface. "You’re worse than you think,” he teased, turning to Seung-hyun. “But hey, at least she’s honest, right?"

Seung-hyun gave a small smile, but you noticed the way his eyes lingered on you for just a second too long. "Yeah. She is." Ji-Yong didn’t catch it—why would he? To him, this was just a casual conversation, lighthearted and harmless. But to you, every word, every glance, felt heavy with meaning.

Sighing and feigning annoyance, you hugged yourself as you stepped aside to put some distance between you and your brother. "Stop with the honest thing, you're pushing it." You murmured, hoping to distract attention from you.

"Anyway," Ji-Yong continued, as he crossed his arms in front of his chest and nudged you with his hip. "you should come by more often. You’re always saying you don’t get to see enough of what we do."

That was true, since Ji-Yong started with the songs, he was very busy and had hardly any time for anything else, including his family and that made our mom especially sad. "I might." You said softly, your mind still reeling.

Seung-hyun looked at you then, his expression unreadable but his eyes saying everything you didn’t want to hear. And as Ji-Yong continued chatting and laughing, completely unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could keep pretending.

[moonselune]

Heyo! I was the one to send the ask about a Tav hiding their past from their companions and the romanced one realizing the other day. I forgot to add which romanced companions for the request 😅

Astarion, Karlach, or Shadowheart if that’s ok

No worries! I couldn't actually find the original ask as my inbox likes to snack on them so it worked out perfectly!

Karlach:

The two of you were sprawled out on a grassy hill, the stars blazing above like a million tiny promises of hope. Karlach, ever radiant, had her arms behind her head, her warm laughter still lingering in the cool night air after she'd recounted some ridiculous tale of a fight she'd gotten into years ago. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched her—there was something about Karlach that was utterly disarming.

“Y’know,” she said, rolling onto her side to look at you, her face half-illuminated by starlight, “I’ve been thinking about something.”

“That’s always dangerous,” you teased, earning a playful swat on the arm.

“I’m serious,” she said, her tone soft but thoughtful now. “I realized... I don’t actually know much about you. Like, really know you.”

You tensed slightly, your smile fading, and she noticed immediately. Karlach wasn’t the type to miss when someone’s defenses went up—she was too attuned to cracks in the armor not to see it.

“I know you're amazing, and you're kind, and you’ve been through some stuff, but...you’ve always been pretty vague about your past. Why is that?”

“It’s not important,” you said quickly, brushing it off as if it were nothing. You turned your gaze back to the stars, hoping she’d let it go.

But Karlach wasn’t one to let things go easily.

“Not important? You’re important. What made you who you are is important,” she said, her voice gentle but insistent. “Come on, you know everything about me. You know about Zariel, the Hells, all of it. But you...you’ve got this wall around parts of yourself, and I don’t like not being able to reach you.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “Karlach, it’s...it’s not something I like to talk about, okay? Some things are better left buried.”

“But buried things tend to rot, love,” she said softly, placing a warm hand on your arm. “Please. Talk to me.”

You hesitated, staring at her hand on your arm. The warmth of her touch was grounding, comforting, and yet it made the ache in your chest all the more acute. When you finally looked at her, you saw nothing but patience and love in her eyes. And it broke you.

“Fine,” you muttered, sitting up and hugging your knees to your chest. She sat up too, waiting quietly, not rushing you.

“I grew up in a family that looked perfect from the outside,” you began, your voice low. “We had money, status—everything people think makes a family happy. But behind closed doors? It was a nightmare.”

Karlach said nothing, letting you continue at your own pace.

“My parents...they hated each other. And they weren’t exactly quiet about it. Every day was a war zone. Screaming matches, accusations, the kind of anger that seeps into everything. My siblings and I were caught in the crossfire, always trying to stay out of the way, always trying not to make things worse. But no matter what we did, it was never enough. Someone always got hurt, one way or another.”

You paused, your throat tightening as old memories clawed their way to the surface. Karlach reached out and took your hand, her grip firm but reassuring.

“And then,” you continued, your voice trembling slightly, “one day, it all fell apart. My older brother tried to leave—tried to get out of the hellhole we called home. My father...he didn’t take it well. There was a fight. Things got...violent. And my brother never made it out. After that, everything just...collapsed. I left too, eventually, but by then I’d lost everything that mattered. My family. My sense of who I was. All of it.”

You finally looked at her, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “That’s why I don’t talk about it, Karlach. Because what’s the point? It’s just a mess I crawled out of, and I don’t want it to define me.”

For a moment, Karlach was silent, her expression a mix of astonishment and heartbreak. Then she shook her head, a small, incredulous laugh escaping her lips.

“Damn,” she said softly. “You’re...incredible, you know that?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“How are you so well-adjusted after all that?” she asked, her voice tinged with awe. “Seriously. If it were me, I’d be a total wreck. But you...you’re strong. You’re kind. You’ve got this huge heart that somehow survived all that pain. It’s...it’s amazing.”

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, and you couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. They spilled over, and before you could even think to hide them, Karlach was pulling you into her arms. Her infernal warmth enveloped you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself lean into someone else completely.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice muffled against her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just...I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” she murmured, her hand stroking your back soothingly. “I get it. I do. But I’m here now, okay? You don’t have to carry it all by yourself anymore.”

You clung to her like a lifeline, her warmth chasing away the chill of old wounds. And in that moment, for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t as broken as you thought.

“I love you, you know,” Karlach said softly, her voice thick with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to look at her, your eyes still glistening with tears. “I love you too,” you said, your voice steady despite the weight of everything you’d just shared.

And as her lips met yours in a gentle, grounding kiss, you realized that maybe you didn’t have to bury your past anymore. Not with Karlach. Not ever again.

Shadowheart:

The two of you sat side by side on a quiet patch of forest floor, the campfire flickering in the distance as the night crept in around you. Shadowheart had been unusually quiet, her sharp eyes scanning the stars above before settling on your profile.

"You know," she started, her voice soft but probing, "for all the time we've spent together, I realize I don’t actually know much about you."

You blinked, glancing at her, caught off guard by the sudden turn in conversation. “What do you mean? You know plenty about me,” you said lightly, trying to deflect.

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. “Do I? I know who you are now, sure. But your past? Where you come from? What made you...you? You’ve kept it all locked up tight.”

You shifted uncomfortably, your gaze dropping to the ground. “It’s not important,” you muttered.

Shadowheart leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she studied you. “Not important to who? Because it feels pretty important to me.”

Her persistence made you squirm, and you quickly stood, brushing off your clothes as if that would somehow shake the conversation away. “Shadowheart, I don’t—can we not do this right now?”

You started to walk away, but her voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Alright. But I’ll find out eventually. You know I’m not one to let things go.” You glanced back at her, giving her a pointed look, but she just smiled sweetly, her tone deceptively innocent. “You’ll tell me, willingly or not.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real irritation behind it. Still, you didn’t realize how serious she was about her little promise—until the next evening.

Shadowheart wasn’t just clever; she was sneaky. The next day, she found ways to chip away at your defenses. She asked questions that seemed harmless at first—what foods you liked, what your childhood home looked like, what kind of trouble you got into as a kid. Bit by bit, she pieced together fragments of your past until you realized too late that she’d woven a net around you.

It wasn’t until you were sitting by the riverbank after another grueling day of travel that she struck her final blow.

“So,” she said casually, dipping her fingers into the cool water, “was your family always so chaotic, or did the drama start later on?”

You froze, your stomach twisting as you realized she’d cornered you.

“What are you talking about?” you said, feigning ignorance.

Shadowheart smirked, tilting her head. “Oh, come on. I’ve been paying attention. The little things you’ve let slip, the way you dodge questions—it’s obvious there’s more to your story than you’re letting on. So, spill. What happened?”

You sighed heavily, running a hand through your hair. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

She just smiled, her expression softening. “Only when it comes to things that matter. And you, my love, matter.”

Her words cracked something open inside you, and before you could stop yourself, the dam burst.

It all came tumbling out. The family drama that felt like a never-ending storm—arguments, betrayals, and secrets that tore your home apart. The tragedies that left scars too deep to heal. Scandals that painted your family in a light so harsh, you’d spent years trying to escape it.

But it wasn’t all darkness. You found yourself sharing the funny stories too—the times you and your siblings played pranks on each other, the little moments of joy that somehow shone through the chaos. You talked about the people you’d loved and lost, the lessons you’d learned, and the weight you still carried from it all.

By the time you were done, your throat was raw, and your chest felt hollow, like you’d just carved out a piece of yourself and handed it to her.

Shadowheart had been silent the whole time, her expression unreadable as she listened intently. When you finally looked at her, self-consciousness crept in like a cold shadow.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, averting your gaze. “That was...a lot. I probably should’ve kept some of it to myself.”

“Don’t you dare,” she said softly, her voice filled with a kind of reverence that made you look up in surprise.

Her eyes were shining, and there was an almost tangible warmth in her expression. “Do you have any idea how incredible you are?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You’ve been through all of that,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the horizon as if the weight of your past was hanging in the air between you. “And here you are—still standing, still fighting, still...you. It’s astonishing.”

You shook your head, a small, incredulous laugh escaping you. “I’m not incredible, Shadowheart. I’m just...getting by.”

“No,” she said firmly, leaning closer and taking your hand in hers. “You’re so much more than that. You’ve been through things that would break most people, and somehow, you’re still...kind. Still hopeful. Still...loving. I’m in awe of you, truly.”

Her words broke something else inside you—not in a painful way, but in a way that felt like healing. Tears welled up in your eyes, and before you could stop them, they spilled over.

Shadowheart cupped your face gently, brushing the tears away with her thumbs.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice steady and certain. “All of you. Your past, your present, your future. Every part of you.”

A shaky laugh escaped you as you leaned into her touch.

“I love you too,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

She pulled you into a tender embrace, holding you as if she could shield you from the weight of your past. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you didn’t have to carry it all alone.

Astarion:

It was a quiet moment in camp, the kind of peace that always felt precarious, balanced on the knife's edge of your group's chaotic lives. Astarion was lounging next to you, his chin propped in his hand as he studied you with a curious intensity.

“You know,” he began casually, his voice dripping with charm and mischief, “for someone I’m hopelessly enamored with, you are a remarkably well-guarded mystery.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, already suspicious. “Am I?”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me,” he purred, sitting up straighter. “You’re practically a ghost when it comes to your past. You’ve danced around every question I’ve ever asked, dodging and deflecting like a master illusionist. Honestly, it’s impressive. I think I might even be proud of you.”

You smirked. “Well, thank you, but some things are better left in the past.”

Astarion let out an exaggerated sigh, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Ah, but darling, I hate being left in the dark. You can’t expect me to simply accept this vagueness when I’m dying to know what secrets you’re hiding.”

You gave him a pointed look. “I don’t expect you to do anything. But I’m not telling you, Astarion.”

That should have been the end of it, but of course, it wasn’t. Over the next few days, Astarion’s curiosity morphed into relentless determination. He needled you at every opportunity, his charm turning into playful persistence. Every time you dodged his questions, he only seemed more delighted, like unraveling your secrets had become a personal challenge.

“You know,” he said one evening, leaning close enough that you could feel his breath against your ear, “this is getting downright insulting. Do you think I can’t handle a little drama? Please, I thrive on it.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” you said, rolling your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that week.

“And yet,” he countered, grinning like the cat who’d caught the canary, “you still haven’t answered me. Come now, my sweet enigma—indulge me.”

Eventually, you snapped—not in anger, but in exasperation. Sitting by the fire that night, you threw up your hands. “Fine. You want to know? I’ll tell you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Astarion’s eyes lit up like a child on their name day, and he settled in with a gleeful smirk, clearly expecting a story worth his persistence.

Blasé, almost flippant, you began to unravel the sordid tale of your past.

You told him about the family dinners that ended in shouting matches—or worse, murders over disputes that ran deeper than blood. You recounted the endless scandals: the illegitimate children, the betrayals that made even the most dramatic bardic tales look tame, the backstabbing that left no one unscathed. The drama unfolded like a grotesque tapestry, each thread more tangled and wild than the last.

Through it all, you remained indifferent, recounting events as if they had happened to someone else entirely. “And then there was the time my cousin poisoned the wine at a wedding. That was a mess. Oh, and the twins—turns out one of them wasn’t even my uncle’s child. But really, what did he expect when he married his mistress?”

Astarion sat in stunned silence, his lips slightly parted as you continued to nonchalantly recount the chaos of your upbringing.

“And, of course, there were the power struggles,” you added with a dismissive wave of your hand. “Everyone vying for control, alliances shifting faster than the wind. It’s all so...exhausting, really.”

When you finally finished, the fire crackled in the silence that followed. You looked at Astarion, expecting...something. Disbelief? Judgment?

Instead, he burst into delighted laughter.

“Oh, my dear, dear love,” he said, clutching his chest as if he might collapse from mirth. “You’re right—it does sound like a poorly written bardic tale. But gods, what a deliciously awful one!”

You rolled your eyes. “I told you it wasn’t worth hearing.”

“Are you joking?” he asked, still laughing. “It’s magnificent! The drama! The intrigue! And you—you just walked away from all of that and turned into...well, you. It’s incredible.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re impressed by all of that?”

“Of course I am,” he said, leaning closer, his expression softening into something genuine. “You survived a storm of madness and somehow emerged as the person I’ve fallen utterly in love with. How could I not be impressed?”

Heat rose to your cheeks at his sincerity, but before you could respond, his grin turned wicked.

“Although,” he added, “you simply must take me to your next family dinner. I need to witness this circus for myself.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Not a chance. They’d eat you alive.”

“Darling,” Astarion purred, his voice dripping with confidence, “I’ve been surrounded by vampires for two centuries. I think I can handle a few backstabbing relatives.”

You laughed despite yourself, and Astarion leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek, his hand brushing yours in a silent promise.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “For trusting me with this. It means more than you know.”

awh this was wholesome, as someone who comes from a chaotic ass family this was cathartic to write aha. Hope you guys enjoyed it -Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[squidgamewriter00]

omg hii do you think you could do a jun ho x reader where she like overworks herself at her job and ends up passing out and like Jun Ho like goes full worried mode but then there’s fluff at the end?? otherwise just some Jun Ho x reader fluff is fine :)) thank you!!!

jun-ho x overworked reader

guys tumblr won't let me images to this post how else do I look at junhowhile I write 😢😢😢

junho saw how stressed you'd been lately. working extra hours, skipping your lunch break, getting to work early and leaving late into the night - all because your boss had become extra frustrated lately.

no matter how hard you would try to conceal your tiredness, jun-ho would notice. the way you would cancel dates. the way he could hear you typing away late into the night. how the bags under your eyes seemed to only get deeper by the day.

it's hard for jun-ho to say much to console you. after all, he finds himself the same way at times with the amount of stress he faces. he tries his best though.

because of his work he wishes he could find the time to check in more often. when his mind isn't preoccupied with gi-hun or his brother, he's thinking of ways he can sneak out of work and surprise you (much to your boss's dismay)

one work day was particularly rough. it was late into the night, usually the time that you'd get home to see your boyfriend. all your coworkers had left by then, but you still had one task remaining you were absolutely forced to finish.

usually, jun-ho gets home a bit later than you. this time, however, when he called out your name, he was surprised to only hear an echo back.

jun-ho knew how hard your boss had been on you lately, but he didn't expect you to take so long to return.

when he calls your phone the first time, you don't answer. he calls again, no answer. finally, he resorts to texts, "honey, when's your work finished? x"

30 minutes later when there's no response, he can feel a slight knot tie in his stomach

at that point, he hurries to your work, where he finds you passed out at your desk. he rushes beside you and gently shakes you, hoping that you would wake up.

as your eyes slowly start to blink, he places the back of his hand on your forehead.

"boss, I swear, I'll get the work done," you mumble, flinching to his touch.

"babe, it's me," he reassures, a tremble to his voice. "there's no one else here right now. we're going home, okay?"

the protest dies in your throat as he firmly pulls your belongings away from you. you were too tired to resist. even opening your eyes felt exhausting. the next thing you remember is your boyfriend hoisting you in his arms and throwing you over his shoulder with ease, letting your eyes slowly shut to the steps of jun-ho taking you back home.

the second time you awake you find yourself lying in bed pressed against his chest. as soon as he notices the slight movement in his arms, he quickly shifts upward, making sure to not startle you.

"you've been working too much, haven't you?" he murmurs, his voice still thick with sleep.

you swallow deeply with guilt, the words slipping softly out of you. "i'm sorry babe, I didn't mean to worry you"

"just promise me" he whispers, running his hand through your hair, "no more working this late."

"besides," jun-ho whispers, now in a more playful tone. "i'm much more fun, aren't i?"

cheeky.

[stvrnioloslvt]

❛❛ ⛸️ + 🏒 ❞

pride

t.w: suggestive language, sexual tension

there was a reason why you tried to interact as little as possible with matt, way too scared by the effect he had on you each time you two would meet.

growing up, your mother had taught you two lessons that quickly became the fundaments of your own persona:

lesson number one, if you think you have mastered something, you have not. you're just overestimating yourself, and you can't risk that when there will be judges on the other side of the plastic walls of the rink.

lesson number two, if a person has an effect on you, they have power over you. and no one should have power over you, outside of yourself.

love wasn't even an option: love was a distraction, an emotion for those who've got nothing to loose. but you had something, you had your thing, that little passion young baby had for figure skating quickly became both your best friend, and your worst enemy. well, no, technically your worst enemy was your mind, always so fucking determined to make you the best out there, the number one in every competition. there was no space for distractions, and no space for mistakes, either. your mind and eyes were fixed on one thing only: perfection.

your little ambition, unfortunately, got quite out of control and you had soon learned to see the worrying consequences of it when your grades drastically dropped. sure, you were studying. but what could a stressed out mind ever memorise?

cherry had tried to help you more than once. poor, sweet, cherry, who had to live with you every single day. you were truthfully sorry for everything you put her through, sometimes wishing you had never met her just to spare her from your toxic side.

either way, cherry's help turned out to be useless, no matter how smart the girl was, and you still needed to bring your grades up. that's how you ended up replying to matt's messages a whole day later, asking if he could actually help you with that exam you couldn't pass no matter how hard you tried. he accepted, of course, always so polite even if he looked all tough and mean on the outside. you both had decided that you would go to his place after your skating lesson - which was right after his hockey lesson - and try to at least understand where the problem laid.

useless to say, you made a mental note to yourself: you had to focus on your studies, nothing else. no matter how hard he pulled and tugged your strings, you would not cave like this.

except, you did. you fell for matt harder than you thought, and you didn't even notice.

a soft puff of air blew from your lips as you entered the arena, sitting on one of the empty seats, your gym bag slipping from your shoulders and dropping down with a thump. you grumbled, reaching down to pick it up and put it on the seat next to you before slipping your headphones on. the hockey team was almost at the end of their practice, their coach had just blown into the whistle before announcing to cool down and then head to the showers.

"sturniolo, come here," he yelled, sitting down on the bench right outside the rink. at that command your ears perked up, slightly slipping your headphones to the side of your left ear to hear better what was going on. truth was, you had fully expected for chris to head to the coach, thinking that maybe he had done yet another stupid thing, so you were definitely surprised when you saw matt gliding towards the middle-aged man, carrying his whole weight on his right leg. you observed as his left foot didn't touch completely the ground, his leg slightly bent. right behind him, chris waved his hands in order to grab your attention. you looked at him with a puzzled expression as he took off his helmet, mouthing "watch now" while discretely pointing to his brother, a smirk forming on his lips.

your gaze shifted back on matt who had taken off his helmet, running a hand through his sweaty hair as the coach touched his leg in multiple points, asking where it hurt more. you couldn't really make out what was going on exactly since he had given you his back, but the two men seemed engrossed in their conversation.

chris reached you on the benches, motioning for you to move. "scoot over, ice baby, wanna see your reaction." you muttered a confused "what?" before the boy grabbed your chin with his long fingers, turning your head back towards the rink. your breath stopped in your throat for a second as you watched matt follow his coach's instructions, slowly falling to his knees and elbows while the older man crouched down next to him, keeping a hand on his lower back as he helped him open his knees as much as possible before coming back to the initial position, instructing him to repeat the stretch for a couple times. his head hung low, his long hair covering completely his face. well, fuck.

chris' eyes didn't leave your face for a second, not even trying to hide the amused expression printed on his face while your eyes bore into his brother's figure, almost drooling at the sight.

"enjoying the little show, baby?" he chuckled at your reaction, a little flinch taking over your body as you were brought back to earth by your rather annoying friend.

"w-what?" you asked, your voice raspy and feeble. your eyes didn’t leave matt’s figure for one second, your mind running miles per hour with not-so-innocent thoughts, hypnotised by the way his hips and legs moved. all of a sudden, his head shot up, his eyes straightway locking with yours. everything in that moment ceased to exist, wrapping you and matt in a bubble. he, too, looked taken aback by your presence there, his gaze slowly dropping to chris’ fingers sinking in the soft flesh of your chin and then to his brother’s satisfied grin. matt’s expression turned dark; if looks could hurt, chris would be grabbing his own hand in pain for how intensely matt was staring at the iron-grip his brother had on you, jealousy bubbling under his skin. 

you cleared your throat, excusing yourself before bolting out of the arena with your bag dangling in your hand, rushing towards the locker room. as you entered, you shut the door behind you with a loud bang.

you didn’t even notice cherry sitting on the bench, rolling her muscle warmers on her calf. “whoa, what- what is happening?” asked the girl, taking in your shocked and flustered appearance. you whipped your head around, your back melting against the wall as you slowly slid down on the ground. “one of the weirdest things in my life,” and just like that you began explaining to your best friend what had happened in the span of the last ten minutes, which definitely felt like hours. 

in the end, cherry groaned frustrated, complaining about the lack of action from both of you, rambling about how you two would never end up together if neither mustered up the courage to go talk to the other one.

“first of all, we do talk to each other. matter of fact, i’ll go to his place after practice since chris insisted he could help me study.” cherry raised her eyebrow at that, a sceptical yet surprised look on her face. you raised your hand before she could speak further, continuing with your remarks. “and secondly, i don’t want us to end up together, i ain’t got the time for that.” 

“okay you’re fucking ridiculous,” began your friend, but before she could continue the door opened and revealed the two sturniolo brothers, their helmets and skates in hand and weird looks on their faces. as the two spotted you and cherry, they quickly raised their hand in greeting before grabbing their gym bags and heading for the showers. matt was the first to disappear, still looking pissed off. chris waited for him to go to the showers room before he muttered as silently as possible “he’s pissed cause i had my hands on you,” snickering to himself as he, too, disappeared in the other room. cherry’s jaw hung low, excitement building quickly in her. “see!” she half-whispered, half- screamed, “i fucking told you!” 

“no, no,” you quickly interrupted her, jumping towards her figure to slap a hand on her mouth, trying to contain her excited blabbering. “shh, cherry, damn. get your skates, you need to burn some of this pent-up energy.”

you spent the next two hours training and training and training, trying to perfection your technique as best as you could, trying to ignore the two brothers sitting on the furthest bench of the arena, knowing that a particular set of eyes was planted on you the whole time.

“give him a chance,” whispered cherry as you closed your bag, swinging it over your shoulder. you had finished practice a few minutes ago, and after a quick shower you were ready to head towards the brothers who were waiting for you outside. “i’m serious, baby. you don’t need to be always so strict with yourself.” you smiled softly at your friend, nodding briefly before you reached the brothers who were waiting inside their car. the ride to their place wasn’t uncomfortable, but not pleasant either: you could tell matt was trying to brush off the events from earlier, failing miserably. and chris - well, he did nothing to ease his brother’s mind, constantly talking about memories he had of when you two met for the first time years ago. you really couldn’t tell if he was that oblivious to his brother’s annoyed attitude, or if he was working him up on purpose. either way, whatever his plan was was working perfectly. 

as you reached their place, chris finally quieted down. he was the first one to jump out of the car, immediately heading towards his room. 

matt sighed tired, running a hand on his face. “i’m sorry, i- had a long day.” you smiled sympathetically at him, feeling sorry for the poor boy who had to deal all this time with his brother’s constant teasing. “it’s fine, i know how obnoxious chris can get. by the way, how’s your leg?”

matt groaned, shaking his head before plopping down on the couch. “apparently i pulled a muscle and it hurts like a motherfucker,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and throwing his head back on the couch’s back. you put your bag down, trying to not dwell too much on how attractive he looked like that, manspreading and confident. 

“you can come sit down,” he said, patting the space next to him. “just give me five minutes so the pain subsides and we’ll get to studying.”

“yeah, no it’s fine, don’t worry about it. do you want some medicine? i think i’ve got something in my bag.” you replied, bringing your bag with you on the couch. as you sat down next to him, you rummaged through your things to find the little pouch you used to store your medicine. 

“no, i’m fine, it’s not the first time this has happened.”

“you sure? i’ve got a few things against the pain, i just need to find where they went-”

“baby,” matt’s hand gently grabbed your wrist, pulling it out of your bag. your skin broke out in chills at the contact, your heart racing in your ribcage. “i’m serious, i don’t need anything. thanks, though.”

you nodded, staring at his hand still neatly wrapped around your wrist, not showing any signs of wanting to let go anytime soon. he gently pulled it towards him, making you turn slowly so that you were completely facing him. you observed as his eyes fell slowly to your chin, his free hand delicately lifting your head and turning it side to side to check if your skin had any marks from chris’ grip earlier. your breath hitched at the proximity. if you closed your eyes and focused, you were sure you could feel his breath gently fanning over your neck. you didn’t dare to speak, not wanting to mutter a single word in fear of fucking everything up. your mind screamed at you to pull away, to break contact as soon as possible, but how could you when it felt so good?

a loud noise broke the spell that had you both hooked, followed by music playing softly in the background. matt groaned annoyed, pulling back slightly to mutter “‘m sorry, it’s the fucking speakers, chris is probably convinced that he turned them on only in his room.” at that, you couldn’t hold back a smile from creeping on your face, chuckling softly. “may i say that i do not envy you?”

matt scoffed, an amused glint in his eyes. “yeah, well, understandable. don’t even know how you bear him as your friend.” you shrugged your shoulders, a silent way of saying “it is what it is.”

matt cleared his throat, his index finger running softly on your jaw. “he- he didn’t hurt you, right?” you shook your head, instinctively shifting closer to him. you felt his breath blowing on your lips, and you observed as his eyes shifted from your jaw, to your lips, to your eyes and then to your lips again. the air all around you buzzed with electricity, the tension between you two becoming almost palpable. 

“i’m- i’m sorry, i…” you whispered, hands shaking with anticipation. you tried to stabilize your breath, wanting to gain back control over your body that seemed to respond only to matt’s actions instead of your own mind.

“don’t.” he mumbled, finally closing the space between you two. his lips found yours in a delicate and tentative kiss, but once you kissed him back there was nothing soft left. his hand cupped your cheek, bringing you impossibly closer to him as he deepened the kiss, his tongue gently brushing over your bottom lip. you whimpered quietly as his tongue grazed yours, his other hand leaving your wrist to wrap around your waist, helping you straddle him. 

“matt,” you moaned, fingers locking in his soft hair and pulling them gently. his lips traveled down your jaw and to your neck, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses behind. “‘m sorry, angel,” he whispered on your skin, his teeth nipping and sucking and painting your neck in violet marks. “couldn’t hold back anymore,” he continued, arms wrapping even tighter around your torso. your hands stroked his cheeks, bringing him in for another kiss. 

and while you two were busy on the couch, a song played in the background, tying everything together:

love' s gonna get you killed

but pride’s gonna be the death of you, and you and me.

© stvrnioloslvt

ও read other parts of this au here. asks and requests are always open!

icy taglist!:

@sofieeeeex @shadowthesim @sturnioloszn @m4ttg1rl @marrykisskilled @thecrawlys @x0x0bunny @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosweets @sturnslutz @user1smvtysturniolo @gabrielaperez11 @frankoceanfanpage @ivysturnss @watercolorskyy @bluestriips @sllutty-sturniolo @hesvoid34 @mattsturniolover @emely9274 @boomshakalaka12381238 @lovergirl4gracieabrams @sturnsrecord @joselyncsblog

[crushpunky]

rafe cameron x kook!reader thoughts !!! UPDATED

masterlist | kook!reader masterlist

rafe and y/n have been friends since childhood, their parents being good family friends, but grew closer following the death of rafe’s mother and y/n's brother while they were both in high school.

whereas rafe gravitated more towards drugs and partying to cope with the loss of his mother, y/n gravitated more towards rafe.

y/n was definitely more “polished” than rafe and kept a fairly good reputation despite constantly hanging out with the kook king. however, that didn’t mean she was always such a role model, smoking the occasional blunt or getting hammered at the boneyard.

whenever one of the two was invited to some big event, the other was forced to go along with them. if one of them was going to have to suffer through hours of stuffy small talk, they would both have to. it didn’t really matter too much though, most of the time they would end up sneaking off to walk along the beach or smoke.

as they grew older, and rafe’s addictions grew stronger, y/n tried multiple times to convince him to get clean. he’d always promise, but then that weekend she’d see him doing another line.

they had fought multiple times about rafe’s dangerous behavior, typically ending with him saying something out of line and y/n leaving, telling him to talk to her when he figures his shit out 

no matter how mad they were at each other, the time apart was excruciating. eventually, whether a few hours or a week depending on how bad their fight was, one of them would show up at the others house with coffee and an understood apology between them (usually rafe)

y/n first realized her feelings towards rafe when they were young, before his mother or her brother had died. she fell in love with the boy that made her laugh or played soccer with wheezie in the backyard of tanneyhill or chewed on the top of his pencil when he did his homework

after the death of his mother, rafe changed, but y/n's feelings for him didn't. she still cared so much for him, but seeing him descend into the depths of his addiction terrified her

rafe didn't realize his feelings for y/n until he watched her at a party in high school, really looking at her. watching the way she would smile as she spoke or waved her hands as she told a story excitedly or how she always listened so intently as anyone spoke... but as soon as he came to the realization how he felt about her, he also knew he had to keep them a secret. he couldn't do anything about them. he couldn't risk affecting her with his anger and violence and rage. so he got high. really high.

the night rafe realized his feelings for y/n was the first night he'd ever overdosed. topper and kelce had tried to talk him down, his paranoia intensifying as he begged them to not let y/n see him like this. once y/n found him, though, she was finally able to talk him down enough to take him home. once he fell asleep after hours of him pacing around the house, she sobbed. sobbed the hardest she had since her brother died.

rafe knew every time he relapsed killed her, but he found himself falling back into old habits each time. the drugs and sex and alcohol were the only things that numbed the thoughts and feelings he had that terrified himself.

as much as seeing him like this hurt her, y/n couldn't give up on him. so she stayed. she stayed when he would yell at her or ignore her for weeks, when he'd be cruel or erratic, because every so often, she'd see glimpses of the boy she fell in love with and that made it worth it.

overtime, rafe realized that maybe he didn't have to hide all of his feelings. maybe he could let her in, allow her close, while still keeping her a safe distance away. maybe that closeness was enough to dull the cravings for getting high or drunk out of his mind. maybe that closeness was the thing he really needed this whole time... and maybe that was what she needed too.

[lesbianalanwake]

Severance S2E2:

--holy shit. I see why the season is 10 episodes instead of 9. two episodes to resolve the S1 finale and wind up to the pitch. there was so much legwork in this episode, and so much tension that I could barely sit still.

--I hope they paid Milchick a big overtime bonus in addition to his new salary!!! man did all that in 48 hours!!!

--Mark and Devon.... Mark being in denial about the possibility that Mark S could have been talking about Gemma, when we later see that it's been weighing on him heavily and he needed to talk to Cobel to confront it. it's such a small, small hope.... if he believes in the possibility that Gemma is alive, and it turns out that she is not, it would destroy him completely, and he's already come so close to destroying himself while grieving the first time. but Devon! Devon is so sharp! she knows her brother, and she glimpsed a younger, lighter version of her brother that she hasn't seen in a long time, and she clocked his tone and body language and everything about the situation correctly! and she can't live with the unanswered question of whether Gemma could be alive, because she misses her sister-in-law and misses who her brother used to be! she can't stop thinking about it while Mark is doing everything in his power to not think about it! aaaaah!

--Cobel bookending this episode by being as unhinged and mysterious as ever. we don't even know if she accepted the advisory council position! what is she up to! the final scene is so fucking good because I was like "I bet she's thinking about hitting Mark with her car," and then she screams like a bat out of hell and almost does just that LMAO. and she's still telling him to quit, even though Lumon is doing something significant with Gemma and "Cold Harbor," enough that they need Mark back to finish it, and Cobel knows what it is and wants something from it, and now Mark knows for sure that Gemma is alive because he needed to look Cobel in the eye and ask. I love their weird fucking dynamic. she's so fucking mad at Lumon, but maybe cares about Mark in her own unhinged way?? and his feelings were HURT that she lied to him because he went straight for the only thing that could maybe hurt her feelings a little bit in turn ("I ate your shitty fucking cookies").

--makes me hope that Cobel gets a "villain turned weird ally" arc, and that Milchick is right behind her, because he's already getting a taste of how thankless the severed floor manager position is, getting no guidance beyond "let Kier guide your heart" and having to defend the feat he managed to pull together in 48 hours.

--which brings me to: HELENA. HELENAAA. class traitor arc INCOMING. the "behind the scenes" bit reinforced this too: she is living in a gilded cage (the shot of her on the top floor with the windows acting as bars!) and seeing that her innie of all people gets affection and respect in a way that she never has, and she is enthralled. you can do it baby! I hope you kill your dad!

- I'm glad they clarified that the correct term for complex innie/outie romantic dynamics is "throuple" because Mark/Helly is finally compelling. by itself = eh. as part of Helena's development and possibly some kind of villainous fixation that can't possibly end well no matter how you slice it because Mark/Mark S is also going through a throuple thing with his dead wife who is actually alive, and don't think I've forgotten whatever thing that Helena and Milchick had going on in S1 (which is the only thing I was missing from this ep and hope they revisit) = now we're cooking with gas. not to mention Burt spying on Irving! throuples for days.

--tentatively believing that it really is Helena down there, and they sent her to play the part of Helly R to keep Mark complacent so that Cold Harbor gets finished, because Helly is too much of an unpredictable wild card but Helena is controllable (for now!). which would add another juicy flavor to Mark/Helly. they really did it, they really made the ship pop.

--it is so, so compelling how innies/outies are opposites. Helly is bold and rebellious, Helena is calm and subservient. Mark S is sweet and mild-mannered, Mark is cold and sarcastic. Dylan G is confident and driven, Dylan George is nervous and hesitant. Irving B is obedient and proper, Irving Bailiff is defiant and unconventional. and yet! bits of the other shine through, and we see it more and more, and they're slowly but surely on a collision course.

--the Good Doors interviewer says "you remind me of myself" and looks like Dylan, and I love this show because I can't tell if it's to continue the visual motif of doubling/reflections and show a "what could have been" path for Dylan, or if it's because there is truly something FUCKED going on across this whole town. or both.

--Lumon is in such a precarious position. they're a major global corporation, and they have politicians in their pocket, but there is also a lot of hostility and mistrust from the general public, enough to make a severed employee unhireable. (which further entraps their employees and keeps them dependent on Lumon.... Dylan. 😭) Lumon has to walk a fine line to continue, uh, whatever it is they're doing, without turning the public against them in a way that they couldn't recover from, hence the placating attempts at damage control. but all it would take would be a sufficiently strong spark to light that powder keg.

--because like, man.... I hope Helena and Cobel and Milchick all get their "fuck you Lumon" arcs. god. so many threads poised to unravel out of control and snap with the right push because the line that Lumon is walking is THIN. they do the most to try to control their severed employees, but they seem to take their non-severed employees for granted, and I'm wondering if that will be their undoing.

[eldritchneuro]

Ah Knives. Classic abuser bullshit - 'You aren't doing what I want so there must be something wrong with you'.

Of course, Knives' evaluation of his brother is a deeply subjective one, and deeply flawed. He considers Vash's attitude towards others nothing but an impediment, even though Vash's empathy has very much saved his hide multiple times. Be kind enough to folks and you too can snag a genetically-modified assassin and a couple of plucky reporters by your side! (If you know anything about what some journalists have to get into for their stories, then you know Meryl and Roberto are far more intimidating then Woowoo in the long term!)

Not that it matters of course. 'Sickness' is just an excuse here. Something to point to in order to justify abuse. And it's not just limited to Knives. It's rhetoric that extends throughout the Eye of Michael itself, and indeed into many real-life evangelical cults.

'These people are sick, and making them not-sick is more important than then their human rights' isn't just the excuse Conrad uses to torture innocent children. It's the drivel of the Nazis, of the colonists that murdered entire indigenous civilizations. It's the excuse used for conversion 'therapy', and the horrific treatment of people in prisons and psych wards. It's the same abusive bullshit swallowed and vomited up again and again and again.

Actually, speaking of stuff like psych wards, are there any other disabled people who find Knives and co's assumptions about the dependent plants rather... uncomfortable? Specifically:

Knives' attitude towards 'freeing' the plants is that they should be made independent. Removed from their bulbs, removed from human care and made into something that can walk around and do stuff.

Which seems fine and dandy. He's right that the plants deserve autonomy and choice. But it's the core assumption underlying this that's the problem. To him, the plants in their bulbs are also sick. They are sick specifically because they are in their bulbs and can't do what he and Vash can do. Therefore, they must be 'cured', even if it means violating them.

Even though Stampede saves it's critique specifically for the way outsiders take advantage of dependent plants, not plants having to be dependent in the first place. And for all his talk, none of Knives' sisters are asked to weigh in on his grand plans. For all we know, many dependents could be quite happy the way they are and have no wish to be anything different.

To clarify my point, what happens if we reframe this dynamic? What if we were talking about, say, a high support needs autistic person, who literally would not be able to survive without being dependent on others? For people like that, the assumption that liberation and agency must mean independence isn't just untrue, but also something that will (and does!) prove fatal.

See the problem?