#i managed not to comb through the series again to find every moment when they look at each other and see but was i close

[bro-atz]

evidential

in which: managing partner attorney song mingi just seems to get hotter with every passing second.

pair: lawyer!mingi/paralegal!afab!reader

word count: 3.8k

content: smut, office sex, unprotected sex (remember to wrap up irl!), (slight) cum-eating, mingi has a huge tattoo and a huge dick—, so much sexual tension fr, hopefully i'm not missing anything, completely consensual!

rated: R | nsfw — minors do not interact

author's note: inspired by this brain rot of mine. if it weren't for @irlkpop @yunhoszn @sanspuppet @byuntrash101 i wouldn't even have considered writing this let alone making it a series, so class say thank you to these four lovelies

network: @cromernet

taglist: @k-hotchoisan @eyeryis @sinnarols @aaasia111 @sunshineangel-reads @hwallazia @dazzlingstarrs @dutchessskarma @yourlocaljonghoe @st4rhwa @frobin4ever @sanhwajjong apply for the permanent taglist here! lawyer!series: mingi, jongho, san, yeosang

You were rather proud of yourself. You had every right to be as well because you were the paralegal everyone at your firm went to. You were so highly in demand that the other lawyers fought over you all the damn time.

However, there was only one man who got to get your help in full, and that was the managing partner: Attorney Song Mingi. It didn’t matter if you were helping another lawyer on a case; if Attorney Song needed you, you were there in an instant. To use a juvenile term, he had eternal dibs on you.

And you didn’t mind. You liked worked with the attorney, but the one thing you hated the most when working with him was how late he would work you sometimes. The life of a lawyer wasn’t easy, but you should be allowed to sleep at least whether it’s at home or at least one of the couches in his room, but no. If Song Mingi wanted to get something done, he was going to get it done before letting himself rest, let alone sleep.

The craziest part about working these insane hours was that Attorney Song refused to dress comfortably if he was working. You weren’t talking about changing into jammies or anything like that; he refused to let himself look “improper” and was always keeping every single garment of his three piece suit on his body. He wouldn’t even loosen the tie or anything— he was prim and proper ’til the very end.

That is until one particular day.

It was just you and the managing in the partner that day. Everyone else had gone home, but you two were scouring through mountains of papers and files and everything under the sun trying to find a specific, singular piece of evidence; and, as per usual, Attorney Song refused to let you take any sort of break.

The worst part about day was that the building’s AC was shot to hell. You had no idea how or why it happened, but it just did. You thought that the attorney would just take the damn files and go home— as if he was ever going to do that.

“Y/N, focus,” he snapped his fingers in front of you and pointed to a stack on the ground. “Go through all of these.”

“I already did—”

“Do it again. We need to fucking find this piece of evidence.”

Attorney Song rarely swore, so when he did, you felt goosebumps erupt on your skin. With a soft sigh, you did as he said. He watched as you got up from your chair and bent down slowly to get all of the files that you had set on the ground, the stack teetering dangerously as you moved them back to the table. Then, you felt his eyes leave you the second he confirmed you doing the task he assigned you. You went through all the files once again, your fingers combing through each page slowly, being more meticulous than you were during the first pass.

You went through one file and didn’t find it. As you set the file aside, you briefly glanced at the managing partner only to freeze. You had never seen him without his glasses on, and when he took them off in that moment, he whipped them off his face, a heavy, frustrated sigh leaving his lungs.

You always knew that Attorney Song was attractive, but you never really looked at him properly until that day. You wanted to appreciate his hair line, his perfect eyebrows, the lovely beauty mark on his cheek, and his beautifully shaped nose, but you could only focus on his lips. God, his rosy lips, his rosy, plump lips. His lips that only got fuller as he let out yet another sigh.

When he tossed his glasses to the side on the table, you felt saliva pool in your mouth and your pussy quiver. Plus, thanks to the AC being broken as fuck, your body temperature only got hotter and hotter to the point that you wanted to start stripping just to cool off.

Right as Attorney Song was about to look up, you quickly opened the second folder and went through the files in there. You tried to focus, but you were sweating so much that you could feel it roll down your back. So, eyes still on the papers, you unbuttoned one more button on your blouse. You couldn’t go further than that without exposing your bra, so you left it there and started fanning yourself knowing that fanning yourself would only make you hotter, but you seriously had no choice.

Little did you know that Mingi was entranced by you at that moment. He couldn’t help but stare at the new part of your chest that you exposed, blood rushing to his ears and crotch. He watched as a little bead of sweat rolled right down your neck, down your chest, and through your cleavage. He felt like his brain was on fire the longer he stared at you, and his own body started heating up like crazy.

Truth be told, Mingi was dying under all of those layers. He was sweating like anything, and he badly wanted to take off at least his jacket, but he couldn’t, for he had a secret he didn’t want to tell anyone about, and it was a pretty big secret.

There was nothing wrong with his secret, but he had yet to show anyone in the firm, and he wasn’t prepared at all to deal with the questions and the comments and side eyes from people. He wanted to remain as professional as possible, which meant he would rather sweat to death than expose it.

He couldn’t do that for long, though. He felt like he was risking having heat stroke, and there was no way he could afford that right now, not in the middle of an important case. As casually as possible, Mingi shed his jacket and vest and draped both over the chair discreetly, and he prayed that you wouldn’t notice.

Oh, but you did. You were so hyperaware of everything that you looked up slyly and saw him take the jacket off while focusing on the papers in front of him. His shirt— his white button up— was drenched in sweat. The poor guy was probably suffering under his jacket for so long based off of how soaked he was. But forget about how the shirt was clinging to the muscles on his body and displaying his muscles for a second. His shirt was so transparent at that point that it revealed his secret: a chest tattoo that connected to a massive sleeve.

By that point, the damage had been done. You’d seen the tattoo, Mingi knew you saw the tattoo, so there was no point to trying to be inconspicuous about it. Keeping his eyes on the files, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the first couple of buttons of his shirt, giving you a slightly better look at the black ink on his fair skin. You could see it a little more, but you for the life of you still could not figure out exactly what it was he had tattooed on him. It was when he rolled up his sleeves did you figure it out: it was a biomechanical tattoo that seemed to rip through his skin and show the mechanics in his body. And then, when he leaned towards you to grab more files from your side, you were able to glance down his chest and see a mechanical heart on his chest.

And that’s when you realized after Mingi took his jacket off, every single one of his actions was done very purposefully; because when he leaned towards you for a stack of files, you got a faint whiff of his ridiculously expensive cologne and you felt his hot breath go past your ear, and he definitely heard your bated one. To make matters worse, he was still acting like the attorney you knew him to be.

“Hey,” he said, his low voice barely snapping you back to reality. “Focus.”

The tension in the room got so thick that it practically made the room even hotter. You were losing your mind, and you desperately needed to do something about it.

“A-Attorney Song, I just need to step out for a second,” you told him while squirming in your chair.

“We’re in the middle of figuring out this fucking case. What do you mean you’re going to step out for a second?” The attorney snapped, his attitude returning to normal.

“B-Bathroom…”

Mingi smirked— God fucking dammit, that made it so much worse— before he responded, “You can pee when we’re done. Sit your ass back down and find me this fucking piece of evidence.”

His authoritative tone made all the cells in your body scream for him. You didn’t need to pee, and he knew it. What you really needed was for him to rail you and fuck you until your brain went numb, but he wouldn’t do any of those things until you fucking found this fucking piece of evidence.

That’s when you saw it— the holy grail. It was almost cliché in a way. The two of you lunged for the piece of paper that would win the case and caught it at the same time. The tips of his long fingers brushed against yours, and the two of you looked from the sheet to each other at the same time. You were frozen, your eyes darting left and right as you observed his face in that close proximity. Mingi, however, still seemed to be in work mode (he most certainly was not at that point). Not moving from his position at all, he plucked the paper from your hand and placed it inside his portfolio folder before grabbing the back of your head and kissing you hungrily.

You were definitely surprised to say the least, but you didn’t want to spend any time pondering how the attorney also got to the same state of mind as you. The point was that you wanted him bad and he wanted you just as badly, and you could tell when his grip on your hair tightened and when he subtly wrapped his fingers around your neck and pressed into the pressure points with just enough strength to make blood rush to your head but allow you to breathe as his kisses got rougher.

Trying to cling to some sense of sanity, you ran your own fingers through his hair and held his hair and forearm tightly. Your exhales in between kiss mingled with his, soft moans and sighs adding to the mix every so often. You felt like you were burning up the longer he made out with you, and the sweat collecting on your body definitely made you aware of that. Sweat dripped down his and your face and mixed with your dribbling saliva, both falling and staining the documents on the table.

“W-Wait, attorney,” you managed to say. “The documents.”

You heard him curse under his breath as he momentarily let go of you to rid every single piece of paper on the table with one fell swoop. Then, he quickly made his way around the table and grabbed your arms roughly to pull you into him, his plush lips barely cushioning the blow of his animalistic kisses.

“Tell me something,” Mingi muttered against your lips, his body pressing into yours, his hands running down your arms and resting on your waist as he kept kissing you. “Do you still wanna go to the bathroom?”

“Depends,” you replied breathlessly, your hands roaming up his chest and grabbing the collar of his shirt. “Are you going to help me take care of it?”

“What, you were going to go to the bathroom to touch yourself?” Mingi chuckled.

“I blame you,” you pushed him away and prodded his chest— the one with the tattoo. Then, you added, “I think you should take full accountability for getting me to this point.”

“I could say the same to you,” Mingi’s voice lowered and nearly growled. He suddenly grabbed your ass and pulled upwards as he said, “You and this damn pencil skirt.”

You bit back a moan when you felt his hands grip your ass harder. You wanted to tease him more, but he interrupted you to continue his previous sentiment.

“And this fucking shirt.”

With one finger, he slid it down the middle of your shirt, ripping the rest of the buttons off. Before he took the shirt off you, he lifted you and sat you down on the table, then his antsy hands working on stripping you down completely.

You didn’t get to ask him what he meant because the second he got you fully naked, he gripped your breast with one hand and gripped your ass with the other. He started sucking hard on your breast as he groped and squeezed your body with insatiability. You let out a sweet moan and clung to the man’s shoulders when you felt him bite down gently on your tit. It was when he brought his hand from your ass to your crotch and rubbed your folds did that last string of sanity of yours snapped.

“Attorney— Ah! Mingi!” you whined as you grabbed his hair and pulled him back to look at you. “I want you in me, please just fuck me already!”

“I want to,” Mingi rasped as he looked at you hungrily. “But I don’t have any condoms.”

“I don’t care— I need you to fuck me,” you whimpered— you were so close to crying because of how sexually frustrated you were.

“As long as you’re clean…” he uttered with a smirk before leaving you with a sloppy kiss.

You helped him out of the rest of his sweaty clothes, your hands unveiling the massive chest tattoo. You trailed your fingers up from his wrist to his shoulder, following the lines of the artwork before arriving at his chest.

“Your tattoos are so sexy, attorney,” you whispered as you outlined the intricate details of the tattoo with your fingernail.

You laid your hand flat over the mechanical heart tattoo and looked into his darkened eyes, the man biting his lower lip to keep himself the slightest bit together, his chest swelling under your palm.

“Y/N,” Mingi said roughly as he took your hand in his. He brought your hand down to his clothed crotch to feel his massive, hardened cock, your eyes widening as you it slowly dawned on you that Mingi may have more than just one big surprise. “I’m warning you. I’m not going to hold back.”

“Don’t.”

Mingi visibly shivered. He quickly rid himself of the rest of his clothes and stood before you in all of his glory, his immense, veiny, raging red cock twitching the closer he got to you. Pinning you down to the table, Mingi  placed one hand alongside your waist, the other stroking his cock and rubbing the tip against your folds. You desperately wanted to tell him to just hurry up, but if he came at you with his full force from the get go, you felt like you would definitely tear into two pieces. So, you let him go at his own pace.

He only pushed the tip in first, and once he had his hands on either side of you, he sank a good majority of his cock into you gingerly before suddenly thrusting the rest of himself into you. Your hands went to his hair and neck, and you dug your nails into him while letting out a wail, his cock somehow getting bigger as it throbbed inside you.

Honestly, you were in a little pain, but that didn’t change the fact that the rest of your body desperately wanted him to move, and you wanted him to move fast. Heck, you wanted him to fuck you to the point that you wouldn’t be able to think straight. And Mingi understood that when you looked at him with teary eyes and parted lips. He grasped your waist and began to fuck you fast and hard, your back pressing so hard into the table that you thought you were going to leave an imprint of your ass on it— in the most literal sense, Mingi fucked you into the table exactly as you expected him to.

The table creaked under you as Mingi lowered himself so that his chest was pressing against yours. He moved his hand from your waist to the back of your head and clenched your hair in his tight grasp, his sloppy kisses and tongue violating your mouth. He moved up slightly, allowing his cock to delve deeper into to, and with a very specific intense rut, he hit your cervix. You clenched immediately, and you broke off the kiss as you let out a loud, crying moan, your arousal spraying out of you and onto the table; and you clenched so hard that Mingi could barely pull out— the feeling of your walls squeezing his penis tightly made him orgasm immediately. He pulled out and came hard all over your chest and stomach, ropes of cum trailing along your body.

You thought that would be it, that he would clean you up and call it a day. But no, he was far from over, especially after seeing his white stickiness dripping down your skin. He quickly shoved his cock back in you, making you choke out a moan. He wrapped his arms around you and lifted you off the table, your own arms and legs wrapping around him as you clung to him in fear of him dropping you to the ground.

He did drop you, but that was only when he walked you into his office and slammed your back into the shelves of document boxes, the fixture wobbling and nearly dropping some of the boxes. He brought one of your legs up and fucking you relentlessly, the shelves squeaking and creaking with every one of his insane thrusts. Little profanities would slip under his breath occasionally when he felt his waist slam into yours at just the right angle. Stars started filling your vision when he grabbed your breast and massaged it, your nipple rubbing in between his squeezed fingers.

“M-Minngh-gi,” you moaned as you felt your climax nearing. “C-Cumm—”

He cut you off by grabbing your cheeks and kissing you passionately. He didn’t have to say it, but you knew what he was telling you. Wait.

Quickly pulling out, Mingi spun you around so that your chest was pressing into the shelves, and he quickly re-entered you, his waist ramming into your ass with so much force that your knees nearly buckled. You wanted to scream and cry, but your mouth was stuffed with his fingers, so the only thing you could do was moan and suck on his fingers to keep your moans to a minimum. And despite him silently wanting you to hold out, you couldn’t last much longer— his hand moved from your waist down to your crotch, and his fingers rubbed your clit at the same pace as his thrusts, your eyes rolling to the back of your head because of the stimulation.

You came fully when Mingi pulled out of you, making you squirt all over the carpeted flooring beneath you. Had your mind not been swirling with hormones and lust, you would’ve been mortified that you soiled the managing partner’s carpet, but instead, you sighed loudly, letting the pleasure wash all over you.

The man didn’t give you a break. He turned you around and carried you once more to his couch. He sat down, making you straddle his waist. Hurriedly, he rubbed his cock against your folds and forcibly sat you on his lap, his cock shooting through you. Your vision went white as you came yet again, the man underneath you chuckling at the sight of you flinging your head back and gripping his shoulders so hard that your nails left imprints in his skin.

You thought he was going to say something dirty, something to make you slightly embarrassed but more horny. Instead, he grabbed the back of your head and kissed you again, his other hand guiding your waist and making you bounce on his dick. He kept pulling you into him to the point where your hands were pinned on either side of him on the cushions of the couch.

His cock was moving through you at an angle that made him rub against your G-spot repeatedly, and it took everything in you to not cum again because, dear God, if you came again, you would just fucking collapse. Luckily, Mingi seemed to notice your struggle, because he flipped you so that you were laying on the couch and he was thrusting into you from above, his sweat dripping down his face and body at a steady pace, his couch completely coated in his and your sweat.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Mingi’s voice rumbled as he looked at you with the devilish look in his eyes. “How are you still so fucking tight? You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Cum inside,” you panted out, another orgasm rapidly approaching you. “Fill me up, Attorney Song.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. He rammed his waist into yours and came inside, his cock throbbing and twitching as his seed filled you up. You came again as well, your walls squeezing more cum out of him.

When he pulled out, his cum nearly spilled out of you, but he quickly moved his head down to your crotch and collected whatever wouldn’t stay inside you on his tongue. You watched as he brought himself back up to you, his tongue coated with his and your cum. Before you knew it, he was kissing you, his tongue tangling with yours to give you a taste and transfer his cum into your mouth.

A line of cum and spit connected your tongues when Mingi moved away to see your fucked out face and the mix of cum now in your mouth.

“Swallow,” he demanded in a low voice; you obeyed immediately. “Good girl.”

Dammit. He shouldn’t have said that because now you were turned on all over again. You wiggled below him slightly as you tried to calm yourself down, but the lawyer knew you weren’t done with him yet. He rubbed his hand against your cunt and traced light circles around your clit while you reached for his half-hard cock and rubbed him until he was fully erect again.

“You just can’t get enough, can you?” he whispered teasingly.

“No, sir.”

“You want more, don’t you?”

“I need more.”

#ateez #ateez mingi #song mingi #mingi smut #mingi x reader #song mingi ateez #mingi ateez #broatz #cromernet

[lazywriters-blog]

THE DESPERATE HERO

YANDERE IZUKU MIDORIYA

Warning: May contain triggering content, sexual assault, non-consensual touching, creepy and stalkerish behavior, and yandere content.

Summary: She has been a fickle little friend, and her avoidant nature leads up to a disastrous position, and her best friend is the center of it all. Grown into a man, a focused and determined young man that meets with his distant friend who will avoid him at any cost. What shall occur?

"Hey, I stopped by to see you again, are you home?" three taps on the door and her shoulder flinch up, blood-shoot eyes swift to steady on the voice behind the main entrance, menacingly dark and unwelcoming, "I want to talk to you, please don't ignore me." he pleaded, another series of knocks chimed throughout her space and tensed up the peace. Then, it began. The phone calls.

The device illuminated with life in the clutches of her hand, stiff and unrelenting against the soft metal that buzzed silently, she peered down and without a thought, pressed her finger on the power button and brought the screen into darkness. Lifeless and still.

"You don't even pick up your phone, how am I supposed to talk to you? Please just let's sit down and speak, I'm sorry for what I did the night before." he continued, "I wasn't thinking straight." He had leaned closer to the door, kept his hand on the handle, and tried to listen in to her movements she's sure. "You don't have to isolate yourself, there are people who care about you, please let me help you."

The peacekeeper talk had crawled under her skin, the times he uses it to bring about change that would benefit him, and keep her aware of her every wrongdoing. Her bad habit of pushing people out of her life had become a prominent obstacle in his way, and he had his chances.

She knew she should have kept away from him the moment he held her hand, but best friends always do, so she never said anything about it.

She really should have pulled her hand back when he blushed and flashed her a shy smile, gently combing through his green hair and leaving no space between them. She was wrong in not doing anything.

"I... Know you were avoiding me since the time we held hands, you were cutting me out of your life and I didn't want that! I want to be your friend forever, I want to help you, please let me in." his voice held no motive other than to convince her she was the one who was overreacting. Somehow, his kiss was a friendly gesture, and she'd never believe that the innocent izuku had put his lips on hers, he just didn't seem the most courageous. When it came to her, at least.

"That one time, I called out your name, you almost pretended that you didn't hear me and walked into the bathroom, that was mean of you but I'm not mad, I get it, I'm somewhat clingy, and I'll try my best not to be. So, please open the door."

She would rather risk their friendship than feel the immense discomfort of being observed under his gaze, but confrontation seems impossible once she steps out and into the wide big world, he'd find her during his duty and she would have to sprint back home in a sweaty mess. Barely managing to dodge him all while.

Her eyes locked onto the handle and saw it shift, she knew his patience was cracking and she'd be one to piece them back for the sake of harmony.

He never liked her pushing him out of her life. All too many times, that seemed to be the case for her, and to get him off her back she would get to be the peacekeeper.

"Please let me inside your life. I want to be a part of it, even if a little. I want to be by your side."

The hopelessness in his voice made her reconsider, made her sympathetic for a moment, and provoked her to get onto her feet and move toward the only thing blocking him out. The one thing she's hesitant to unseal.

Resting her hand on the wood, she bends to look into the peak hole. Standing near, he's drawing in breath quicker, and the tears pooled in his eyes made her will weaker and the desire to let him in stronger. But she knows better.

"Please, I can't live without you. Let me in..." he inhaled a choked sob, "I love you... I love you so much, it hurts."

"You know, I think you're cool... Cooler than me, at least." she laughed, chugging down her last portion of vanilla tea, and looked at the astonished man with smiling eyes. His freckled cheeks vaguely appeared red before the fluorescent lights, his mug in his hands held tighter while he gulped.

"Thanks, that means a lot coming from you," he replied, fondly staring at his beverage. Before lifting his gaze back up to see her walk into the kitchen, he kept his glass down and suddenly stood up. Followed in her trail and ended up behind her as she was calmly washing her cup.

Izuku didn't know where he found the intrepidity to finally wrap his arms around her waist and rest his chin in the crook of her neck, something he's been wanting to do forever. She didn't seem all that stunned at first, she kept still and slowly turned around to face him. An unanswered question lingered in her head, her eyes questioning his abrupt change.

"I love you... so much..." he starts, staring into her and steadying his grip, the distance between them was little and he's never felt his heart racing so fast, he forgets what he set out to complete.

"I figured that much." she giggled but it wasn't her usual teasing one, this one had a sad tone, "I knew this was coming and I still wasn't prepared for it." she carried on, "I'm not ready to commit to a relationship, I'm far too avoidant for it. Plus, I'll only hurt you and that's what I've done so far so, I'm sorry to deny your feelings but, I can't do it."

She gently attempts to shake him off, but he doesn't let her and quickly stumbles to give a reason, "No! no, you are not, you've never hurt me and you and I know each other better than anyone else, I want to be a part of your life so please don't push me out after so long. We can try, can't we?" He brings her back close, sealing the gap so much so their nose touches.

"I know you better and no matter how much you try to cut me out, I'll keep coming back for you, I love you that much. I can't imagine being without you."

"No, we both know it's only going to hurt us so let's not get ahead of ourselves and stop, you have a life better worth spending on someone else, you know it, so let me go izuku," she argued and forcibly made her way out of his embrace.

"I want to spend it with you!!" he yells, in a frenzy corners her into a kitchen counter and the electronics fall out of place while the clean cup she had set down drops to the floor and into a handful of chunks. She looks at him and she's taken aback by the strength he used on her, laid down in an awkward position she whimpers and pushes her hand against his chest.

"I don't want to." she hisses, catching the man off-guard as he goes quiet with the realization. Hurt displayed in his leafy green eyes, she knew she hit a nerve.

"You can't cut me out of your life again, I won't let you..." it was sudden and raw, anger twisting his features into a person she's rarely seen, and the kiss had barely registered in her mind while she contemplates the unexpected change in the tides.

His scarred hand lowered down to her hip, while her futile attempts at throwing him off her seemed impossible. Suffocated by the kiss, she squirms in misery feeling his lips press down on hers and his body radiating heat that made it so much more unbearable.

She snakes her hand to claw into his arm but it didn't induce an expected reaction of pain, instead, he moaned, and took it as a sign to continue.

Certain the moment he leans back and disconnects their kiss, she'll scream.

He didn't want that.

Cupping her face, he muffles whatever struggling noise she makes, he sadly stares down at her face and gives her a reassuring smile, his right hand moving down to her warm spot, before slowly feeling her long skirt, and revealing the color of her panties.

"I promise I'll take care of you..." he whispers, snuggling closer to her body heat and caging her underneath him.

He seemed to blush with glee, while he unbuttons her green shirt and fests his eyes on the black bra perfectly fitting her chest, he slightly trembles as he traces his hand against her collarbone. His ear redden, and his stiff muscle loosened.

He chuckles, tears gathered in his eyes while he slopes his head down, "I love you... I love you so much, it almost hurts." he mutters against her skin, then looked up at her. "I want to be someone special to you."

"I just want you..."

The doorbell rings, piercing the stagnant air as izuku quickly drags his attention to the unwanted visitor, his hold on her face grew tight. This was her chance, but her silenced words could only be heard by izuku.

"Pizza delivery." shouted a monotone voice.

"Hello, ma'am?" he repeated four knocks. "I'll leave the pizza by the porch." he finished once no response came from anyone, and soon, she was left alone with him.

But the slight deviation was what she needed.

Grabbing the steel pencil holder, she banged it on his head and used her leg to give him one final shove to get him off her, immediately after making a mad dash to her room and closing the door in time. Not stopping there, she ran to her bathroom and locked herself in for what seemed like a day before he decided to leave.

Not after slamming into the door once or twice.

She remembers coming out of there, scared inside her own house while she checks every room and every hidden place to see if he had truly left, she locked herself in her house and hasn't decided to leave until he showed up again.

If he wanted to, he could burst through the door and get to her. But for however long it takes, she will not let him enter her life again.

#yandere imagines #yandere #yan yan #yandere drabble #yandere izuku midorya x reader #yandere izuku #yandere bnha x reader #yandere izuku x reader #bnha izuku #yandere midoriya izuku #yandere midoriya #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere my hero academia #mha yandere #yandere mha x reader #izuku #izuku x reader #izuku midoriya #mha imagines #yandere bnha #yandere bnha x y/n

[devsgames]

Dragon's Dogma Primer + Tips

I've been spending tons of time with Dragon's Dogma 2. I loved the first game and was shocked they chose to make a sequel. Legitimately Dragon's Dogma is like, the only franchise that actually has the power to make me genuinely enjoy video games again like when I was a kid.

I also noticed that a lot of people new to the franchise have picked it up this time around and are bumping their heads against it, which is great! Now I'll actually have people to talk to about Dragon's Dogma :')

I wanted to write a little primer and 'beginners tips' to help people learn how to approach the series. Here's some pointers:

Dragon's Dogma gets a lot of comparisons to Dark Souls. I wouldn't say it's because it's a hard game, but it does expect you to approach it on its own terms and won't make many concessions to you if you try to fight it.

DD is a management game masquerading as an open-world RPG. What it expects of you is to move slowly and take your time. It wants you to plan your journey, anticipate challenges, pace yourself, and prepare accordingly. You'll find much less friction if you keep this in mind.

'Fast Travel' as a concept is hard to come by in DD, and you will find yourself walking most places. The ability to instantly teleport yourself anywhere is limited to Ferrystones and Portcrystals, which are both in very limited supply. DD2 has Oxcarts from major settlements, but these are also imperfect by-design as they are time-dependent and prone to attacks, which may leave you stranded. Remember: DD is by and large about preparation and long journeys. Try shortening your routes by exploring for shortcuts, or treating every trip like an opportunity to explore a new area on the way.

DD LOVES rare and consumable items. Some of the best and most useful items in the game are often unique and can only be used once or in a limited capacity. This helps make the items feel more exclusive, while also encouraging you to be doubly sure of your intention before using them. If an item seems like it could be rare, it probably is.

Explore everywhere. In my opinion, DD's level design is unmatched in terms of open-world games. There are things hidden absolutely everywhere in every nook and cranny. If you comb every location you will constantly find new things, and it goes out of its way to ensure exploration is rewarded. I don't think any video game does open world exploration quite as good as DD does.

The quest design is cryptic (and often questionable) and likes to challenge you. The game will say 'find [x] item' and not tell you where it is. Sometimes pawn knowledge may help, but expect to find it through exploring the world and digging around hidden corners. While some quests let you know where to go, don't always expect it.

Some side quests are gated by story progression and will become locked off when advancing the story. Make sure you finish all your side quests before advancing the story!

Don't jump in and accept every quest you see, as some quests are timed and some quests require a lot of preparation. For example, in DD1 escort quests involved escorting someone across the whole world. Read a quest carefully and know the terms before accepting it.

Timed quests are a thing, and usually act as a way to keep you on your toes and force you to prove your ability to adapt to changing circumstances. Expect to receive timed quests at any given moment, and adapt accordingly. They can be stressful.

New Game + is a major part of the game in the DD franchise. Things will happen in the game that will block you out of content. You will fail quests, make choices that block future content, consume items you didn't mean to, etc. NG+ is where you get to experience these all again, so don't worry too much if you weren't able to do it the first time around.

Per above, I personally avoid Googling stuff about the game or quests before doing them. Usually there are things you are going to miss, and reading about them sometimes feels worse than just discovering them later does!

There are two types of saves: "Hard" saves which occur when sleeping at an inn, and "Soft" saves done manually or via auto-save. Sometimes it's prudent to rest at an Inn before attempting major quest beats in case something goes awry.

DD loves consequences for your actions, and while every NPC in the game can be killed it is rarely ever worth it. In DD1, killing an NPC means they're gone forever, which can lock you out of new quests or progression and rewards related to that character. In DD2 there are resources costs to resurrect someone, which mitigates it slightly but still makes it not worth it.

'Forgeries' are a very cool mechanic that allow you to pay an NPC to make a copy of an item. The copy usually just looks identical, but this often allows you to keep quest items for yourself and turn in the forgery to a quest NPC. As with anything else, sometimes this may have future consequences!

Without spoiling anything: DD loves to radically change the open world. Watch out!

The Vocation system is worth exploring. For a cheap fee you can try out every class and find what works best for you, so if you start as a Fighter and hate being a Fighter you're never locked into it.

Levelling a vocation allows you to unlock passive abilities called 'augments' that can carry over between classes, and can help build your favourite vocation further.

Some Vocations have mobility skills (Levitate and Double-Vault). If you like exploring everywhere these are absolutely essential because they let you reach places some classes cannot.

Combining materials makes new items. Experiment to find new recipes.

In DD1 combining items often makes them heavier. In DD2 combining items often makes them lighter.

Every character in the game has an 'affinity' towards you, that changes with how you treat them. This has implications.

Anyway I'm just glad people are finally playing and talking about the franchise. Hope you have fun! :)

#dragon's dogma #dragon's dogma 2 #dd #dd2 #video game #video games #blog #tips #capcom #thoughts

[proceduralpassion]

I Don't Wanna Be Unfair | Chapter 09

Pairing: Jax Teller x OC Series Masterlist

Summary/synopsis: Fresh off a broken engagement, McKenzie Gilbert has a one night stand with a random guy she never plans to see again. Soon after, their paths cross, which complicates several situations at hand.

Chapter warning(s): language, smut (oral sex; female receiving, PiV sex, shower sex, a lil degradation kink? 👀 a lil brat taming? 👀), BRANDON, violence (mention of blood, guns, gunshot wound, some medicine)

WC: ~10.2k (i went awf lol)

Jax combed over the papers sat in front of him, trying his hardest to focus. SAMCRO and the Street Wolves now officially owned their first piece of joint property together and the next phase was to get the necessary building inspection in order. He lazily gleaned over the various checklists that outlined all of the building codes that needed to be satisfied. He’d been in the Garden lounge for hours making sure everything was in check after Sairah gracefully went over what to expect that might need to be done. His desire for the inspection to go smoothly was only one of the thoughts that was cartwheeling through his mind all day. The other was McKenzie. 

It had been about two weeks since they started their arrangement, and in that time, they had managed to christen the entirety of Jax’s house along with the back of McKenzie’s Camry and against a tree on their impromptu hiking date last weekend. 

Besides that first sneaky link in a dorm room at the Garden, they had been careful not to mess around or even interact much under the nose of others. And even though he was very much enthralled by McKenzie’s suggestion to swing by her firehouse while she was on shift so that they could have a rendezvous in the back of an ambulance, he wasn’t even willing to risk the possibility of her coworkers finding out about them. 

They had quickly eased into the exhilarating dynamic and it had been the most enlivening experience Jax had had in years. Thrilling in the sense that their deception was caught on by none. But simple in the sense that there were no expectations. Uncomplicated. Caveat free.

Jax let out a sigh and forced himself to focus yet again on the papers he was supposed to be studying. It was like he couldn’t get enough of her. Every idle moment he had, his mind veered off to thoughts of her. She was everywhere even when she wasn’t there physically. From the moment they would part, he would wonder when the next time he’d get to see her again. 

“Yeah, I just need to go shower, Lise.” 

McKenzie’s voice flowed in from the hallway and he could just barely register movement through the cracked door. Jax pushed himself out of the chair and walked towards the lounge door. When he opened it further, McKenzie was walking towards a dorm room where she’d presumably go to take a shower in one of the adjointed bathrooms. A second set of footsteps could be heard from the opposite end of the hall and Lisa appeared from the stairs.

“Hey, Lisa,” Jax greeted her for the first time today, “Everything alright?”

“Oh, yeah, looks like McKenzie had a shitty shift if the dried up blood on her clothes is any indication,” Lisa supplied, “You would think working a morning half-shift would be slow in this neck of the woods…”

Jax rubbed his chin, “Yeah, you could say the same thing for Charming, but the ER was always busy at St. Thomas.”

Lisa hummed in acknowledgement, “So what are you up to? Still going over those notes Sairah outlined for you?”

“Yeah, she’s very… thorough,” Jax laughed and Lisa joined in, but not in surprise.

“The perks of having an architect in your pocket!” Building codes and city ordinances were already in Sairah’s wheelhouse given her line of work, so Gil looping her in for advice on how best to pass all these inspections wasn’t much of a large feat. As much as she playfully complained about being “on-call” for people who weren’t her clients, she never not anticipated being of assistance once the Street Wolves and SAMCRO went into legit business.

From down the stairs, the two heard one of the bartenders calling for Lisa to sign an incoming delivery of imported tequila. Lisa left with a pat on his back to go tend to business and Jax watched her until she was completely down the stairs. 

And then his gaze flicked back to the opposite end of the hall in the direction McKenzie went. He stood still for another second or so, making sure no one else was coming up into the Street Wolf territory that was separate from the bar. And even though his mind reminded him that maybe he should keep his distance while under a roof shared with the very people they were attempting to mask their arrangement from, his legs carried him towards wherever she was. Aside from simply wanting to be near her, he couldn’t fight the urge to check on her after what sounded like a tense shift. He was sure she was fine, but still, he wanted to confirm for himself. 

Any potential messing around that might arise from them being in a quiet space away from prying eyes was simply an added bonus.

Slipping into the dorm room, he followed the noise of the running water in the ensuite bathroom. The door was unlocked and she was already under the steaming hot water as he began to undress himself. Without warning, he ripped the shower curtain back and clamped a hand around her mouth. A small squeak was still able to peek through, but it was masked by Jax’s own chuckle when he saw her eyes slit from alarm to relief and annoyance. 

When he moved his hand, she whisper-yelled, “Jesus, Jax!” 

He could feel her rapid heart beat slowing down as they stood chest to chest in the shower. Within the small space, she maneuvered them so that he wasn’t directly under the showerhead. She didn’t know how he’d explain why his hair was wet otherwise. 

He wore a lopsided grin instead of apologizing before adding, “Thought you’d might want some company…” The glint in his eyes became more hedonic as they swept down her body.

“Feeling reckless, are we?” 

His hands moved to her hips in response and she shivered irresistibly against his touch. 

“A little,” he whispered against the skin of her jaw. A contented sigh flowed from her lips and her hands reached towards the back of his neck. Soon enough, their lips met and tangled in a tug of war that gradually heated. McKenzie could feel his desire for her grow against her thigh as he deepened the kiss.

Jax was the first one to pull back, his kisses leaving her lips but returning to her jaw. His hands continued exploring the contours of her hips. They were wrapped as if he were holding handlebars and his thumbs danced along closer to the interior of her thighs. Her breath hitched as one of his thumbs lightly brushed against a sensitive spot of skin.

He kissed her lips once more before asking, “You okay?”

“Yeah, that feels good,” she licked her lips. 

“No, I meant about earlier… Lisa said you had a rough shift?”

McKenzie’s eyes softened in understanding and maybe appreciation. There were a million things she could say about the shifts that dragged the life out of her, but she found nothing to say in that moment in this small space with minimal distance between them. 

“I’m okay,” she simply said.

“You sure?” His eyes traced over her. He found curiosity in her eyes before she opened her mouth to reply.

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Good.”

And then, he placed a delicate kiss on her lips as he grabbed under her thigh and held her between himself and the shower wall. His other hand rested on the wall itself and he deepened the kiss to swallow out her moans as he sank into her. They were on borrowed time, and even though he could’ve stayed in there with her forever, he made use of the several minutes he was given.

He sped up as soon as she became acclimated to the sensation of him in her depths. His thrusts became gradually harsher and rougher, with the feeling of McKenzie’s nails digging into his back encouraging his unrelenting pace. The feeling of her legs shaking gave him indication that she was as close as he was. Instead of slowing down, he kept his furious pace until he could feel teeth marks around his shoulder. They reached their muzzled peaks together.

The sound of the water running and them catching their breaths were the only things heard within the small space. 

Seconds passed as their bodies disconnected. Their eyes, however, remained glued on each other. Soon, a shy smile coveted McKenzie’s lips. 

Jax began to wash himself in the shower and her smile only grew.

“Wowwww, so not only do you come and interrupt my shower, you steal it too?”

She could see the lazy smirk on his face from the side as he swiped the bottle of Irish Spring from the rack. 

“To be fair, it was needed after that workout.”

He winked at her as she shook her head while pushing him so that she was closer up under the water. He chuckled and they finished cleansing their bodies together. Jax left the shower before her and was out of the bathroom by the time McKenzie turned the water off. She opened the door to the adjoining dorm room and saw him peeking out to check if the coast was clear. Without looking, he heard her traipse behind him.

“I’m getting ready to go back out there. We’re heading into the town today.” 

She nodded and gave him a wet hug, “Thanks for stopping by.” 

Jax grinned, “Any time, darlin’.”

************

Jax took off his helmet before strapping it in its place on his bike and dismounting the Dyna. He blew out a heavy, yet excited sigh as he looked all around the slowly familiar town. It was still as empty as it was the last several times he’d been here, but that was where the excitement came in. With time and if they played their cards right, SAMCRO and the Street Wolves could be the defining factor that took this place from a ghost town into a profitable, thriving urbane.

All of the members from both crews were here, the first time everyone would be visiting their first joint property together. Remarkably, it was the biggest property on the lengthy, deserted street. And it would hopefully one day come to be their very own casino. 

There were dozens of ideas that were flipped around in their various meetings and starting a casino was one that they kept coming back around to. Through all of their ideas, one of the topics of debate was what would be the most sensible avenue for them to go into their first foray of business. Sure, they had the far-seeing plans to open stores, maybe a restaurant, a strip club, an arcade or bowling alley, but with their current contacts and connections, with the experience that they already had as former outlaws, starting a casino seemed to be the most advantageous. It had the most promise of being a success.

“Here’s our future, boys!” Gil exclaimed with his arms held wide. Cheers and raucous excitement filled the air as they all took in the visual tangibility of their dreams.

One by one, they filed into the large, desolate space and envisioned their future. 

“The place is yours to look around, boys! Get the lay of the land,” Jax proclaimed, “Take note. Hell, take pictures. By our next meeting, we want everyone’s input about how we can build the best damn casino this shithole has ever seen!”

Jax, Gil, Flu, and Bobby had all seen the property a few times by now, having visited the premises with the real estate agent. Still, that didn’t stop Bobby from going up the steps to marvel at the detailing of the balcony railings or Flu from showing Sweets the broken, dusty jukebox in the corner near the front windows. 

Jax and Gil stood to the side and mainly enjoyed everyone else’s explorations. They looked at each other briefly and shared a joyous laugh at just how exciting this all was. It was no longer just talk for them. The wheels were in motion. 

Not unlike the wheels that screeched to a halt right outside. 

The sound was jarring, except no one really got the chance to register what the noise was until the ringing sound of gunshots filled the air. Like butter, they drilled through the glass windows and punctured the door and walls. Jax stumbled backwards from the sheer surprise with a “holy shit” pulled from the back of his throat. Gil fell forwards right next to him and they both leapt to reach for their own guns.

Bobby, Rev, and Chibs had better visuals from the second level and shot through the upstairs, loft-like windows. A couple of others were able to get a few shots off from below but most avoided pulling their triggers for fear of bullet ricocheting and hitting their close-by brothers-in-arms. With limited sight to the outside without peeking up and getting their heads blown off, most of them were unable to get an idea of who was popping off the shots.

Less than a minute after the shots first rang out, they could hear the tires squelch as their assailants fled the scene. Opie, who was closest to the front entrance, kicked the bullet-ridden door open and stalked outside. With Jax and Gil on his heels, he fired off a few shots that only bounced off the retreating black SUV. The vehicle had sped off so fast they weren’t even able to get a look at how many people were inside. There was a silent second of contemplation over whether to hop on their bikes and chase after whoever just opened a demented can of worms. Before they could make the decision however, there were pain-filled groans emanating from inside. 

Marching back inside, they were met with the image of Sweets lying on the floor, clutching his blood-soaked shoulder. Flu leaned over him and held pressure to the wound as Chibs jogged over to help.

“What the fuck just happened?” Rev exclaimed. 

All around, the members of SAMCRO and Street Wolves caught their breath while warily asking themselves the same question.

Jax spoke up trying to restore order, “We don’t have time to figure that out right now. We gotta get the hell out of here!” They had zero indication of who these people were, what they were after, and whether they were circling the block.

“Let’s get back to the Garden and regroup!” Gil was dialing the keys on his phone as he gave his order and Jax heard him giving Lisa a heads up about what had just happened and whether McKenzie was still at the Garden. 

Flu and Chibs helped Sweets up and guided him outside with alert and cautious eyes for any impending danger. Jax took a look out of the window himself and saw that while there was extensive damage done to the SAMCRO van that Half-Sack had driven, the tires seemed intact and would be okay for the drive back into Highwater; there’d be no way for Sweets to drive his own bike with the damage done to his shoulder.

Rev and Jax cast wary glances at each other in between surveying the damage inside and attempting to process what the fuck just happened. Their new property was mostly barren, so they didn’t care enough to closely examine each morsel of damage since the place was going to need considerable renovations, anyway. They simply made note of what they could see from their vantage point near the front of the building and began to slowly walk out. 

As they all rode back to the Garden, Jax tried to reason through who could’ve been responsible for them nearly getting their heads blown off today. They were supposed to be on their way to a brand new paved road of legitimateness. And this major hitch in the road needed to be answered for. He let his mind roll through all of SAMCRO’s former enemies, but found none that would fit the bill. They were good with the IRA, as neutral as they could be after their clubhouse was blown up. Marcus Alvarez was practically bounding with glee when Jax brokered a deal that gave the Mayans some good arms dealing contacts that SAMCRO was no longer doing business with. Jimmy O was dead. Pope was dead. Zobelle was somewhere living it up on an island. Clay only sees sunlight one hour of the day. There was no one they left the game having active beef with.

He shook his head, still confused and anxious, as he dismounted his bike near the side entrance of the Garden. The Street Wolves had even less enemies than SAMCRO and Gil had already been upfront about their adversaries when the two clubs were first in talks to start this journey together. None of those names set off any alarms in Jax’s head, either. 

He held the door open for Chibs and Flu who each held one of Sweets’ arms as they guided him inside. Lisa and McKenzie were already waiting by the side door and McKenzie immediately jumped into action by leading them upstairs. The closest dorm room nearby had already been set up something close to a hospital room, with all kinds of gauze, medical equipment, and medications prepped and ready to go. 

McKenzie pried off the part of Sweets’ shirt that was now caked with congealing blood. 

Chibs stood there waiting to assist, “It slowed down, but he’s still bleeding, lass. He’s been in and out of it.” 

“Yeah, it’s only a through and through, but he drinks like a fucking sailor which thins the blood,” McKenzie noted as she silently gestured for him to help lift his upper half. There were some pressors in her med kit that would help and she silently gestured for them as she continued examining the wounds. She wanted to make sure there were no small pellets or projectile still lodged inside his shoulder. 

“I was a sailor,” Sweets responds with garbled, half-conscious awareness, “Non sibi sed patriae.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, semper fi and all that shit,” McKenzie muttered, which earned her a glazed over glower from the man she considered an uncle. A glower she happily welcomed because that meant he was in his right mind to be annoyed with her dismissal. 

Meanwhile, across the hall, Gil had gathered everyone else into the lounge room to allow McKenzie and Chibs to work. The room was filled with buzzed up nerves and lots of questions. Gil paced around, his mood shot from how quickly this day had changed from celebratory into damn near deadly. 

“Okay, but seriously, what the fuck happened? Did anyone get a look at the shooters?” Rev asked as he leaned against the side table in front of the TV.

Bobby responded, “They were wearing all black and wore bandanas over their face. At least, one was White. There were three, maybe four, but it was hard to see with the bullets flying every which way.”

“One of those bandanas was the American flag but it had some green and orange in it…” Opie chimed in.

“IRA?” Ace questioned.

“No, the IRA have their own flag.” Gil answered.

“Wait, was it like the stripes that were orange and green?” Cam piped up. He, along with X, were the newest prospects of the Street Wolves. X stayed glued to the wall with his mouth shut, like a prospect was expected to. And Cam was usually inclined to follow suit, but his mind was flashing him back to an odd moment that happened several weeks ago. His eyes flashed over to Brandon, who had been uncharacteristically silent since the shooting took place.

Gil caught Cam’s eyes and noticed the way Brandon had averted his gaze.

“What?” His voice was clipped, impatience on his tongue, “What is it?”

“It’s just that-” Cam only paused in hesitation for a minute but quickly let his words spill past his teeth as he took in how every face in the room was focusing on him. “When me and B made that run to Nevada, I just remembered… Brandon talking to a guy. And that guy had guys with him. And one of them had that same kind of bandana.”

Gil whizzed around to Brandon, nothing but ice in his voice, “What the fuck is he talking about?”

Brandon sighed and rubbed the back of his head with a hand, “Look, before this thing with the property went through, I had doubts that we were gonna be able to cough up the money…” 

Rev could already tell where this was going and he groaned out a “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me..”

Gil slit his eyes at him impatiently, irritated that there was something he was obviously not in the loop about, before facing Brandon again. 

Jax, too, knew exactly where this was heading and the source of how this trouble may have started. He remembers the tense conversation he had to have with the reckless Street Wolf weeks ago for trying to pull in someone from the outside without even consulting Gil.

“There was a guy I knew from another guy and he was willing to put some skin in the game and maybe partner up with us.” Brandon put his hands up in defense at the sounds of indignation and disbelief that encircled the room, “I thought it’d be a good back up plan to have someone who could front us some cash, just in case.”

“Who?” 

By now, Gil’s hands were itching to be wrapped around his once almost son-in-law. His ears were ringing with fury. “Who?” was his simple inquiry, but the lethality in his tone was nothing Brandon wanted to undermine.

He sighed, “It was just some Irish guy,” he rushed out his next words to clear the air, “But he wasn’t fucking IRA, I swear. He told me to my face that he wasn’t affiliated anymore. He got pushed out by some Kings.”

Jax’s blood ran cold.

“Jesus Christ,” It suddenly became all too clear who the gunmen were hired by, “Galen fucking O’Shay?!”

“I swear to God this wasn’t part of the plan. Okay, he was pissed, but he never said anything about killing anybody.”

“Obviously, shit head, otherwise, we’d all be dead! This was a warning more than anything.” Rev supplied.

“Warning for what, though?” Juice implored, “What’s his fucking endgame? He’s mad he didn't get in on the deal, so now he’s just gonna what? Fuck up our shit??”

Opie jumped in, “Odds are he’s still pissy that we got him kicked out of the good graces of the Kings.” Out of the Street Wolves, Gil and Rev were the only ones who knew exactly what he was talking about, about how Jax told the Kings that Galen had been doing outside deals without their knowledge for decades and forthwith got him ex-communicated from the syndicate, “Which means he doesn’t have their backing anymore. Not saying we shouldn’t see him as a threat, considering today, but he doesn’t have the backing he used to.”

“Yeah, he’s probably been waiting for any chance to shoot us in the face after everything that went down,” Bobby contributed and then specifically addressed the Street Wolves, “Shitty that you gents got inadvertently kicked into the crossfire.”

Rev placated, “Nah, don’t worry about that. We all knew this was a possibility when we went into business together.”

“Exactly,” Gil echoed, though not all of the violent chill had left his voice as his eyes never left Brandon, “We’re not here to play the blame game. We just need to come up with a game plan on how to nip this shit in the bud immediately.”

Going legit and staying legit had always been the overarching goal. But even if they decided to let this go unanswered, they had no way of knowing whether Galen would try some shit like this again. For the sake of their livelihood, for the sake of their very lives, this wasn’t something that could just go ignored. Everyone in the room knew it. 

Much like they knew Brandon’s transgressions would have to be answered for. 

Gil locked eyes with Jax and a look of understanding passed between them.

Jax was still fuming himself, but he took the resigned, yet still agitated change in the air to steer this talk to a pause.

“Shit could’ve gotten real dicey. They got the element of surprise on us and it nearly led to losing one of our own. A few inches to the middle and that bullet could’ve easily sliced open Sweets’ heart,” Jax let that sit in the air for a few seconds before continuing, “We’re all hopped up on adrenaline right now, so we’ll leave this until tomorrow. But we will end this shit that Galen started. Nobody’s taking away all that we’ve been working towards.”

He swiped a dirty glare at Brandon while retreating and allowing everyone to take their leave. Several of them slumped over across the hall to check in on Sweets while others either chilled out in the lounge room or left the Garden entirely to take a ride for some fresh air. Jax caught a final glance at Gil and Brandon, the former silently signaling for the latter to follow him.

******

Before he could even react, Brandon felt the pain of his back and side being violently pushed up against the wall of the downstairs Wolves’ Den. He felt dread fill his entire frame as he followed Gil down the steps, past the patrons of the bar, and into the exclusive Wolves-only sanctuary. His trepidation was replaced by pangs of angry throbbing as Gil slammed him yet again against the cold, unforgiving wall.

Not that he would’ve dared fight back to begin with, but he wasn’t even given the chance to before Gil grabbed him by the shirt and thrusted him forward towards the now closed door. This time, the force elicited an agonized yelp from him.

“Ah, fuck!” He looked down and saw that his torso had connected with the knob of the door. There would surely be a bruised indentation of the pointy portion of the lock enclosed into his skin by morning.

He opened his mouth to at least explain himself, “Look, I just thought he would help-” 

“SHUT UP!” Gil’s voice boomed against the four walls of the room, his harsh glare focused on Brandon, “I don’t care what the fuck you thought, you’re not the fucking president of this club. You don’t make decisions and you sure as shit don’t go around trying to make deals without asking for my say so.”

“If we didn’t get the money-”

Gil’s fist connected with the apple of Brandon’s cheek with enough force that the man’s head bounced off the door he’d been holding onto. 

“Shit!” He exclaimed as he knelt down to the floor, clutching onto his cheek and the part of his face that had collided with the door.

“If we didn’t get the money from the bank, we would’ve figured something out. The right fucking way, even if it took longer than we planned. That’s just how the shit goes!” Gil began pacing around the table, attempting to calm his ire, “It wasn’t your fucking concern whether we got the money or not, that’s what Flu and Bobby had been appointed to focus on. Just like I, as the president of this club, has been appointed to make decisions on who does what and whether they have my say so. Did you get my fucking say so?!”

“Prez, if I could just-” Brandon coughed out.

Gil grabbed him by the shirt again and tossed him towards the lengthy table he’d been pacing around.

“Jesus fucking Christ, can you shut the fuck up and actually listen?!” Gil pushed him again, lightly, into one of the chairs. “I don’t wanna hear your goddamn excuses. The beginning and end of your actions ended up leading to Sweets getting a fucking hole in his shoulder.”

Gil sighed and leaned up against one of the chairs, “I know you had good intentions. I know you’re always doing what’s best for the club. The point is, you went over my head and tried to pull some shit that either you knew I wouldn’t approve of or you just wanted it to be some sort of surprise to show off. You thought you knew better, but you didn’t. Pulling a cowboy move like this doesn’t impress me, it pisses me off.” He shook his head at the young, cocky man sitting in front of him, “You want more responsibility, I can see it. But that shit takes trust, and I don't know whether I should put my trust in you after what’s happened.”

“You can trust me,” Brandon interjected, his voice ardent, “I made a mistake. I was just trying to pull my weight. I’ve been in the club almost ten years, Gil, I was just doing what I thought was best to help my brothers. You can’t blame me for that!” 

Gil’s eyes narrowed. There was sympathy in his look, sure, but there was still a whole lot of animosity in his orbs and Brandon wasn’t sure if he was about to wind up with some broken bones or not. 

But still, that small measure of sympathy.

A killer grip landed on Brandon’s shoulder as Gil leaned down and invaded his personal space.

“I’ve got just enough self-control right now not to throw you off the fucking roof. I’m gonna go upstairs. I’m gonna go check on Sweets. I’m gonna go kiss my wife. I’m gonna go take a fucking nap. When I wake back up, the entirety of this goddamn bar better be fucking spotless. If you’re gonna act like a hotshot, like you’re the fucking president of this MC, you’re gonna get treated like a useless ass prospect.” 

Brandon opened up his mouth to protest before Gil halted his words with a sneer, “Close your fucking mouth before I put a gun in it. Consider this a warning. You’re on probation until I say otherwise. You don’t like it? There’s the fucking door.” 

Gil backed away and his anger switched off like a light. It was replaced with dead fatigue now that the adrenaline from earlier had faded. He wandered out of the room and lugged up the stairs to check on his Sergeant-at-arms. Brandon stayed in his seat, rooted with anger in his veins.

*******

Jax sat at the bar, quietly nursing the whiskey Lisa had placed in front of him. She’d left him the entire bottle and he knocked back another shot as he waited for McKenzie to come downstairs. 

Over an hour had passed since she and Chibs had been holed up in the dorm room, taking care of Sweets. He was stable, they knew that much, but he still waited until she finally reappeared. There were several things he had intended on accomplishing today, but the abrupt chaos of earlier had seen to his productivity being squandered for the day.

The traffic of the bar had started to pick up some now that the afternoon was in full swing, and he had barely registered Gil emerging from the dark, secluded hallway that led to the Wolves’ Den. It wasn’t until the Street Wolves president had made his way over to Lisa and sought comfort in her arms that Jax noticed him. The man was still pretty young, about the same age as his mom, but he looked like he had aged ten years since the events of earlier. The presidents exchanged a tight nod before Gil retreated upstairs. 

Only several minutes later, McKenzie had finally appeared. Her eyes immediately met him and she gave him a tired smile as she walked over to where he was. 

“How is he?” 

“Knocked out,” she leaned against the bar and Jax noticed there were still remnants of dried blood under her fingernails. He grabbed a wet wipe from across the bar and handed it to her as she continued giving her assessment, “The bullet was a through and through, so no major damage. Gave him some pressors to stop the bleeding. As long as he stays off the bottle and keeps on his antibiotics, he should be good.” 

“Good,” he blew out a heavy sigh, putting a hand at the back of his head. 

Her eyebrows furrowed at the unease on his face, “He’s actually been shot before. And trust me, this was a miracle compared to that time he took a shiv to the neck when he was in prison… Shit, I was in high school and I still remember it like yesterday, one of the few times I’ve seen my dad cry.”

McKenzie could see he was in his own world as she tried to ease his comforts. She took a side glance and saw that Lisa was in the kitchen. Then, she grabbed his hand. 

“Hey, seriously, he’s okay. And this wasn’t your fault…” When some of the guys came in to check on Sweets, they filled Chibs in on what they had surmised had gone down, not minding that she was in the room, too. McKenzie wasn’t familiar with the name Galen O’Shay, but she heard the bristle in Juice’s voice as he gave an off-hand mention to some of SAMCRO’s dealings with the man. “Whatever history you got with that fucker aside, Brandon was out of his fucking mind to go behind my dad’s back like that,” she said. 

“Yeah, but, darlin’, you don’t know the half of it. This shit with Galen…”

“Is whatever it is,” McKenzie finished for him, “And you don’t have to tell me or explain. This still could have been avoided if that idiot hadn’t been trying to cowboy his way into some brownie points.” 

She didn’t have to have the full context of what played out. She knew that Brandon was always trying to assert himself or showboat his way into getting some shine. During their relationship, it was a common complaint he confided in her; constant harping on what he could do to elevate the club and persistent conviction that he deserved an officer position someday. 

She wasn’t fully aware of SAMCRO’s dealings with the IRA, but she knew enough to surmise that there was a loaded history there. Jax so much as said it just now. And it looked like that rendered itself into blame. Blame that he was obviously shouldering. But there was always something that could go wrong, always the possibility that some former ally or enemy of SAMCRO or the Street Wolves could pop back up. The possibility was always silently hanging in the air, even with as smooth a transition as both clubs had had so far into the world of legitimacy.

Jax planted a forced smile on his face, “Thanks, darlin’.” 

She could see straight through him, but she accepted the squeeze of her arm that he gave. 

He muttered that he was going to go see Sweets before he left and walked to the upper level of the Garden. 

**********

Rev was the last one remaining in the room where Sweets rested after everyone else left to give him time to rest. He sat there quietly for a while, allowing silence to permeate the air, giving the sergeant-at-arms the quiet he needed to recuperate peacefully. He was getting ready to leave from his vigil when the door slid open and Jax made himself known.

Rev nodded his head encouragingly, allowing the SAMCRO president to enter. He gestured towards the chair next to him, the seats far away enough for them to talk quietly and not disturb Sweets’ sleep. 

“Shitty day..” Jax remarked as he sat down.

“Could’ve been a lot shittier,” Rev supplied, turning his gaze back to the wounded man. It would’ve only taken the bullet being off by some inches for this to be an entirely different conversation right now.

Jax nodded in agreement. 

There were a few moments of comfortable silence before Jax spoke again. 

“Listen… About Galen-”

He felt responsible. After everything that happened with Clay and Tig, he took his mind off of taking down Galen O’ Shay. He figured things would be settled after he handed off his arms dealing to the Mayans. The rest of the Kings seemed satisfied that they still had their reach on the West Coast, and last he heard, they were even expanding to south of the border, as well. It was O’Shay who was still holding a vendetta against SAMCRO to the point that he bombed their T.M. clubhouse and got himself banished from the Kings syndicate. Instead of anticipating more revenge coming from the begrudged man, he allowed the situation to be a loose end in order to focus on going legit. Now, depending on what lies ahead, this could jeopardize everything they were working towards.

Almost sensing the burden of blame and responsibility Jax had lied on his shoulders, Rev interrupted him.

“You told us straight up, everything that transpired between SAMCRO and O’ Shay. And we still went into this business together. You came to a deal with the Kings that they agreed on. And that motherfucker was supposed to be persona non grata after he got kicked to the curb. We had no indication that he was just gonna come up out of the blue and try to stir shit up. Or that Brandon’s clown ass would be the in that Galen needed.”

Rev put a comforting hand on his shoulder before continuing, “I don’t need you blaming yourself, man. If anything, there’s enough to place on both clubs. Right now, though? We need all of us to be putting our heads together to figure out what this motherfucker’s deal is, and how to take him down before he ruins everything before we even get started.”

The Street Wolves VP stood from his chair and went to bend down on one knee at the bed, saying a short prayer for Sweets.

He got up and swiped a final glance at Jax before leaving the room, “A bend in the road isn’t the end of the road.” 

Out in the hall, Rev heard an insistent scrubbing noise coming from one of the other dorm rooms. He followed the sound until he reached one of the ensuite bathrooms where he found Brandon on his hands and knees, cleaning the tiles. He only stood there for a second before his presence was noted.

Brandon looked up, contempt in his eyes, “Gil send you to check up on me?”

Rev said nothing, only taking in the new-forming bruises and gashes on Brandon’s face as the man huffed and focused back on the tiles. The young man’s patience was wearing thin, though, so he looked back up and snapped, “Did you need something?!” 

His VP took a measured breath because he didn’t come in here with the intention of adding more physical trauma to the man’s battered form.

“I came here to speak with you, brother to brother, because I need you to understand what happened today,” Rev started. Brandon huffed again, but he dropped the toothbrush and stood so that he was level with him.

“Going off on your own, trying to make shit happen without the knowledge of your brothers… That’s what nearly got Sweets killed today. I get it, you’re trying to get back in Gil’s good graces, you’re trying to earn your keep-”

“If you get it, then why am I still getting my ass handed to me right now?” Brandon interrupted, unable to stop himself. 

“Because anybody would have!” Rev’s voice boomed uncharacteristically. “You think you didn’t deserve this shit?!” He mushed at Brandon’s face and pushed it towards the mirror so that he could see the damage patterning across his features. “Sweets could’ve died!”

“But he didn’t!” Brandon implanted. 

“And what if he did?! You’re acting like today couldn’t have gone any worse, what if Gil got shot? What if I got shot? Any of us?! Do you even fucking care?! We were sitting ducks and that shit could’ve easily been a blood bath, but all you fucking care about is that you’re rightfully suffering the consequences! It’s like that apology meant fucking nothing!”

Rev thought back to that heart to heart he and Brandon had just the other day and wondered whether it was all bullshit.

“Rev-”

This time, Brandon was the one interrupted, “You’re so full of shit. Your first response when Jax confronted you about this shit was making fucking excuses. And now you don’t care that you went behind the club’s back, you care that you got caught and called out. Your ego is gonna be the fucking death of someone, whether it’s you or someone else. You got lucky today and you’re still only focused on yourself, and not your own fucking brother.” Rev looked at him with disgust, “I don’t know how we’re even supposed to trust you, B.” 

“I make one bad move and that’s it?? All your trust is gone? What, you’re gonna tell Gil to bench me?”

Rev looked on at him, registering none of the friendship and brotherhood that was supposed to exist between them, “I’m telling him that I’m keeping a closer eye on you and that you don’t move until I say otherwise.” He shook his head at himself, knowing that some of the blame lied on him too, for not looping Gil in on the fact that Brandon was seeking outside partnership for the club, “Get your fucking act together, Brandon. I can’t be more worried about making sure you’re not fucking up than I am about making sure we’re all safe and our plans don’t get derailed. That’s dangerous for all of us…”

Brandon’s face was hard, but he nodded, knowing that there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t bite him back on the ass. With another disappointed shake of his head yet not another word, Rev left the room. Brandon waited until he could hear the VP’s receding footsteps no more before he released all of his anger, knocking over the bucket of mop water and punching the mirror.

**************

“Kinda light crowd in here tonight.” McKenzie remarked. She and Sairah were on one of their regular milkshake dates at the diner in town. 

Sairah looked around, “Just how I like it.”

McKenzie chuckled and then smiled in thanks at the waitress who brought them their blueberry cheesecake shakes. 

“So, I’ve been kind of slacking on the apartment search, I know. I’ll probably start looking online this weekend, it’s not like there’s a lot of rentals here in Highwater.”

Sairah waved her off, “Stay as long as you need. It’s home for as long as you want it to be.” 

The older Gilbert sister smiled again in appreciation. She expected the response, but she still didn’t want to get complacent in not finding a place for herself and moving out. Being one of the lucky ones who enjoyed her career, Sairah often took her work home with her. The small house was filled with small projects of architectural design that the young woman had worked on all by herself. She had bought the property about a year ago and was taking her time, enjoying making the fixer-upper her own. 

McKenzie didn’t want to intrude on her space and so made it a goal of hers to eventually look around Highwater for somewhere of her own. 

It also wouldn’t hurt that it’d be easier to sneak around with Jax at her own place, but that was more of an afterthought than anything. Though, it had come to the forefront of her mind more than once this past week. She looked down at her phone and shook her head to herself. She could at least have some restraint while on her sisterly outing.

She looked up to see that Sairah was on her own phone, texting out a message longer than her usual short responses.

“Rev?” 

An educated guess, but a correct one.

Sairah looked up, “Yeah, just wanted to check on him. Make sure he hasn’t rammed Brandon’s head into a wall, though I would buy him a brand new bike of his choosing if he, in fact, did so.”

McKenzie leaned over in laughter, knowing her sister would never miss an opportunity to take a jibe at her ex-fiancé. 

“I’m sure dad has reamed his ass out good enough for the both of them.”

Sairah hummed, “It’ll never be enough when it comes to his bitch ass,” she took a pause though and looked more thoughtful, “Rev seems to be taking it hard though, so they probably exchanged words.”

“Not surprised.”

If there was anyone that Brandon was closest to in the club, it would, of course, be to the man that sponsored him. Whether the responsibility lied on him or not, Rev couldn’t help but feel hurt and betrayed from Brandon’s actions.

“Maybe he’ll finally learn to stop doing stupid shit, considering someone could’ve been killed today.”

“Knowing him, he probably thought he was doing the right thing.”

Sairah paused her milkshake slurping to give McKenzie a pointed stare.

“What?” Confusion filled her words. “You agree with him going behind dad’s back?”

McKenzie shook her head and frowned, “No, I hope he got his head chewed off. But I think, in his own misdirected way, he was just trying to do the right thing.” There were moments, maybe when no one else could, she could see his convoluted way of trying to help. Maybe this was one of those times or maybe another misconception of the good she thought she first saw when they began their relationship. She recalled these kinds of moments from the past five years and wonders how many times she was right about his intentions and how many times he had only put up a facade that she had no ability to see through.

“You okay, Kenz?”

She flashed a weak smile and replied, “Yeah. Today’s just been a long day.” 

Sairah nodded in understanding and stood up with her purse, “I’ll go settle up.” 

McKenzie glanced at her phone and sighed. Shit. She had zero self-restraint. Without even allowing her mind to convince her out of the thought, she picked up the phone and opened the text thread she shared with Jax. 

To Jax: “Home yet?” -Sent at 8:55 p.m.

Less than thirty seconds pass.

From Jax: “ 🥺 Is princess missing me?” -Sent at 8:55 p.m.

She giggled loudly, not expecting to see the SAMCRO president ever use an emoji. Sairah looked up from the register with a bewildered look that McKenzie waved off with a mouthed “Tik tok video.”

To Jax: “I’m princess now?” -Sent at 8:56 p.m.

To Jax: “Btw didn’t even know you knew what emojis were 😭” -Sent at 8:56 p.m.

From Jax: Sure I do! There’s even a 😡 next to your name in my contacts” -Sent at 8:56 p.m.

To Jax:“Why the 😡?!” -Sent at 8:57 p.m.

From Jax: “You’re very mean to me 😂. I’m thinking brat might be a better name than princess…” -Sent at 8:57 p.m.

To Jax:“I can dig it 😏” -Sent at 8:57 p.m.

From Jax: “Get to my place in 20, let’s see how reckless that mouth gets in person”  -Sent at 8:58 p.m.

Sairah was back from the register and had been standing impatiently for about two minutes before she finally drew McKenzie’s attention with a dramatic sigh. 

“Ok, either you and Evie are talking shit about someone or you’re about to go get slutted out. Which is it?” 

Slutted out.

**********

Jax had opened the front door before McKenzie even made it up the two steps up onto his porch. 

“Eager much?” She shot at him with a smirk, much like the way he did during their New Year’s night. 

His eyes darkened at the jab, but also at the fact that she was wearing a dress. He had only seen her for the first time in a dress at the New Year’s party and on this second occasion, he had only just now come to the conclusion that he really liked her in dresses. He watched the material sway against her legs as she walked past him and ambled into the living room.

When he followed her in, he saw that she was sitting on the couch and her eyes had softened. She didn’t say anything, she hadn’t wanted to bring up how Jax was obviously blaming himself for Sweets getting shot. But she also didn’t want this to go further without knowing he was in somewhat of a better mood. 

Jax seemed to pick up on all of that, her internal dilemma, without words needing to be exchanged. 

He shook his head in a mellow dismissal.

It is what it is. 

Another set of words that didn’t need to be said because they were understood completely. 

Instead of letting unease circle the air, he roamed his eyes over her frame again, admiring everything he saw.

“You look pretty tonight.”

She had also taken out her twists and he pulled back a curly lock as she smiled bashfully at the compliment. 

“Just felt like switching it up. Me and Lisa went for a little retail therapy the other day and I decided to freshen up my wardrobe. Though, remind me to never buy a strappy heel ever again because I feel like my feet are gonna fall off from the cut off circulation.”

Jax chuckled and lifted her feet into his lap. He slowly unwound the high heels from her feet and massaged them firmly once free. She watched him through it all in amusement, but also a bit of wonderment.

At his curious simper, she remarked, “Oh, I just love how you told me to come over for an explicit booty call, but now we’re relaxing, fully clothed, on your couch with you rubbing my feet.” 

Laughter filled the living room as they enjoyed the joke, but his hands began to slowly creep up her leg.

“Trust me, princess, I definitely meant what I said about that mouth getting you into trouble one of these days.”

His lips chased after his hands, pebbling sweet and light kisses from her ankles all the way up to her thighs. A heated path that eventually had her lying down flat on the couch and his hands grasping her hips. His lips were everywhere, but still not exactly where she wanted him. Feather light pecks in the crease of her hip. His tongue trailing slightly along her skin. His teeth nipping at her black lace panties. 

“Jax, hurry the fuck up.” She finally let out in a rough whisper, not able to bear his silent taunting for much longer.

His eyes darkened, “What did I tell you, darlin’?” 

Still though, he obliged by finally sliding down her panties. Even opted to send zaps of pleasure her way by licking at her sensitive bundle of nerves. Played nice to lull her into the false security that she would be in charge tonight.

He lapped and lapped and lapped. Alternated in a frenzied rhythm between sucking on her clit and entering her with his tongue. Purposely avoiding any kind of pattern and working hard to elicit louder moans and mewls from her.

He honed in on the way that her hips were writhing, riding his face. Her hands didn’t know where to go, oscillating between grabbing onto his hair and holding onto the couch. Her pussy throbbed desperately, searching for its peak, and an instant right before he felt like she had found it…

He removed his mouth entirely from her and sat up.

The  desperate yelp was met with an unforgiving smirk.

“Something you need, babe?”

“Fuck you.” 

“Wrong answer,” he shot back without missing a beat. His hands slipped up her thighs and hips again, but yet again, detoured away from where she wanted him. His fingers danced along her landing strip and she watched him watch her clench around nothing.

“Jax.” She whimpered his name.

“Aww, poor baby..” He mocked her and placed a light kiss on her lips. And then said, “We’re gonna start that all over again and this time, you’re gonna mind your fucking manners.”

Fire rose behind her eyes and her desperation flipped into a frown. She nearly growled at him until…

She inhaled a loud gasp at the sudden sensation of stinging pleasure. She closed her eyes in ecstasy at the feeling of him rubbing where he had just slapped. The shock of him slapping her pussy coupled with the surprise of just how much she liked it sent unadulterated delectation through her veins. 

“Look at me.”

She obeyed.

The fire hadn’t necessarily left her eyes, it had just transformed from indignation to passion and anticipation. He nipped at her neck and she mewled for more. 

He began to repeat himself, “We’re gonna start this all over again.” His hands pulled for the hem of her dress and pulled it off of her. “You’re gonna mind your manners and watch your fuckin’ mouth, aren’t ya, darlin’?”

He had already begun to nod for her, but she nodded with him in dire agreement. Tears from pleasure began to gather in her eyes as he swirled his tongue around one of her nipples and rolled the other in between his fingers. 

“Because you wanna cum, don’t ya?”

She hummed, barely able to muster the control to do even that.

“Say it.” 

McKenzie looked at him in earnest.

“I want to cum.” 

His eyebrow lifted.

“Please. I want to cum please.” 

He continued his kisses lower and lower. 

And she continued her begging, “Please. Please. Please.”

************

McKenzie slid her floral a-line dress back on and moved to find where Jax had tossed her heels. 

“You heading home?” He asked as he reappeared from the hallway, wearing only a pair of sweats. A triumphant smile remained painted on his face at the fully sated woman in his living room. After leaving her a shaking mess with only his tongue and fingers, he had asked her what position she wanted. And then, turned right around and forced her to ask for him to put her in said position. There’d be hand-shaped bruises flowering her hips pretty soon from the way he gripped her as she bounced in his lap until they hit their peaks together. 

McKenzie nodded in answer to his question, with a lazy smile, as she sat down on the couch to don the white strappy shoes.

There was a thick silence in the air and she peeked over into the kitchen to see that it was past midnight. She wasn’t sure what caused the sudden shift in the room, but she figured she needed to go ahead and get home. If she could even walk to get to her car. 

Jax sat opposite to her on the coffee table and looked up with sincerity in his eyes.

“I- uh… I wanted to thank you for earlier today.,” McKenzie’s eyes dipped in confusion, “When you were trying to comfort me about Sweets.”

She merely smiled and reached for his hand.

“I’ve been the guy who takes on all the blame before. And this wasn’t all on me. I accept that. I gotta get comfortable with the idea that not everything bad that happens around me lies solely on me. But no matter what two ways you cut it, this still could’ve been avoided had I done a better job tying up Galen as a loose end,” she squeezed his hand in comfort and he returned her smile, “but moping about it isn’t gonna turn back time…”

“No,” she agreed, “But don’t feel like you have to hole it all up either. Go figure out how to get things back on track and where to go from here. …But if you ever need someone to confide in- or someone to take your frustrations out on in bed…” she cracked with a grin, “I’m your girl.”

He mirrored her with his own grin and held onto her hand as she stood, “You’re my girl,” he muttered.

“I’m gonna go,” she placed a goodbye kiss on his lips. 

He returned in fervor and placed a final kiss on the back of her hand as he walked her to the door.

Without another word, she walked out and got into her car. He watched at the door until she was backing out of the driveway and driving away from Charming and back into Highwater.

***************

Brandon sat, still steaming, in a random pub in Charming. After leaving the Garden, he needed to be somewhere far away from everything and everyone that infuriated him. He couldn’t go too far to find an open bar when it was already past 1 a.m. when he had finally finished cleaning the entire facility. Thus, he settled for the small municipality only a couple of towns over. Highwater was only ever filled with people he’d known his entire life. He supposed the same was probably true for the people who lived here in Charming, but it was as foreign as Paris or Rio to him. 

It didn’t matter that he was out of Highwater or that he was five, going on six drinks into the tank. 

He was still pissed and the distance and alcohol had only dampened his anger. He had a feeling it wasn’t going to be fully extinguished anytime soon. It infuriated him to no end that he had taken initiative for the betterment of this club, for his brothers, and it landed him on bad terms with his president and VP. He didn’t fucking shoot Sweets and he was in just as much danger of getting hit. Like everyone was. And no matter what Gil or Rev said, they would’ve never laid into any of the other Street Wolves like that if they were in his predicament. Brandon was sure of it.

It ripped him up that they couldn’t even see that he was trying to be a leader. Trying to make moves. It should’ve been obvious that he didn’t want anything like the shootout to have transpired. 

“Well, if it isn’t Deputy Unser!”

Brandon looked up and immediately tensed at the sound of a cop being in his presence. 

The older man shook hands with the bartender and took a seat only halfway down the bar from Brandon. He wasn’t wearing his sheriff’s uniform and he looked down, looking disappointed with himself as he accepted the bourbon from the tender.

“Rough day, chief?”

“Yeah, that drive down to the women’s prison is even worse than to Stockton,” he groaned, his bones already weary in age, even without his routine, round trip visits to the Central California Women's Facility. 

The bartender chuckled, “Well, then stop making the drive. Make one of your deputies haul the prisoners back and forth, you should be on a fast ticket to retirement any day now, anyway.”

Unser winced and knocked his drink back, “Actually, the drives are more of a personal errand than for work..” he hesitated but continued on with another pour from the tender. He had no reason to assume that anyone would want to eavesdrop on an old man drinking what little was left of his cancer-riddled liver. “Gemma Teller’s down there now, you know. After everything that happened..”

Brandon was just about to lower his own senses and go back to minding his own mess when he heard the name “Teller.” 

The bartender had shuddered, “Gemma was always nice to me. A firecracker, sure, but she always asked about my sons and invited my wife into her book club. Can’t believe she gets to spend the rest of her life behind bars and that rotten son of hers prances in and out of town like he’s not as much of a monster as his stepdaddy.”

Unser looked on in bitterness but shook his head at the bartender.

But the tender didn’t back down from his indignance, “No, he’s been lettin’ his mama rot for damn near a year and you mean to tell me you or not even the goddamn ATF could hook the Sons on some charges?” The man poured Unser some more brown liquor and wiped the counters, still shaking his head in disgust, “And then he goes and leaves his pregnant wife… Abandons his unborn child, sticks his stepdaddy in prison, sticks his mother, his blood, into Chowchilla. It’s a wonder his bike brothers still trust him, son of a bitch ain’t loyal to fuckin’ nothin!”

The bartender’s droning rant faded into the recesses of Brandon’s mind as he absorbed the information that had just been divulged to him. All that shit he had to hear about loyalty, basically being told to put up or shut up. And then Rev had had the nerve to bring up Jax during their earlier confrontation, about how Jax was right, that all Brandon had done was make excuses.

Well shit, what kind of excuses did the SAMCRO president have for what he had just learned? Did his own brothers know how cold-blooded he was?

Jax had come into the Garden acting all high and mighty, like he was doing the Street Wolves a favor by partnering up with them. And everyone had just gone along with it. Maybe Gil had no idea the kind of man he had gotten the Street Wolves mixed up with.

But he was about to.

A/N: There’s always two sides to every story? 👀 I know it’s been a minute since I updated, but I’m sooo happy to put this chapter out. I’m hoping the 10k+ word count somewhat makes up for the hiatus lol. Pleaseee let me know what you think. As always, reblog if you enjoyed and share the love 

Taglist: @drabbles-mc@ocfairygodmother@youlovetkay@est1887@rebelwrites@hey-taylor-hey@brownsugarcoffy @kmhappybunny240@readsalot73 @nunya7394 @mijagif @asirensrage @bimbims-posts

#sons of anarchy #jax teller #jax teller x oc #jax teller x black oc #c: mckenzie gilbert #idwbu fic

[sandsofoneiros]

Echo

Disclaimers: I have been out of the writing game for months but I decided to try a new series. I really hope some people like it and enjoy it. If you want to be tagged please let me know and all. Enjoy...

Word count: 2420

Warning: Mentions of food and anxiety.

Description: Sometimes Mondays aren't so horrible.... (I suck at descriptions.)

Pairing: Santiago 'Pope' Garcia x OFC (Juni Bishop)

Rating: Maybe PG just for some cussing or whatnot. Not too much happening other than introducing Juni.

Chapter One: Broken ATMS and Wet Dogs.

Juniper could barely keep her eyes open as she padded around the apartment to get ready for her morning shift at the bookstore. The rain was pouring outside, which made Juni only want to crawl back into bed and sleep the day away, but that wasn’t in her future. Bending down to search through the driver to find a pair of pants and a nice blouse, she yawned softly, trying her best not to groan loudly. It should have been a crime actually to work when the sun wasn’t out, but it could also be said it should be a crime to work when it was a lovely day. Either way, she was still set on crawling back into bed even as she was getting dressed. Her fingers combed through her hair to part it into sections to quickly braid as she watched the time on her phone. Mentally, she was reminding herself that she needed to stop and get gas, otherwise, she wasn’t getting to work. A horrible habit she had was testing the gods of fuel and seeing how far she could get before her gaslight came on. Something her father would already scold her about and how it damaged the car. She could almost hear the man ranting as she finishes braiding her hair. Noticed the single piece of strawberry blonde hair that she had missed and hurriedly tucked it into the braid before she got too frustrated. The smell of fresh coffee greeted her nostrils as she walked into the kitchen and smiled seeing Rue. 

“Look at you awake before noon..” Juni teased before moving to the fridge to get her things to make her iced coffee. 

“I have some dumb meeting at work. Apparently, some servers are complaining about one of that managers again and we need to all talk it out.” Rue scoffed before pouring her coffee into the cup. 

“Is it Monica again? The one you don’t seem to like and micromanages you every shift?” Juni asked while hopping up on the counter and stirring her coffee that was more sugar and caramel than actual coffee. 

“It always is. However, I didn’t complain. I gave up on that. I think it was someone else. Maybe the new girl…” 

“Damn. Hope they get something done or her eyes open… “

“Monica? Not a chance. She’s older than the restaurant, she claims. Any plans tonight?” 

“I don’t know yet. Probably just going to watch trash television or read.” 

���I’ll bring home dinner and if you don’t want the usual, just text me.” 

Giving her friend a thumbs up while she sipped her coffee, she inched off the counter to grab her back and check the time on her phone. It was time to go and she can already feel the dread bubbling in her stomach. Hoping that the shift would go back quickly if she was working with the less than favorite employees today… Telling rue goodbye and jogging down the stairs, Juni made her way to her car. Not minding the rain and simply hoping that she wouldn’t be late for work because of it. Or that there weren’t too many accidents on the road because of it. The gaslight came on not too long after she started down the road to the gas station. The gas station was seemingly busier than usual, and it took her a moment before she could pull up to the pump. Stepping out of her car, she dug through her wallet for her debit card and went to place it in the reader. Her head tilted to the side in confusion when it said, ‘Please see the cashier.’ Juni knew there was money in her account and was already checking her phone just to make sure. The line inside was long as well as she crossed the pavement to get inside and glanced around, trying to understand what was going on. 

“I can help you right here!” The woman spoke as Juni stepped forward. 

“I just fifteen on pump three…” 

“We can’t take cards right now. The system is down. Only cash…” 

“Oh. Do you have an ATM?”

“Yes, but it’s down as well..” 

Juni’s face fell and she could already feel her anxiety bubbling up as she nodded and walked out of the store. Her mind racing to figure out if she could even make it to the next gas station that was on the end of her road. There weren’t many other options for her and there was no way she could make it to work. Sliding into the driver’s seat, she gripped the steering wheel tightly and tried to calm herself down. It would be okay. She could more than likely make it to the other gas station. No big deal. Taking a deep breath, she started her car again and tried to ignore the bright glow of her gas pump icon on her dash, and started towards the other gas station. Every single little noise made her stomach go into another knot and spiked her anxiety. “Not too much further…” she whispered, more to herself than the car. Why did Mondays have to be some call to adventure days? But not even the marvelous adventures, the adventures that happened before the actual hero came along? 

Like a knight in shining armor, the sign for the gas station came into view and she pulled her car right to the pump and nearly fell out of the car as she got out to pump her gas. The moment the card reader asked for her pin number, she nearly screamed with joy and felt relaxed as she pumped her gas. Her anxiety slowly crawled back from the depths that it had come from. The rest of the journey to work was much calmer, and she found herself not dwelling too much on what the rest of the day held for her. It couldn’t be as horrible as her morning, and that was going to be behind her soon. Yet, Monday mornings seemed to have a way of ripping the rug out from underneath someone. 

“And Juni, my darling, you’re at the cash register for your shift. We had a call out and I had to move things around…” Morgan spoke with a tiny smile. 

Juni nodded her head and picked at the inside of her cardigan sleeve and gave a smile. “Totally fine. Things happened, and we gotta adapt. I totally get it and I’m only here until 4:30, so it’s no biggie.” 

Deep down, she wanted to scream. Ever since they had trained her on the register, Juni had done little of the actual bookselling or shelving anything. She missed getting to actually help customers but had to stock the gift area and replenish all the little things around the cash stand area. The thing seemed too repetitive there, and she often was drained by the time it was her break or when the shift was over. Making her list of things to do before getting to her other projects, Juni made her way to her own personal hell. 

The hours ticked by slowly and at some point Juni felt more like a robot trying to sell membership and tote bags to people that never even let her get the sentence out. Shrugging off her cardigan and placing it back in her locker along with her name tag, she close her locker and placed the lock on it before grabbing her bag and waving bye to a few people as she went through the doors. The rain had stopped not too long ago, and she was thankful for that. Hitting the unlock button frantically as she walked to her car, Juni was ready to end this not-so-great Monday, but as she stood at her door with her hand on the handle, she stopped for a moment. Something was whimpering nearby. Glancing around the parking lot and noticing that she couldn’t really see anything under cars or any babies making odd sounds, she was at a loss. Yet, it got louder and she glance down at her feet where she swore she heard it. 

It was under her car. 

Bending down and ignoring the pops of protest from her joints, she soon faced to face with the cutest puppy that she had ever seen. “Hello there, sweetheart. You can’t be comfy under there… Are you lost?” She cooed and moved back just a little more to give more space to the puppy, who tilted the moment that she started speaking to it. Juni wasn’t sure how she was going to get the little pup out from underneath her car, but she continued to keep still. “You can come out here. I won’t hurt you and the rain is gone…” She continued to speak and after a few minutes, the puppy slowly came out and approached her, sniffing at her hand before licking it. “Such a friendly little pup. I bet you’re lost… no one could ever just give up such a cutie like you…” Carefully scooping the pup into her arms, she looked around the parking lot again and tried to see if someone even remotely looked like they had lost a dog. The pup continued to lick at her hand and sniff her. 

“Well, I guess I can take you to the apartment and see what information I can find out about you. I see your collar and I’m sure it’s got your info…” Juni mumbled before opening her car door and carefully placing the pup in her passenger seat and noticing the ID tag. “Echo? Your name is Echo?” 

The pup’s tail began to wag and Juni couldn’t help but smile and scratch behind her ears. “Alright Echo, let’s get back to my place and I’ll check the back of it to see if there’s a number to call.” 

The drive back to the apartment wasn’t too awful, even if she couldn’t keep Echo out of her lap and had received so many kisses that made her squeal with delight. Okay, so Monday wasn’t too terrible and maybe this was her sign to look into getting her own puppy to love and care for. After making one quick stop at the pet store just in case she had to keep Echo overnight, she walked into the apartment and set the bags on the counter. 

“Finally, you’re home. I was about to start—Juni, is that a puppy?” Rue asked as she came to the kitchen and pointed to the German Shepherd puppy that barked at her. 

“This is Echo, and she isn’t my puppy. I think she got loose and I’m going to call her owner in a moment.” 

“You promise you didn’t steal someone’s puppy?” 

“No! I didn’t. Will you pour her some food while I get the number off her tag?” 

Rue nodded before getting everything out of the bag and setting it up while her friend looked at the back of the idea tag. 

“Santiago Garcia. Not a name I know. Should I text or call them?” 

“I would say text but a call is better in this case…” Rue suggested before taking Echo and taking her to the food bowl. Moving to the living room, she hit the call button on her phone and listened to it ring. Part of her hoped he didn’t answer. That way she could just leave a voice mail and have him call back. There was no answer, and the voice mailbox was generic. 

“Hi, Mr. Garcia. My name is Juni, and I have found your puppy, Echo. If you could just call me back at this number or text me. Thank you…” She did her best not to speak too quickly and ended the call when she was done. The hard part was over and she fell back on the couch and undid her braid. 

“Mr. Garcia? Sounds like an old man… Let’s hope he has caller id because you forgot to say your number…” Rue chuckled before taking a seat beside her and handing her the box of food. “Cheese fries with loads of bacon, cheese, and chives. Ranch on the side.” 

“This is why I love you.”

“Because I’m your supplier for cheese fries? I’ve never been more honored.” 

Settling into the evening, Juni tried to focus on the latest episode of 90 Day Fiance while Echo slept in her lap. Rue made her brief comments as she worked on her homework for school. The night was quiet until a buzz made Juni jump slightly as she took her phone. The number was unknown to her, but she quickly realized who it was the moment she read the message. 

Thank you so much for calling! Sorry, this is Santiago Garcia. You found Echo, and I was texting you back. 

Hey! Yeah, I was getting a little worried, but I have her with me. She’s asleep and I have no problem driving her home tonight. If not, then we can meet tomorrow morning? 

I’m sorry to contact you so late. I have been looking for her all day and I barely checked my phone until I got home. I hate to make you get out so late and all. We can meet tomorrow morning? 

That sounds perfect! I’ll send you the address of the gas station where we can meet. 

Perfect, thank you so much, Juni. 

“You get to see your dad tomorrow, Echo,” Juni spoke before yawing and looking over at Rue. “Will you ride with me to meet him? I don’t want to take a chance?” 

“Of course. I don’t want you to get kidnapped by someone and if it happens, at least we’re together.” Rue spoke before yawning. 

Checking the time, Juni scooped up Echo and made her way towards her bedroom. Maybe Monday wasn’t too horrible if she made a new cute friend even if she had to return her back to the owner. However, it seemed like the man was worried and eager to get reunited. Snuggling under the covers, her mind wondered what kind of man Echo’s owner was. What was Santiago Garcia like? One could tell a lot about someone by their dog or any pet. Was he a goofy man who was excited easily? A stern man who tolerated little, or what he was just someone who liked dogs? Shaking her head, Juniper couldn’t believe she was thinking about this pup’s owner, but her question would ultimately be answered tomorrow morning…

#Triple Frontier Fic #Santiago 'Pope' Garcia x OFC #Santiago Gracia x Juni #cw mentions of food #cw mentions of anxiety #mar's writing #my writing

[gothpvp]

[thinks about old friendships, dead siblings, grief and brilliance] [you shall not befriend the devil]

#i managed not to comb through the series again to find every moment when they look at each other and see but was i close #my brain rlly said now youll think about wwx. now youll think about nhs. now youll think about w #untamed #wei wuxian #nie huisang #zf.txt #mdzs

[duskholland]

letting my inner whore out and thinking about mob!tom or even regular Tom accidentally flaking on plans with you and coming home really late, so he’s just gonna jump into bed with you and finds you in bed asleep in lingerie. 🥴🙂 and he just mentally curses himself bc now he knows that he flaked on a great night and you slept in this on purpose so he KNOWS. and having him grovel for your forgiveness OOOOOOF 🙂😌😗 make him pay for it !!!

you didn’t ask for a blurb but this inspired me so i wrote something !! i changed the circumstances of this just a lil bit but the mistake/grovel concept is all still here too :’) can be read either with mob or normal tom!

wc: 2.3k || 18+ nsfw content minors dni!!!

warnings ↠ fingering, oral (f receiving) and overstimulation :’)

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Tom hadn’t thought about the repercussions of his actions, but as he walks into your bedroom and finds you sprawled out across the mattress, half-naked and sleeping, he finds himself regretting his decisions. He curses--softly, so he doesn’t disturb you, but with enough bite to make it count. His fingers curl into frustrated fists at his sides as he leans back against the doorway, eyes skimming over you.

He hadn’t intentionally bailed on date night, but something had come up. He’d texted you, grovelled profusely, tacked on a series of those heart emojis you’re so fond of as he’d sprinkled his messages with Xs, promising it wouldn’t happen again, promising he’d be there next time. You’re lovely--you’re always lovely, even when Tom fucks up--but even he’d been able to tell that you’d been annoyed. This is the second date in a row that he’s cancelled, and it’s clear you’re pissed.

You’re wearing lingerie. With your sleepy lips puckered into an unassuming pout, you look almost angelic, sprawled out, asleep. But Tom knows exactly what you’re like, knows that you’d fallen asleep, wrapped up in tight red lace like this just to rub it in. He chuckles slightly as he finds himself nodding. He has to give it to you--you always know how to get to him, and you always succeed.

Pushing away from the door, Tom stifles a yawn. If you weren’t sleeping so deeply, he’d wake you up and start his grovelling right away, but he knows better than to pounce. He doesn’t want to disturb your beauty sleep when he’s already treading on thin ice.

As Tom walks through to the ensuite and strips off his clothes, he keeps the door open, both of his eyes fixed on you, admiring you, tracing you, loving you. Fuck, his heart swells as you murmur something in your sleep and turn over, frowning as you try to get comfortable. Tom’s never going to cancel on you again.

After turning off all the lights and padding over to bed, only in his boxers, Tom very carefully starts trying to move you. You’re asleep on top of the duvet, which is slightly problematic, but he’s strong, and gentle, and he manages to coax you into resting on the mattress instead. When you don’t make any obvious movements, he thinks you’re still asleep, so climbs in after you and rolls over, wrapping his arms around you and spooning you as he nestles his face into the back of your neck.

You’re so soft. You smell of peaches, and as Tom gently rolls his hand over the rise of your exposed hip, he marvels at how warm your skin is. He rolls his fingers over your side, nuzzling closer, trying to pull you as close as possible. As he starts to press gentle kisses to your shoulder, he wonders if your sleeping form can feel how fucking sorry he is, can tell in the soft nuzzles of his mouth how apologetic and guilty he feels now.

“Y’know, I am awake,” you mutter, voice tired. “You’re not good at being quiet.”

Tom pauses his movements. He wonders if you can feel him wince. Your tone is terse.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, voice quiet. He kisses your shoulder again and, knowing you’re awake, smooths his hand down to rest over your lower abdomen. His fingertips play with the trim of your lacy panties, fiddling as he hums. “I’m a dick for cancelling, darling. I am very sorry.”

You make a tsking sound. “Are you actually sorry, or are you just trying to get back in my good books?”

Tom hums. “Both,” he admits. He kisses your cheek before sitting up on his side, digging his elbow into the pillows. You roll onto your back, darkened eyes meeting his as you stare at him, the ghost of a smile building on your lips.

Tom brings his hand up and tentatively cups your chin between his thumb and index finger, using the touch to angle your face towards him. When you hum in approval, Tom leans down, kissing you gently. He hopes that you can feel how apologetic he is through his mouth, and he feels his heart lighten when you reach up to run a hand over the side of his face before twisting it into his hair. As your lips become warm and slick with spit, Tom hums, trying to move closer only for you to stop him by pulling away and pressing the tips of your fingers to his lips.

“Oh?” you tease. “You think it’s going to be that easy?” There’s a mischievous glint in your eyes, and Tom watches as you sit up straight. The duvet falls down to pool at your waist, exposing your sheer bralette. Tom swallows as he sees your nipples, hard and straining against the flimsy material.

“No?” Tom replies.

You laugh. You reach out and touch his cheek, angling his face until Tom’s eyes are back on yours. “You need to make it up to me,” you say. For the first time, hurt seeps into your eyes. Tom’s guilt reappears, overpowering all of the lust that had emerged as he’d seen you wrapped up in lace.

“I’m really sorry,” he says again, and Tom means it. He moves, smiling slightly as he slides on top of you, pushing you back down onto the mattress as he cages you in with an arm on either side of your face. He nuzzles the tip of his nose against yours. “I love you, baby, and I’m sorry for letting you down. It won’t happen again.” He kisses you gently. “I know I said that last time,” he adds, whispering softly, “but I promise. Nothing is more important than you. Nothing.”

You comb your fingers through his hair. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” he says, and it’s true. You’re everything. “Can I make it up to you now?” he murmurs. Tom draws his lips over your face, kissing in a line until he’s whispering into your ear, voice growing raspy. “Let me make you feel good.”

You hum, drawing it out as you pretend to think about it. Tom moans as you tug on his hair, your hands then skimming away to careen down the muscles of his back. You tease him, pressing your fingers into his shoulders as you slowly grind up to press your centre against Tom’s crotch. He grunts, face falling into the crook of your neck as he feels himself harden again.

“Are you alright down there?” you tease, hand drifting down to rest over his ass. Tom moans as you pull him closer, keeping his crotch against yours as you encourage him to grind against your heat.

He releases a noise of strangled enjoyment. It takes all of his self-control to pull away, kissing your chin when you raise a brow. “This is about you,” he decides. “Not me.”

You swallow. “Okay,” you agree, catching your lower lip between your teeth. “I had some fun without you,” you add, smirking when Tom raises a brow. “Can you blame me?”

He shakes his head. “‘Course not,” he says. “Love you,” he adds, then he gets to work.

Tom presses kisses to every part of your body as he gently moves down your figure, resting at your chest to lap over each one of your nipples with his tongue. As the lace of your bra gets soaked with spit, Tom picks up his pace, drawn to your low moans. When he’s not rolling his tongue around your nipples, he’s cupping your breasts in his palms and massaging your chest with his fingers, alternating between light teasing touches and more substantial grabs that make you release the prettiest groans.

By the time Tom reaches your centre, he isn’t surprised to see you quivering. He doesn’t pause to take off your lingerie, knows better than to strip you of something that you’d put on so deliberately. He enjoys watching the confidence that it gives you.

“Oh, baby…” Tom murmurs, rolling his index and middle fingers over the front of your panties. They’re soaked, and as he presses up against your covered clit, he feels your centre pulse. The whimper you release is soft and broken, and Tom is quick to settle between your legs. He parts your thighs before kissing your mound, his nose nuzzling up against the wet warmth of your front. He tenses the tip of his tongue before dragging it over your covered folds, the slickness of your panties making it easy for him to delineate the rise of your bud.

“Shit,” you whine. You bury your hands in his hair and jerk him closer, pulling Tom’s face further into your heat. “Fuck, Tom. Don’t tease me— fuck. You’re supposed to be making it up to me.”

Tom moans in agreement. He manages to wriggle away just enough so he’s able to pull your panties to the side, and after taking a moment to run both thumbs down the side of your folds, he gently coaxes them apart, exposing your cunt. He curses, looking between your centre and your eyes with lust.

“You’re so fucked already,” he murmurs. He slips his fingers down to play around with your entrance, his digits getting coated in your slick. You whimper and thrust your hips until he crooks the two fingers into you, your walls giving way and enveloping him immediately. “Have you already cum tonight?”

Briefly, guilt flickers across your face. It fades as Tom leans down and sucks your clit into his mouth, soothing the bud with his tongue as his fingers start to pump into you. “Y-yeah,” you whimper, and suddenly it makes sense why you’re being so responsive.

“I can tell. Pussy’s so hot, baby, so wet… Practically gushing out over my hand, gorgeous.” Tom pulls away, shifting a thumb onto your bud as he looks down at where his fingers are opening you up. He adds a third easily, desire running hot through his body as you cry out loudly. “How many times did you cum?”

Your breathing is heavy, laborious. “Twice,” you admit. Your fingers fist the sheets, eyes fluttering shut as you arch your back and moan. “Shit, Tom… please.”

“Please?” He’s enjoying this, loves the way you squirm as he curls his fingers up and presses against your g-spot. You’re so beautiful. “Please what, lovie?”

“Make me cum,” you whine. You open your eyes again, wide and pleading. “Please, please—”

“C’mon,” he murmurs. “There you go, baby.” Tom thrusts his fingers faster, with more urgency, and speeds up the movement of his thumb on your clit. “Cum for me, darling. Let me warm you up… Let you feel really good. Always so pretty when you cum for me… so, so pretty, baby. Come on.”

You fall apart a few moments later, walls contracting around his fingers. Tom watches in awe as you cry out loudly, eyes rolling back as your chest rises and falls. He doesn’t stop, though, not even when your walls stop pulsing and your climax ends. Instead, he drops his head and puts his mouth back on your bud.

“T-Tom,” you cry out. You’re squirming again, properly now, but he knows you’d tap out if it was too much. Both of you know that you enjoy the blurring of the pain and pleasure as he overstimulates you like this. “Holy fuck… ‘m so sensitive.”

Tom’s hand is properly wet now. He can feel your arousal dripping between his fingers. You’re so slick his movements are imprecise, and so he counters that by thrusting his fingers harder, blundering up against the spongy rise of your walls until you’re crying out. As he brings you close again, he moves his mouth over your cunt, sloppily making out with your clit and your folds. Occasionally he’ll tease your rise with the bumps of his teeth, and he likes the way your moans change from shrill to intense when he runs the flat of his tongue over your bud again.

“Tommy,” you wail. You sound wrecked, and when Tom glances up, he sees you, eyes full of blurring tears, skin covered in a sheen of sweat. You gasp as he curls his fingers perfectly, and Tom watches you bury your face in your arm as you orgasm with a yell. This time, he has to move up, pressing his elbow into your thigh to keep you down as the pleasure consumes you. Your hot cunt squeezes his fingers tightly, an iron-like grip that almost immobilises his hand. Luckily, Tom’s used to you, knows how to continue to please you until you’re fucked out and crying.

Your peak stretches for a while, the air alight with the sounds of your whimpering enjoyment. Tom laps over your clit until you’re crying out and tugging at his hair, at which point he moves away from you. He smirks as he sees a trail of saliva connecting you to him, then sees the way your thighs tremble.

“How was that, darling?” Tom checks, letting his fingers slip from you. You whimper and he pulls up to you, gently kissing your cheek as his eyes skim you for any signs of damage. All he finds is bliss, then your lips on his as you peck him quickly.

“Fantastic,” you announce. You sigh as you fall back against the mattress, smiling lazily. “Fuck, I love you.”

Tom wipes his lips before kissing your nose. “Love you too,” he murmurs. “Did I make it up to you?”

You nod immediately. “Yeah. You did more than just that.” You reach down to touch his crotch, and Tom jumps. He’d been so preoccupied with you that he’d forgotten about his length, hard and straining against his boxers. You run your thumb over the patch of material, soaked with his precum. “Let me say thank you,” you say, speaking quietly but teasingly. Your tone makes Tom bite his lips. “Let me make it up to you…”

#anonymous #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #mob!tom smut #mob!tom x reader #mob!tom x reader smut #myblurbs #tomblurbs #tom.filth #smut

[singtotheskiies]

dried blood on smooth skin // five hargreeves x reader

summary: five hargreeves really needs patching up—in more ways than one.

words: 1655

warnings: brief language, descriptions of blood, otherwise just that sweet touch-starved fluff we all crave

a/n: i’m a klaus kinda girl, but this is me working through why i find five so goddamn attractive

✖️✖️✖️

Normally, when Five Hargreeves blinks into your room, it’s because he wants to escape from the stifling presence of his father or because you’ve begged for his help with your math homework (the man has no right being so smart). He always manages to sneak out on your birthday and bring you a donut from Griddy’s and something you value even more—his companionship, even if only for a few minutes. Sometimes, you tell him he should be more careful—his father has eyes all over the house; he must suspect that something’s going on. Five always dismisses your protests, telling you not to worry about it—he’s got it under control.

He comes to you because you’re a constant for him, a sense of normalcy. Whenever he needs an escape from the constant hierarchy and trauma of his house (which is often), he can come to you and relish in your laughter and friendship and caring aura. Of course, he’s never said all of this to you outright, but you understand anyway. You know Five well enough to know that underneath all his bluster and know-it-all attitude, he appreciates you—the only person he can really call his friend.

Today is different, though. When the blue flash of light materializes in your bedroom, you jump, dropping your book to the ground. “Christ, Five, didn’t we talk about—“ You trail off as you see the state he’s in. His clothes are torn and disheveled, something he would normally never allow. The parts of his face not covered in blood are stark white, matching his knuckles as they clench up at his sides. God, there’s blood everywhere. Is it his? There’s so much—there’s no way his body could produce that much, right?—and it’s thick and clotted onto his normally pristine skin and suit, concentrated especially on a spot on his right side. You notice he’s barely moved in the several seconds you’ve been gaping at him, merely swaying side to side weakly.

“What the fuck happened?” you begin, but are cut off by his knees buckling. You catch him just in time, guiding him to your desk chair before he can ruin your carpet.

“Mission—gone wr-wrong,” he pants, barely able to get the words out.

“Why didn’t you stay with your siblings? They know how to handle this st—“

“I don’t want their help.” He cuts you off, managing to instill an incredible amount of venom in his words as they stutter past his gritted teeth. “Their fault.”

“Okay, well, why didn’t you jump to a hospital, or your mom, or someone who could actually help!? Jesus, Five, you could—“

“I—I did come to someone who can help. It would be really—nice—if you started,” he breathes, brow drawn tight in pain. Sweat and dried blood mix together in the furrows of his dusky skin, and something about that sight kicks you into action.

“Okay, I need to get this jacket off you. Can you lift your arms?” He grunts in what you take to be an affirmative response, and you manage to wrestle the piece of clothing off him without jarring him too much. You’re left with the sight of blood pouring out of him, staining the weave of his bright white dress shirt, and you tighten your jaw as realization sets in. “Uh, Five? I need to—um—take your shirt off,” you almost whisper, trying to ignore the rising flush in your cheeks. He barely summons a weak nod, and you take that as your go-ahead.

Hands shaking, you start at his neck, working your way down. With each button unfastened, more and more tanned, smooth skin becomes visible. After what seems like an eternity, you reach the last button, sliding your hands back up to his shoulders to ease his sleeves off. You take in the expanse of freckled, smooth skin now exposed to the air. You wonder how he hasn’t got more scars on missions—every inch and plane of skin you can see is soft-looking and somehow catches the light as he breathes in and out laboriously. But then your eyes land on the bullet wound spilling blood onto his side and let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. “Shit,” you curse. “I’ll be right back.”

You run into your bathroom, grabbing the first-aid kit you have for emergencies. Your breath is coming quickly—you know that every second is crucial to Five’s wellbeing. Coming back into the room, you grab gauze and disinfectant. “This is gonna sting,” you warn, and he merely rests his head back onto your desk, clenching his jaw.

There’s far too much blood to wipe off completely, so you focus on cleaning the area around the wound quickly. You can’t see the bullet, and a quick question to Five confirms that it’s not lodged inside—just scraped up against some things and went on its way. You grab a few gauze pads, placing them securely against his torso with medical tape. The softness of his skin makes your heart soar and drop simultaneously, but you push the thought out of your head. You need to get him feeling better.

Once the gauze is on, you focus on cleaning up the rest of his bloodied torso. After a few minutes, Five feels the strength to sit up and take ginger sips of the water bottle you’ve offered him. The water seems to do him some good, and you sit back from cleaning his skin for a moment, relieved at the sight of some light returning to his eyes.

“Better?” you ask, sliding his shirt back on gently. He merely nods in response, lips pursed in a half-smile. His dimple is covered in sticky dried blood, and that sets you on your next mission.

“I’m gonna clean up your face, okay? You don’t want anything getting in your eyes or mouth,” you say. Five tries to protest, but you cut him off. “If you came to me for help, then you’re going to sit there and get it,” you say sternly.

“Fine,” he concedes. “Guess I brought it upon myself.” You shoot him a look and get busy.

There’s quite a bit of blood at his hairline, and you clean up the series of cuts there. His normally perfect, shiny hair is sweaty and slightly matted in spots. Before you can stop yourself, you bring a cool hand to his forehead and sweep some of the dark strands off his forehead. He makes a soft noise in response, green eyes fluttering halfway closed in relief. Your heart clenches at the sound. You take in the weary and touch-starved boy before you, all dusky skin and stirring limbs. Bending closer, you press a feather-soft, lingering kiss to his hairline before you can think better of it. His eyes shoot back open and he regards you with a look so intense you can barely decipher what’s going on.

“Okay?” you ask in a whisper.

“Please—“ he mumbles hoarsely. “Don’t—don’t stop.” Your brows draw together in both pity and overwhelming affection, and you begin to softly clean up another cut on his cheek. After the blood is soaked up by the disinfectant, you place your lips on the small wound. You give the same treatment to a spot on his chin, then to a bruise under his eye, and then to his dimple—the dimple that’s tugged at your heart every single time he’s smiled at you in the past. As your lips leave the freckled spot, you meet his eyes again.

His lids are hooded, tired. They barely close when he blinks, his eyelashes dipping down to brush the freckled apples of his cheeks. His eyes, though, are less drowsy and more intense. They regard you with something akin to both sorrow and want. You blush under their gaze, wanting to look away from their intensity but finding yourself unable to. Your hand reaches up, your middle three fingers tracing an impossibly soft line from the shell of his ear to the corner of his lips. Your fingertips pause, hovering just over where the tip of his mouth is curving into the smallest of smiles. Five’s hand comes slowly up to meet yours, his fingers enveloping yours splayed over his cheek. He breathes in, once, and the look in his eyes breathes with him. Then, the space between you is filled and your mind is narrowed down to two things: the overlapping of your fingers and lips.

He’s soft, and so so warm—almost feverish, but it just adds to the potency of every tiny movement. His mouth is both quiet and everywhere, filling up the backs of your closed eyes. You change the angle slightly, nosing his cheek as you reconnect your mouths with gentle hunger. He smiles softly, and you pull away a fraction to kiss at his dimple as it imprints itself on his cheek. His hands come up on either side of your head, softly combing through your hair before stilling at your jaw. He rests his forehead against yours, and you can feel his eyelashes brush against your cheeks as he kisses the bridge of your nose. His lips are lingering and filled with so much love it makes you want to cry.

“Thanks for patching me up,” he whispers, voice husky due to the quiet volume.

“If that’s what’s waiting for me every time you get hurt, I’d almost tell you to get in trouble more often,” you manage.

“We’ll see about that,” he says, and you straighten his unbuttoned collar before going in again. He moans this time, soft and low, and you smirk at his exhalation.

“That good, huh?” you quip. He grimaces, indicating where you’ve accidentally pressed on the bloody gauze. Giggling an apology, you reposition yourself so that your hands are around his strong, wiry arms.

“Guess I’ll have to take another look at that,” you say.

“If you must.”

And his eyes regain their roguish light.

#all i want to write now is touch-starved hargreeves kids #send help #five hargreeves #number five #five hargreeves x reader #number five x reader #five x reader #tua #tua x reader #tua imagine #five hargreeves imagine #number five imagine #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy x reader #aidan gallagher #aidan gallagher x reader #aidan gallagher imagine #imagine #fanfic #fluff

[gimme-mor]

BETWEEN THE LINES: NIGHT COURT ELAIN & SPRING COURT FEYRE

*DISCLAIMER*

This is a really long post and based on my interpretation of the text.

This is strictly an analysis of Elain as a character because, in my opinion, there isn’t a lot of talk about Elain outside of ships and conversations about her character arc typically revolve around to whom she is paired, especially if that person is Azriel. She is her own character and gets the short end of the stick in the fandom because everyone is more concerned about who she’s shipped with rather than her as a character.

Also, anyone who is rude/condescending will automatically be blocked.

In ACOSF, SJM went out of her way on two occasions to highlight Elain not looking good in black. While it may be minor or insignificant to some, I think those instances were meant to show something about Elain specifically and what she may be going through in the Night Court. Elain has been a passive character for the most part, contributing to things in her own way earlier in the series. But after she was taken by the Cauldron, her safety has become everyone’s main concern and the other characters have slowly excluded her from courtly matters. In ACOWAR, this was understandable because she was traumatized and not fully present. However, as of ACOSF, Elain was still excluded from courtly matters with the other characters heavily relying upon Nesta, who made her reservations known, because they were on a time constraint and couldn’t afford to wait for Elain to reacquaint herself with her powers.

The fact that the other characters use the kidnapping situation to excuse their current actions toward Elain is eerily similar to the way Tamlin and Lucien used the Under the Mountain events to excuse Tamlin’s actions toward Feyre in ACOMAF. And the characters use Elain and Feyre’s safety to justify why neither of them should be involved. In my opinion, Elain in the Night Court resembles Feyre in the Spring Court because not only do they experience similar things, but both of them are (or were in Feyre’s case) in places that stunt their growth. Even though Night Court Elain isn’t exposed to all of the things that Spring Court Feyre was exposed to, the similarities in their experiences (and how those similarities might potentially impact Elain similarly to the way they impacted Feyre) shouldn’t be overlooked.

Being monitored

Feyre

I was too watched－too monitored and judged. Why should the bride of the High Lord learn to fight if peace had returned? That had been Ianthe’s reasoning when I’d made the mistake of mentioning it at dinner. Tamlin, to his credit, had seen both sides: I’d learn to protect myself...but the rumors would spread. (ACOMAF)

“Tamlin－Tamlin, I can’t...I can’t live my life with guards around me day and night. I can’t live with that...suffocation. Just let me help you－let me work with you.” (. . .) “I’m drowning,” I managed to say. “I am drowning. And the more you do this, the more guards...You might as well be shoving my head under the water.” (ACOMAF)

Elain

Nesta said, “The Trove. And what happened the last time I scried.” Feyre said, “We won’t allow any harm to come to Elain. Rhys warded her this morning, and we have eyes on her at all times.” “Eyes can be blinded,” Nesta said. “Not the ones under my command,” Azriel said with soft menace. Nesta met his stare, knowing he was the only one aside from Feyre who could truly understand her hesitation. He’d gone with Feyre into the heart of Hybern’s camp to save Elain－he knew the risk. “We won’t make the same mistake twice.” She believed him. “All right.” (ACOSF)

Trying to fit in

Feyre

I hated the bright dresses that had become my daily uniform, but didn’t have the heart to tell Tamlin－not when he’d bought so many, not when he looked so happy to see me wear them. Not when his words weren’t far from the truth. The day I put on my pants and tunics, the day I strapped weapons to myself like fine jewelry, it would send a message far and clear across the lands. So I wore the gowns, and let Alis arrange my hair－if only so it would buy these people a measure of peace and comfort. (ACOMAF)

I sometimes debated asking her to pray for me as well. To pray that I’d one day learn to love the dresses, and the parties, and my role as a blushing, pretty bride. (ACOMAF)

Elain

And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court－and would do whatever she needed. (ACOSF)

So Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl. He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court...It sucked the life from her. (ACOSF)

Pretending everything’s all right

Feyre

“Fine,” I breathed. I made myself look him in the eye, made myself smile. (ACOMAF)

Elain

“And you?” I made myself say. “Are you－all right?” Elain looked over a shoulder at me as we entered the foyer, then turned left－to the dining room. In the sitting room across the way, all conversation halted at the smell of food. “Why wouldn’t I be all right?” she asked, a smile lighting up her face. I’d seen those smiles before. On my own damn face. (ACOFAS)

Clothes not looking right on them

Feyre

I really, truly hated my wedding gown. It was a monstrosity of tulle and chiffon and gossamer, so unlike the loose gowns I usually wore: the bodice fitted, the neckline curved to plump my breasts, and the skirts...The skirts were a sparkling tent, practically floating in the balmy spring air (. . .) I might have dealt with it all if it weren’t for the puffy capped sleeves, so big I could almost see them glinting from the periphery of my vision. My hair had been curled, half up, half down, entwined with pearls and jewels and the Cauldron knew what, and it had taken all my self-control to keep from cringing at the mirror before descending the sweeping stairs into the main hall. (ACOMAF)

I again surveyed the room, my wedding gown hissing on the warm marble floors. I peered down at myself. You look ridiculous. (ACOMAF)

Elain

Elain in black was ridiculous. Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved, modest gown leeched the brightness from her face. It wore her, rather than the other way around. (ACOSF)

Looking good in clothes that suit them and that fact being pointed out

Feyre

My high-waisted peach pants were loose and billowing, gathered at the ankles with velvet cuffs of bright gold. The long sleeves of the matching top were made of gossamer, also gathered at the wrists, and the top itself hung just to my navel, revealing a sliver of skin as I walked. Comfortable, easy to move in－to run. Feminine. Exotic. (ACOMAF)

But those claws now dug in－and my entire body, my heart, my lungs, my blood yielded to his grip, utterly at his command as he said, The fashion of the Night Court suits you. (ACOMAF)

Elain

Gone was the ill-suited black dress from the ball, replaced by a gown of amethyst velvet, her hair half-up and curling down to her waist. She glowed with good health. (ACOSF)

People not wanting them to be involved in things

Feyre

“I want to go.” “No.” I crossed my arms, tucking my tattooed hand under my right bicep, and spread my feet slightly further apart on the dirt floor of the stables. “It’s been three months. Nothing’s happened, and the village isn’t even five miles－” “No.” (ACOMAF)

“I could use my powers against Hybern.” “That’s out of the question,” Tamlin said, “especially as there will be no war against Hybern.” “Rhys says war is inevitable, and we’ll be hit hard.” Lucien said drily, “And Rhys knows everything?” “No－but...He was concerned. He thinks I can make a difference in any upcoming conflict.” Tamlin flexed his fingers－keeping those claws contained. “You have no training in battle or weaponry. And even if I started training you today, it’d be years before you could hold your own on an immortal battlefield.” He took a tight breath. “So despite what he thinks you might be able to do, Feyre, I’m not going to have you anywhere near a battlefield. Especially if it means revealing whatever powers you have to our enemies. You’d be fighting Hybern at your front, and have foes with friendly faces at your back.” “I don’t care－” “I care,” Tamlin snarled. Lucien whooshed out a breath. “I care if you die, if you’re hurt, if you will be in danger every moment for the rest of our lives. So there will be no training, and we’re going to keep this between us.” (ACOMAF)

Elain

“Nesta’s spine straightened. No one spoke, but their attention lingered on her like a film on her skin. ‘You will not go looking for it.’” (ACOSF)

“Then go off on adventures,” Nesta said. “Go drink and fuck strangers. But stay away from the Cauldron.” (. . .) “Keep out of this,” she hissed at her youngest sister. “I have no doubt you put these thoughts in her head, probably encouraging her to throw herself into harm’s way－” (ACOSF)

Amren said, “We do not have the time to wait for Nesta to decide. I say we approach Elain tomorrow. Better to have both of them working on it.” Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, “There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to.” “But Nesta should?” Cassian growled. Everyone stared at him. He swallowed, offering an apologetic glance to Az, who shrugged it off. Amren drained her wine and said to Cassian, “Nesta has a week. One more week to find the Trove with her own methods. Then we seek out other routes.” She threw a nod toward Azriel. “Including Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to. Don’t underestimate her.” (ACOSF)

“I think Eris is our ally, and will expect to dance with a lady of this court at the ball no matter what. I won’t let Feyre within five feet of him, Mor might kill him, and Amren is more likely to scare him off than win him over, so you and Elain are the only options.” “Elain doesn’t go near him,” Feyre said. (ACOSF)

Their safety being brought up when they want to be involved

Feyre

“Please. The recovery efforts are so slow. I could hunt for the villagers, get them food－” “It’s not safe,” Tamlin said, again nudging his stallion into a walk. The horse’s coat shone like a dark mirror, even in the shade of the stables. “Especially not for you.” He’d said that every time we had this argument; every time I begged him to let me go to the nearby village of High Fae to help rebuild what Amarantha had burned years ago (. . .) “People want to come back, they want a place to live－” “Those same people see you as a blessing－a marker of stability. If something happened to you…” (. . .)Tamlin said softly, “I can’t do what I need to if I’m worrying about whether you’re safe.” (ACOMAF)

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he murmured. “It’s fine,” I breathed. “I understand.” Not a lie, but not quite the truth. His fingers grazed lower, circling my belly button. “You are－you’re everything to me,” he said thickly. “I need...I need you to be all right. To know they can’t get to you－can’t hurt you anymore.” (ACOMAF)

“Tamlin got what I didn’t,” Lucien said softly, his breathing ragged. “We all heard your neck break. But you got to come back. And I doubt that he will ever forget that sound, either. And he will do everything in his power to protect you from that danger again, even if it means keeping secrets, even if it means sticking to rules you don’t like. In this, he will not bend. So don’t ask him to－not yet.” (ACOMAF)

“Did he let you take me today,” I said hoarsely, “so that I’d stop asking to help rebuild?” “No. I decided to take you myself. For that exact reason. They don’t want or need your help. Your presence is a distraction and a reminder of what they went through.” (. . .) “I know you wanted to help,” Lucien offered. “I’m sorry.” So was I. (ACOMAF)

Elain

“The last time we involved ourselves with the Cauldron, it abducted you,” Nesta countered, fighting her shaking. (ACOSF)

“Like calls to like,” Amren countered. “You were Made by the Cauldron. You may track other objects Made by it as well, as Briallyn can. And because you are Made by it, you are immune to the influence and power of the Trove. You might use them, yes, but they cannot be used upon you.” A glance to Elain. ���Either of you.” Nesta swallowed. “I can’t.” But to let Elain involve herself, jeopardize her safety－ (ACOSF)

Nesta’s pulse pounded throughout her body. “Do you not remember the war? What we encountered? Do you not remember the Cauldron kidnapping you, bringing you into the heart of Hybern’s camp?” “I do,” Elain said coldly. (ACOSF)

If it was between her and Elain, there was no choice at all. She would always go first if it meant keeping Elain from harm. Even if she’d just hurt her sister more than she could stomach. (ACOSF)

Pushing back against what others want

Feyre

He hissed, “You have no idea how hard it is for him to even let you off the estate grounds. He’s under more pressure than you realize.” “I know exactly how much pressure he endures. And I didn’t realize I’d become a prisoner.” “You’re not－” He clenched his jaw. “That’s not how it is and you know it.” “He didn’t have any trouble letting me hunt and wander on my own when I was a mere human. When the borders were far less safe.” “He didn’t care for you the way he does now. And after what happened Under the Mountain…” The words clanged in my head, along my too-tense muscles. “He’s terrified. Terrified of seeing you in his enemies’ hands. And they know it, too－they know all they have to do to own him would be to get ahold of you.” “You think I don’t know that? But does he honestly expect me to spend the rest of my life in that manor, overseeing servants and wearing pretty clothes?” (ACOMAF)

Elain

Cassian shifted in his seat. “So we track down the Dread Trove－how?” Elain spoke from the doorway, having appeared so silently that they all twisted toward her, “Using me.” Nesta’s head went silent as Elain’s words finished sounding in the room. Feyre had twisted in her seat, face white with alarm. Nesta shot to her feet. “No.” Elain remained in the doorway, her face pale but her expression harder than Nesta had ever seen it. “You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta.” (ACOSF)

“It nearly killed me. It trapped me like a bird in a cage.” Elain said, “Then I will find it. I might require some time to...reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.” “Absolutely not,” Nesta spat, fingers curling at her sides. “Absolutely not.” “Why?” Elain demanded. “Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.” (ACOSF)

Being used as pawns against others

Feyre

“We need you to tell us everything,” Tamlin said. “The layout of the Night Court, who you saw, what weapons and powers they bore, what Rhys did, who he spoke to, any and every detail you can recall.” “I didn’t realize I was a spy.” Lucien shifted in his seat, but Tamlin said, “As much as I hate your bargain, you’ve been granted access into the Night Court. Outsiders rarely get to go in－and if they do, they rarely come out in one piece. And if they can function, their memories are usually...scrambled. Whatever Rhysand is hiding in there, he doesn’t want us knowing about it.” (ACOMAF)

Elain

Rhys angled his head at the not-quite question. “I trust in the fact that we currently have possession of the one thing he wants above all else. And as long as that remains, he’ll try to stay on our good side. But if that changes...His talent was wasted in the Spring Court. There was a reason he had that fox mask, you know.” His mouth tugged to the side. “If he got Elain away, back to Spring or wherever...do you believe, deep down, that he wouldn’t sell what he knows? Either for gain, or to ensure she stays safe?” “You let him hear everything tonight, though.” (. . .) I considered his question: Did I trust Lucien? “I don’t know, either,” I admitted, and sighed. “I don’t like that Elain is a pawn in this.” “I know. It’s never easy.” (ACOWAR)

Cassian glowered at Amren. “It’s not right to wield Elain as a threat to manipulate Nesta into scrying.” “There are harsher ways to convince Nesta, boy.” (ACOSF)

Although Elain and Feyre are surrounded by two different groups of people with varying levels of care for their wellbeing, they’re treated similarly which is hard to overlook. In Elain’s situation, Nesta, Azriel, and Feyre take on the “Tamlin role” (either undermining Elain’s attempts to contribute to things or preventing Elain from helping altogether) while everyone else takes on the “Lucien role” (validating the concerns of others while also enabling their behaviors, which doesn’t support Elain’s desire to be involved).

#elain archeron #feyre archeron #gimme meta #gimme queues

[alphabravocharliedelta]

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader Epilogue

Series: Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader

Word Count: 6300+

[Chapter X]

Summary: The conclusion.

Content Warning: mature content, vulgar language, injuries, etc. 

Notes: Sorry this took forever to come out! I managed to simplify this chapter from 8000+ words to around 6300 since I wasn’t exactly happy with the excessive details. Though, I hope this chapter is still enjoyable, so thanks for your patience.

February, 1984

New Jersey

Your brow twitches as noise begins to fill your ears.

A steady beep played rhythmically beside you. Accompanying it was the sound of a radio, slightly static, as well as minimal chatter that occurred a short distance away. You move your finger as physical feelings begin to return. It wasn’t long before a piercing pain seared at the back of your head before reducing to a lingering tingle.

It took a while before you could open up your eye and your usual visual field was now cut by a small bit. The whiteness of the hospital walls felt more blinding than it should have, and it only added onto the distaste of the color. Everything felt out of focus, and you give yourself a few moments to properly adjust.

Your body was treated heavily in medical bandages and equipment. A heavy weight rested over the left side of your face where your eye should be open. There was a clip on your finger, as well as an IV up your arm. A nasal tube was up your nose, and you tried your best not to gag at the feeling of something in your throat.

Adjusting your posture was a struggle, but you manage to prop yourself up. Beside you on your right was a small table that had a vase filled with a bouquet of flowers along with some balloons. A bit childish, but the gesture was what mattered.

How long have you been sleeping?

As if on time, you see a nurse stick her head in through the doorway. Upon noticing your awakened state, you turned your head only to watch her scurry off with widened eyes. It wasn’t long before she returned with a doctor tagging along, in which they both proceeded to take your vitals and remove anything you no longer needed. 

“Do you remember how you got here?”

“No.” Your voice sounded horrible, throat sore and dry and lips parched from the lack of water. The nurse seemed to get the gist, bringing over a cup of water for you. 

“Can you move your fingers for me?”

A few more questions, and then began the spiel of how memory loss after a traumatic event is common, as it’s the mind’s way of protecting itself from further harm. Or some shit like that.

“You were caught in the crossfire that occurred down at the mall a month ago.”

You nodded. Right. The mall. Images of Stitch popped up, as well as what he did to you, but that was all you remembered. Anything afterwards was blank. 

Wait.

A month?

“As far as everything else goes, everything seems normal. Your body’s recovering at a fast rate, so it shouldn’t be long before you can leave. Your boyfriend will be glad to hear that.” You caught the nurse winking before she tilts her head slightly to the left. “He’s a keeper you know.”

You withheld a remark, wanting to call her out on the statement. It was a lot to process.

“We’re going to check up on you later, so page us if you need anything.”

It was only after the nurse and doctor left that you noticed Adler situated on a chair with his arms crossed in the left corner of the room. You couldn’t see him at first until you turned your head. Was he covering your blind spot?

Adler wore a light grey knit vest with a long sleeve white button up underneath. His hair was unkempt with tufts poking out in a disheveled fashion compared to its usual combed from, the unshaven stubble topping it all off. The jacket he gave you was wrapped over the back of his chair. His aviators were hanging loosely from his ears, just on the verge of slipping from his nose. You couldn’t tell exactly, but with the soft snoring and steady breathing he was, in fact, asleep.

This was probably one of the few times you saw him ever sleeping. He was always awake by the time you woke up, and if he ever just so happened to take a nap in the middle of the day, his face was always covered, whether with a magazine, newspaper, or even his jacket. The moment you address him, he would sit up wide awake as if you never caught him in the act.

You wanted to wake him, but decided against it. He looked so exhausted on that chair. The poor bastard's probably been sleepless the past month, and he needed to rest. 

Despite the current circumstances you were in, it was rather placid, just watching Adler sleep soundly. 

Although, you couldn’t help but remember back to that fateful arctic day whenever you did look at him. There was always the flash of the whiteness of snow behind your eyes before the brief shiver of cold of the Arctic breeze. With the dive into the memories, a particular question would always conjure up with no definitive answer:

What if you had shot Adler instead?

Your hand flew to your waist then, your mind giving you warnings about his subtle movements. It was the gut feeling, your instincts acting on its own, noticing the details that gave away his intentions.

How his hand discreetly fell to his side with his back turned to you, gazing out onto the ocean as the sunlight highlighted his features. Adler looked oddly peaceful, and yet he had dared to sever ties on that whim. 

It was so easy to pull the trigger. You've done it an endless amount of times. On your own former Soviet comrades, on the Americans… You played both sides of the chessboard, so there should have been no hesitation or doubt when it came towards deciding your enemies. It was up to you in the end.

The sight was lined up perfectly. Right there, at his chest. You were both exhausted and mentally drained. It would have taken a second, and yet your finger never even lifted from its spot. Was it his expression that stopped you? But, he wore his aviators. He always did.

Yet, there was something captivating about him that day, whether it be his words or that simple outlook off the edge. It wasn't romantic by any means, but it was just that particular moment that he let his guard down around you, and you fell for it. A sign of trust you came to acknowledge, and it was used against you.

Even after the speculation, you knew you couldn't do it. You couldn't bring yourself to shoot him. Was it the fact that you believed you were long time acquaintances since Vietnam? The truth was revealed to you, but it was hard to simply debunk everything you’ve been manipulated in believing in. 

And that final look he gave you. Right before you free fell into the water. Regret, despair, sorrow… Yet firm. His face hardened and cold in an endeavor to bury his feelings as he followed through his orders. 

What would you have done, then? Would you have done the same to him as he did to you: toss him off the cliff while staring down at his shrinking figure as it plunged into the cold water below?

Maybe you would have returned to Perseus. He had taught you everything you knew now, practically shaping your life in whatever form he desired. 

But, considering that you foiled one of their biggest plans yet, there was no possibility of returning to his side. Instead, you would have had to leave everything behind and shed your identity of a CIA operative and Perseus member. Leave Adler on that cliff as red spouted from his chest and bled into his clothes while staining the ground. 

But, you didn't.

And now in that sick twist of fate, from living on that old Russian base, to being discovered and reenlisted, you almost gave your life up for Russell Adler once again— the man who caused it all.

Why did you agree to work with them again?

You could have just rotted away at Langley, or in some private prison. If they were kind enough, maybe they would even let you live as a regular civilian.

A scoff.

Yeah right. You were the CIA's MKUltra project, there was no way you would have gotten that free. It was already a gamble for Adler and Park to convince them to have you undergo the conditioning, and to insist on raising the dosage was the only way to ensure it’s efficiency. 

Unless he was scared of you. Maybe Adler actually got attached to you, and got frightened at the idea of you finding the truth— it would break the relationship he managed to build up by actually working beside you.

Relationship.

The nurse’s statement echoed in the depths of your mind, the word “boyfriend” repeating itself over and over.

What kind of high school humor was going around? You guys weren’t dating or anything. Would a kiss signify a lover’s relationship?

Yeah, right.

You both tried to kill each other at one point, but even then there was no use denying that something deeper was happening. Nothing to the extent of being in an intense romantic relationship, but there was something. 

The TV in the corner of your hospital room was currently playing the news, still talking about what happened at the mall. That there was suddenly a shoot out at night time, caused by an angry armed mob who stuck in to wreck the place in retaliation to the reopening. 

"The mall was empty when the shooting started, and only one person was reported in critical condition. Investigation efforts led by the New Jersey Police Department have gone nowhere..."

You tuned it out.

After a month of being in a deep sleep, you couldn't fall back asleep that easily. You were left on the hospital bed, and every little movement you made would result in searing pain before dissolving thanks to the painkillers. Stuck in place with the news channel on, you could only contemplate as to how you made it this far without dying. You really were unkillable.

Outside the window was a populated and vibrant city, filled with cars and bustling streets. The baby blue sky had pillows of clouds that broke the sea as the sun peeked out from behind them. There was an airplane breaking free from civilization just over the horizon.

"Bell?" 

Your mood shifts at the sound of your alias as the familiar voice bounced around. It was a bit raspy and deeper than usual, and it failed to aid your attempt to fight the grin that stretched ear to ear. With a relieved exhale, you say: "Hey Russ.”

Shock practically consumed Adler's being as he attempted to fathom the words you just spoke as he tried to readjust his glasses. Eventually he gave up on them, and let them hang from the vest. It looked like he'd just seen a ghost. The tug of his cheek, to the small jaw drop, you waited as he searched that mental dictionary for words.

"You're awake."

"That's the first thing you greet me with?"

There was that rare smile of his. Your sarcasm never left you.

Adler pulls his chair closer to your bedside. His hand twitches a bit, before returning back to his side and sitting back down. He licks his lips, unsure how to carry out his next move. “How do you feel?”

“I’ve been through worse.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

You shake your head. “Not really. Care to elaborate?”

There was some hesitation before he started speaking. Adler proceeded to give you a heavy account of what happened as if he was at a debrief— How they discovered the N6 barrels before getting ambushed, him running to the arcade for cover, then Stitch sneaking up on him. You appeared at this moment, firing shots at their general direction before tackling Stitch off of him.

“You barely made it to the hospital.”

“And Stitch?”

Adler pauses. “We… couldn’t officially confirm the body.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? He was right there—”

“His body was gone when we did a clean up sweep.”

“You’re telling me that there’s a chance that he’s walking around with a knife in his forehead?” You lurch forward, only to flinch at the pain. 

“Bell!” Adler users you to lie back down.

“I’m fine,” you insist. “Just tell me the rest.”

He didn’t go into detail regarding the events after, but reiterated that you became conscious while being escorted to the ER, refusing to let them put a needle in your arm to sedate you, and how he needed to step in.

“Once again, Prince Charming comes and saves the day,” you snicker, only to hitch your breath. It hurt to chuckle.

Adler’s already somber expression seemed to deepen. “I’m not always going to be there to save you, Bell.”

Apparently, cracking a joke wasn’t the right move. “You know I didn’t mean—”

“You almost died for fuck’s sake!” he lets out abruptly. “Were you always this selfish? You were already injured as is, you didn’t need to run in and—”

He cuts himself off, watching that grin fade away. A pang of regret hits him.

“And what, Adler? Save your life?” you spat defensively, throat already getting dry again. “I did it for you. But I guess taking a knife for someone is a selfish act now, is it?”

“I didn’t ask you to— Ugh, fuck.” Adler buries his face into his hands, contemplating. “I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t be yelling at you but… It’s just… I see you in this state, and the thought of you dying just makes me insane. I should have just brought you to Washington. If it weren’t for me you wouldn’t be in this damn bed.”

You gave out a sign, lowering your shoulders. There was no point in being agitated. You were both scared, and the last thing you wanted to happen was to widen the rift once again between the both of you. “It’s fine. These kinds of things are expected in this kind of work.”

Adler takes a breath, shuddering slightly. “Even so, the last thing I want to do is carry your casket down an aisle.”

“You went two years thinking I died. You can move on.”

“No. I know, but… now it’s different. It’s you, Bell.” Adler nibbles at the side of his cheek, unsure if he should continue talking. You gave no response, the look in your eyes giving him permission to continue. He exhales slowly.

It’s always been you.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” he continues, “But… I know for a fact I haven’t felt this way for a long time, until recently. The last time was with her. It didn’t last as long as I thought it would. Yet, that short spur of happiness that I got while with her was something I never thought I could be granted the pleasure of knowing.”

You could only nod. 

“But of course, being in this type of job… She couldn’t handle it, eloped with someone that wasn’t military, then broke the news to me the moment I returned.” Adler tightens his jaw, as if recalling a bittersweet memory. “Turns out, there was a lot of shit we didn’t agree about. But, like always, I moved on.”

There was a bit of nostalgia within his words, sprinkled with a bit of fondness and no ill intent. No jealousy when he reminisced about it, nor any lingering tones of regret or grudges. 

“At least, that’s what I told myself… And then there’s you.” He finally locks his eyes onto yours. “I know you still hate me for what I’ve done, and I accept that. But, as we worked alongside each other, that unexplainable feeling started to come back. I tried my damn hardest to ignore it, but even then, I made a decision that brought more pain onto you.”

It nearly slipped past you, but there were small breaks between his sentences thanks to Adler sucking in some air. His voice was beginning to weaken the longer he talked.

“You shouldn’t be here. With me, with the CIA. You survived through so much shit as is, and we forced you back into it. Just the thought of losing you makes me go insane, so… When Stitch got you, I almost fucking lost it.”

Adler clasped his hands together, pressing them firmly against each other to stop himself from breaking down. You note that his nose and eyes were just a tinge of pink. What was he getting at?

“I don’t want to leave your side. But I… don’t want you to get hurt anymore, Bell. The more I think about it, the more I realize you didn’t deserve this. I made you this way. If you continue to work with us, then there’s going to be instances where I’m not there for you. I don’t want that. What happens if I’m a second too slow—”

You cut him off, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him towards you as you lean forward. 

He freezes as both your lips make contact, but didn't fight it. He melts into it, letting his mouth do the work as he closes his eyes.

For someone as tough as you once were, it was almost pathetic to see how you managed to fall for a guy like him. What did you see in him that he didn’t? As confident as Adler was, constantly reassuring and supporting you, he could only ponder as to why everything just worked out.

In the end, despite the insecurities shared by the both of you, this was something he had been wanting to do for so long. 

It's been nearly seven fucking months since you both shared that kiss in your room. He wasn't the type for obnoxious public displays of affection, but hell, even he had a yearning for that shit. Even alluding to the idea that the one kiss in your room could have been the last was scarring, so this one needed to count.

But, the wait was worthwhile. It was slow and tender, done so with such care that it made his own heart skip a beat. With each second it became more passionate, yet still had that careful touch. He wasn't going to let any more chances slip by him.

You withdraw a few millimeters, taking a second to catch your breath, before once again making contact, this time from the corner of his mouth. Trailing up his cheek you could feel his scruff brush against your bandages. Adler refused to even move under your touch, giving out a shaky exhale.

Your lips meet his scar, and you deliver a final, graceful and slow peck on it. 

“No one's getting rid of me that easily,” you declare before pulling away. "Especially you, Russell Adler."

He shudders, wiping his nose with the back of his hand while choking back a sob. 

It wasn't something he didn't think he would desire, and yet this kind of contact is what he's been missing. And for you to give affection to the brand that he was secretly self-conscious about held more meaning than you'll ever realize.

After going years without having someone, after his ex-wife, even he believed that love was something he just didn’t deserve, nor should he be bothered to seek it out. He dedicated his life to his job since then, so innocent people could live normally. It was always for the greater good, and yet Adler himself forgot that even he needed to take care of himself. 

There were nights where he would just sit in silence, reliving past events, just wishing for someone to comfort him through all of it.

Your head fit right under his chin and you waited silently, listening to his uneven breaths. Your hands gripped at his clothes as if you were holding for dear life. 

“Thank you, Bell.”

After taking time trying to settle back in, you could feel Adler press his lips against the top of your head. It was a bit of an uncomfortable position to be in, and you could feel the painkillers beginning to wear off, but you didn’t want to move. Staying there inside the warm embrace of the man you’ve become too attached to was a moment you wanted to cherish.

Adler’s arms loosen up, giving you room to pull away. 

Still, you stay close, just a couple inches away from his face. He doesn't object as you tuck some strands of hair behind his ear. Your finger runs down the back of it before trailing down to stroke the edge of his jawline, leaving him to eye you reproachfully while finding closure. You finally were awake, animating and talking right in front of him after a month of being met with silence.

Your index stops at his chin, before following the path of his scar and up to his lips, where your finger then traced them ever so lightly with the touch of a feather. You couldn't even react in time as Adler steals a quick kiss from you, which he then sends you a triumphant grin afterwards. 

"Just making sure."

While neither of you uttered those three beloved words, it was clear enough how you felt about one another. 

"So…" you begin, gazing longingly in the sea of blue. "About that date..."

.

.

.

.

.

.

Adler pulls up into a decently crowded lot, and parks inside an empty stall. He takes the keys out of the engine, leaving the car and you follow suit. The doors closed with a nice slam and he locks his car. 

“You know, Bell… I could think of a hundred different other places to eat that are way better than this joint.”

“If I remember, you said that you would take me wherever I wanted, and this is it.”

Just thirty minutes ago you were discharged from the hospital after saying an extra week. With no medical history, or insurance, Adler had personally come to retrieve you for the long anticipated date, and the first thing you requested was to go eat breakfast somewhere.

You and Adler were now sitting at a booth inside an IHOP at 7:33 in the morning. 

He was wearing a tan long sleeve turtleneck, his jacket hanging from the shoulders. The aviators were off, sitting neatly on the table. He almost looked like a different person without them, but with the scar stretching across his face, there was no way of mistaking him.

Both of you were waiting for your order, letting the morning rays hit through the window. There was the clatter of plates and metal utensils in the background, a few waitresses going around and delivering orders to their respective tables.

Upon your request, after a week of shitty hospital food and a month of tube feeding, you needed some good food. While you were never familiar about the United States in general, this happened to be the closest place to the hospital that caught your eye. It probably wasn't the best of establishments, but anything goes.

“How’s the eye?” Adler asks. 

“It's seen better days.” 

He shook his head while sighing at your attempt at being slick. But he was smiling a tiny bit. “Nice try, [L/N]. But, seriously, what’d they say?”

“...I can still work.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You bit your lip. The eyepatch was a clear indicator of the answer.

Underneath it was a pad of gauze taped securely over your eye. You could feel it throbbing from time to time, and had to take painkillers every few hours so you could sleep. Your left arm was in a sling while your right one sat comfortably inside your black bomber jacket, although both were wrapped with bandages. At this point, every part of your body had gone through some kind of trauma. 

“...They said it was hard to tell.”

Adler nods. It wasn’t the greatest news to hear, and he would have to do more research later. “Considering that it’s you we’re talking about, there shouldn’t be an issue in rehabilitating.”

You grin at his positivity. “Of course.”

"Good."

His gaze comes to focus on your face. 

That once, untouched skin of yours now had a long and thin discolored streak that ran right down the left side, starting from your forehead, going under the eyepatch, then right down to your jaw as if a single tear rolled down and left behind an imprint of its trail. It felt unfitting for someone of your nature.

"What's wrong?" you ask. Adler shakes his head, brushing it off.

"It's nothing."

You point to your scar with a conceited look. "'You mean this? Is it noticeable?'"

"Really, [Y/N]? You're stealing my lines now?" 

The sound of your laughter that followed was relaxing for him to hear. "We're matching now."

Adler couldn't help but smirk along. "With that eyepatch? No, you resemble Weaver, if anything."

"This Weaver guy’s pretty famous. Everyone else seems to know of him. Do we really have that much in common?"

"You’d be surprised. He's Russian, for one. Also has an eyepatch for the same reason as you." He pauses to think. "I actually haven't heard from him for a while. But, hey, who knows? Maybe you'll meet each other some day."

"So… Let me get this straight. I heard it from Woods and Mason, but Kravchenko stabs this Weaver friend in the eye, then you take Stitch's for revenge. Then that bastard takes my eye—"

"We've basically come full circle."

"Damn. You guys really have some unfinished business."

"It's what we're paid for."

Everyone's history ran deep with one another, and soon enough you would be thrown into the mix of special officers with intricate ties. It had taken quite the effort to convince Adler that you refused to be removed from the team (and the CIA together). With everything you have experienced, the thought of simply returning to civilian life was foreign. 

“Speaking of pay… You're going to take the med bills from my check, right?” you ask as the thought crossed your mind. Considering your injuries and the intensive care you went through, the bills were certainly more than one page. “Because, if that's the case–”

“Already been taken care of.”

You were going to ask "by who", but judging from Adler's expression, you already knew the answer. His eyes lingered a bit longer, before drifting towards someone walking towards the table.

The waitress came over, setting down two cups of coffee. You thank her, and you could hear a soft "your welcome" as she walked away. 

Reaching out for the cup, you tried to grab the handle, only for you to completely miss and grab air. Your brows knitted in concentration, you tried again.

"Need some help?" Adler asks with pure amusement.

"No, I got it."

"Clearly not. That was my cup."

Adler placed his hand on top of yours, guiding you to the handle of your cup. His hands were big, feeling hard and rough placed on top of yours. Feeling the porcelain, closed your fingers around it. 

"Thanks..." you mutter, feeling some heat rising on your cheeks. 

"See? Not that hard."

"I wish I could see, Russ, but I'm kinda blind in one eye," you retort lightly.

The coffee mug in your hands was warm to the touch. It stung a bit, especially with your injuries, but in an odd way it felt comforting. Using a spoon, you twirled around the coffee, watching it change into a lighter shade of brown before tasting it and adjusting the flavor. Adler didn't say much, only watching just in case something happened. If you needed assistance, he was right there.

"So, when do we get back to work?" you ask, hopeful. You took a sip of your coffee, making sure it was close to your lips before tilting the mug slightly.

"You still want to work? Even after all that?"

Adler was taken aback. If he were to put himself in your shoes, he would have thrown in the towel by now. Your work ethic was impressive, even more so knowing your history, and it was extremely concerning. It was because of it that you were getting closer to him, and the association between you two would only make the target on your back larger. Stitch abducting you as a hostage was the epitome of his fears, only fueling his hatred for the man even further.

He nearly lost you because of this connection. 

"I do. I mean, we still have unfinished business with Perseus."

You couldn't exactly say that you were scared of being abandoned. Or that you had nowhere else to go if you were to retire per say. Knowing how the team worked endlessly undercover, there was a low chance of ever seeing them again, and they were all that you had. Even if your relationship with them has been tested, they still never failed you. And you won’t let them down.

“Even so, the CIA considers you a threat to national security,” Adler regards, making sure you were the only one that could hear. A danger to the general public, mentally unstable, unfit for duty… the list went on.

“You guys are the only things I have left, and you are not going to take that away from me,” you counter. The brief sensation of something sharp sparked in your stomach, so you quickly eased up and leaned back. “Besides, that’s what they said about Mason, too. Operation Charybdis, was it? And look where he is now. If he’s still an operative in the CIA despite all that, then I can as well.”

“That’s classified info, [L/N]. How did you—”

“What can I say?” You shrug nonchalantly, setting your cup back down. “I’m a person of many talents.”

“You knowing that only proves their point further.”

You pout, offended. “What are they going to do, shoot me?”

Adler groans, knowing full well that he couldn’t convince you otherwise. Though, in the depths of his mind, he was secretly happy about it. Your arrogance, along with a few other things, needed some work. “I'll see what I can do, but for now let’s not discuss any of that here.”

“Sir, with all due respect, it’s eight in the morning, and we’re sitting in fucking IHOP,” you tease. "I don't think anyone is awake enough to eavesdrop."

While the two of you were regular civilians for today, the way you both looked would easily catch the eyes of anyone passing by. A man with a huge scar on his face, and another with an eyepatch, arms bandaged from the fingertips to the shoulder. The waitress couldn’t even look at you without her eyes drifting elsewhere despite her attempts.

"I just remembered," Adler perks up suddenly, digging something out from his pocket, setting it on the table. "A gift from the team, to celebrate your release."

It was a small rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper. A bow was slapped on top of it, a tag attached to it which had "[Y/N]" written on the back of it, Adler's penmanship easily eligible.

"And, uh, this keychain from Woods." He hands you a tiny jar of sand with the Florida white engravings on the outside, and you couldn't help but grin. 

"How thoughtful of him."

You turn your attention to the box, taking a peek at Adler for permission, and he gives you a nod. Opening it carefully, you found a newly packaged Walkman, still in the box. It was a newer model, one you haven't seen yet. Slimmer and lighter, too. 

"What do you think?" Adler asks, unable to gauge your feelings.

"Are you sure I can have this?" You couldn't find any words. 

"Stop undervaluing yourself, [L/N]. You deserve it. You contribute a lot to the team, we couldn't have done it without you.”

You nod, holding the box as if it were a newborn baby. You thought of which cassette to play first, only to remember you didn't have them anymore. As if cue, Adler set two tapes down. One MIX 2 and another you have never seen before, MIX 3. How original, you thought. You reach out, your arm straining itself as you went to retrieve the tapes, only for Adler to once again take your hand and place it on top. An odd feeling bubbles in your stomach.

Butterflies again.

"You know I still can see right?" you state, looking straight at him, but he didn’t meet your gaze, instead looking out the window. "Just because I only have one eye at the moment doesn't mean you need to baby me."

"To be fair, you aren’t doing much to stop me either."

It was a habit you noticed about him. Actions speak louder than words, the only exception would be how he would address you by your actual name instead of Bell whenever it was just the two of you outside of work-related business. 

"Anyways. There's a few of my personal favorites in here." He taps the third cassette.  "Had a friend of mine compile it together this time."

"Didn't know you were a music person." You take the Walkman out of it's packaging, tossing aside the extra papers and plastic.

"I'm not, but I have a good ear for talent."

After putting MIX 3 inside the Walkman, you pondered over if you should listen to it. Deciding not to, especially when you were out with Adler, you wrapped the earphone wires around it, pocketing it alongside with the other cassette. "I'll listen to it later, if that's fine."

"By all means."

Your eyes wander for a bit, watching a waitress help another table. “What’s the date again today?”

“February twenty-eighth.”

“Ah, thought so.” You got up from your seat. “Wait here for a moment.”

Adler gives you an intrigued look, but shrugs it off as you walk off. Taking a sip of his coffee, he watches a couple cars enter and leave the parking lot from his spot. It was one of those few occasions that the mornings were seldom and chill, and eating at a breakfast joint earned him some peace of mind.

While it wasn’t the best place to eat at, your presence alone brought him happiness. You were back to your usual self despite fighting against all odds just weeks before. 

You took a glimpse at him over your shoulder, before returning to talk to the waitress, who nodded before going behind the counter. You were planning something, but he didn’t know what.

“What was that?” Adler asks a bit accusingly as you return to your seat. 

“Just remembered something, that’s all.”

“And you’re going to leave me hanging?”

“You’ll find out in a bit.”

Adler stops pestering you, surveying your face for anything that could give away your secret, but he couldn't find anything. 

You notice this, and give him a sly grin. "Someone's impatient today."

Of course he was. It was the first time you were out of the hospital, and the last thing he wanted was for you to over exert yourself and open up any wounds. 

But before he could even respond with a snarky rebuttal, the waitress you talked to earlier comes back with a plate and sets it down gently on the table, along with two forks and some napkins. On it was a stack of pancakes with a small scoop of butter on top, which was already melting and dripping down the sides. The lady brought over a bottle of syrup.

"Happy birthday," you greet. "It's free, so don't worry about paying for it."

"Two weeks ago."

"Yeah, well I wasn't exactly fully awake for your birthday, was I? Better late than never."

No one ever really did something like this for him, nor did he expect you to remember his birthday. It wasn't much to celebrate as he got older, it was just another year he managed to live, but this time it felt different. 

"Lazar also told me about this thing called Valentine's Day, but… like I said," you continue, "So, might as well celebrate your birthday and Valentine's at the same time. Since, we're you know, I guess—"

"On a date," he finishes. "We're adults, no need to get so worked up about it. But, thank you, [Y/N]."

A simple morning coffee run date turned into a tiny birthday/Valentine's celebration. Weird, considering it was weeks past, but it was heartwarming to say the least. 

No wonder he fell for you. And seeing you do these little gestures for him makes him even more determined to hold you close and protect you. To see someone like you turn into a bashful, nervous wreck when showing affection was something Adler found cute.

Adler chuckles at your embarrassment as he reaches out to the forks and hands one over to you. You take it graciously, feeling his hand bump against yours. 

Your first date.

"Something bugging you?" Adler voices his concern, waiting for you to take the first bite.

You cut a small piece with your fork. "No. Just thinking."

"About?"

"You."

You wanted to learn more about him. Not by researching or through the CIA database, but through himself. What kind of person was he, really? You wanted to hear his story and his experiences, and you wanted to be there for him to return the favor. His struggles, his efforts… All of it. No more lies and fabrication.

Adler graces you with a coquettish smile. "Well, don't think too hard now. We may be on a 'date', but don't let me distract you from the important stuff."

"But, you are the 'important stuff'."

“Keep flirting like that and you'll start to sound like Lazar.”

And, if he was interested, you would tell him about yourself, too. Whatever you remembered, where you were born… There was still lots to rediscover about yourself, but you knew he would be there right beside you.

Just like he promised.

#YOOO i finally finished this after putting it off for so long #russell adler x reader #bell x adler #call of duty x reader #adler x reader #call of duty imagines #call of duty black ops cold war #black ops cold war #bo:cw #bell #russell adler #abcd briefing #fanfic #why is my tagging so ASS #cod #if theres errors or feels repetitive i apologize i read this over and over again to a point where it doesnt register #well glad this is out of my drafts #i should have posted this way earlier lmao i barely did any changes since i first wrote the draft

[princesssarisa]

Snow White Winter: "Simsala Grimm: Snow White" (2000 cartoon series episode)

Once again we find an animated fairy tale anthology series with a Snow White episode. Where children of the '80s and '90s had Grimm's Fairy Tale Classics and Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales for Every Child, children of the early 2000s had Simsala Grimm. The distinguishing feature of this series was its two protagonists: a spunky blue coyote-like creature named Yoyo and a nerdy, Irish-accented, lizard-like "bookworm" named Doc Croc. Every episode saw them ride on a magical flying book, with talking portraits of the Brothers Grimm on the cover, through a portal in the sky to "the enchanted land of Simsala." There they would find themselves inside a fairy tale (usually from the Grimms' collection, though not always), where they would become sidekicks to the hero or heroine.

In Snow White, Yoyo and Doc Croc find themselves in the forest at the very moment the Huntsman almost kills Snow White. When he can't bring himself to do it and reveals that it was the Queen's command, Yoyo and Croc suggest that he substitute a boar's heart for Snow White's heart, and then join Snow White as she flees. With her they discover the dwarfs' cottage, eat their food, sleep in their beds, and come to live with the dwarfs as well. At first they try to join the dwarfs in working at their mine, but prove to be less-than-competent miners, and while they're away, Snow White succumbs to the Queen's suffocating corset (here a magical one that shrinks by itself when she puts it on). So the next day they stay home to guard Snow White, but are all too easily distracted and fail to notice the Queen's return with the poisoned comb. On the third day, the strongest dwarf Goliath – the only dwarf whose name is mentioned – joins them as a bodyguard, and they manage to be more diligent. But their very diligence proves fatal: Doc Croc tastes the old woman's apple to test whether it's poisoned or not, since poisons that can kill humans cause only a stomachache for bookworms. But of course only half the apple is poisoned and Croc bites the safe half, unwittingly misleading Snow White.

Fortunately, a strangely contemporary-looking, goateed Prince is on his way. Early on he visits the castle, having heard of Snow White's beauty, only to be told by the lying Queen that she was killed by wild animals in the forest (shades of the Jetlag Productions version.) But then the Huntsman whispers the truth to him and together, in a choice harking back to the 1916 film, they set out to search for her. When they finally discover her coffin (not a glass coffin, just an ordinary wooden coffin, open and decked with flowers), the Prince asks to take her home with him. The dwarfs load the coffin onto a wagon and, along with Yoyo and Croc, join the Prince and Huntsman on their sad return journey. But when the wagon rolls over a fallen branch, the piece of apple is jolted from Snow White's throat. At this very moment back at the Queen's castle, the Queen again asks the magic mirror her usual question. When the mirror shows her that Snow White has revived, we're given the common ending of "the Queen accidentally kills herself by breaking the magic mirror in anger": in this case, as in the 1965 Mr. Magoo version, she first ages into an ugly hag, then vanishes into thin air. Meanwhile, Yoyo and Croc bid farewell to the happy Snow White, Prince and dwarfs, and fly off to other adventures on their magic book.

As fairy tale anthologies go, Simsala Grimm has charm, but isn't quite on the same level as earlier series of the same type. Its version of Snow White is no exception to that rule. While the colorful animation is solid in quality, there's no particular beauty to it either. This particular episode is also distinctly derivative of other Snow White retellings. Besides the examples I listed above, there's also some blatant Disney inspiration, from the Queen's costume with her cowl headpiece and crown, to Snow White's run through the forest with trees that seem to turn into monsters, to the marching song sung by the dwarfs (during which they march across a fallen tree at one point), to the dwarf leader's Grumpy-like characterization and resistance to having a woman stay in their house. The main appeal of this particular version of Snow White, and of Simsala Grimm as a whole, is in the characters of Yoyo and Doc Croc. These two little creatures are genuinely charming audience surrogates, and they're effectively worked into the plot without disrupting it.

Overall, I wouldn't rank this high on my list of recommended Snow White retellings. But it does have enough innocent charm to make me understand why Simsala Grimm is fondly remembered by children of the early 2000s who grew up with it. Whether or not it becomes a favorite, it's worth a glance.

@ariel-seagull-wings, @superkingofpriderock

#snow white #fairy tale #snow white winter #simsala grimm #animated series #2000 #animation #cartoon #episode

[tatooedlaura-blog]

The Newbies

the fourth series reads as follows:

Apple Balancing ... Potential

To catch up: First series … Second series ...  Third series

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

Home after dark, waking up in the dark, getting dressed, eating, changing a wayward diaper, double locking front door, Mulder stretched as he walked towards the car, wondering just how long his day would be quiet.

Not as long as he expected.

Apparently, his day was good for 1 hour, 22 minutes then hell arrived in the form of short, blond pep.

He’d called Agent Harrison as soon as he made it to the office, leaving her a message saying he’d like to meet with her sometime in the next day or two to discuss her file and the work of the X-Files. Instead of calling, setting up a time, following protocol, she arrived in the basement with a speedy click of heels and teeth … lots of white, smiling teeth.

That’s all he saw of her at first: rows of white, pearly teeth, straight, shiny.

Then her hand arrived, out to shake before he managed to stand up straight, brush off his donut crumbs, remember how to focus on something more than four inches from his face. Taken aback, he stared at the tiny hand, cheap watch, sleeve of suit jacket pulled up above narrow wrist …

Holy fuck …

Scully had re-enlisted in the form of Leyla Harrison.

Just, as he would learn in the next two minutes, a little, well, hell, a shitload more, enthusiastic.

Scully had begun arguing with him within the first two minutes.

Agent Harrison gushed about the X-Files and all their virtues and beauty for the first five minutes before he finally cut her off, “hi. You must be Agent Harrison. I didn’t expect you here quite so quickly. Would you like to sit down?”

Oh, God, as soon as the words left his mouth, he cringed. He offered her a chair. A place to settle in, talk until she used all the air in the room, suffocated him with words of undying devotion.

He let her ramble a few more minutes before pulling her back in again, “I’m sorry, Agent Harrison, would you like a cup of tea, coffee?”

Giving her something to hold did the trick, her hands occupied, her mouth slowing until he could process the words and sentences rolling towards him, “yes, thank you, Agent Mulder, coffee, please. I’m sorry.” Looking down at the cup he handed her moments later, “I have a tendency to blather, a lot, when I meet people I admire.”

And with that, she held her tongue.

Good lord, he actually liked her.

He really’d been hoping he wouldn’t.

But he did.

At least for now.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

She left an hour and a half later and the first thing Mulder did was shut the door and call Scully, “what did you do to me?”

And feeling just a little bit saucy and a wee bit riled up, “nothing today but I have plans for you that’ll make your eyes roll back in your head.”

His mouth went dry for the slightest second then, grinning, “tell me more.”

Watching her son finish his bottle, she stood and headed into the kitchen, “I will once you get home but for right now, what did I do to you that I don’t know I did to you?”

“You sent me a woman who is enthusiastic, doesn’t shut up, adores everything about anything weird, supernatural, or out there, and thinks that both you and I are the shit.”

“Sorry. I’ll keep combing the files. There has to be somebody out there who hates you with every fiber of their being. I’ll find them. Don’t worry.”

“Sarcasm is your thing, Scully, let me tell you.” Sitting back in his chair, looking up at the sparse pencils still stuck in his ceiling, he made a mental note to add more in the future, “I will say though, once I began sifting through her babble, I found some good theories, ideas, directions I might not have taken.”

“Did you show her some cases?”

“Yeah. She did pretty well given she’s only every really worked in accounting. She’ll need a lot of handholding in the field but I’m seriously considering trying her out.” Because she was Scully and he was Mulder, he answered her before she could even ask, “but she doesn’t hold a candle to you.”

Seriously, she had to get these hormones under control, “I was going to ask if she believed in Big Blue.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you were. So, you want to hear about her?”

“No. It’ll be more fun with a live re-enactment.”

Not wanting to let her go just yet, “then tell me what you’re doing with that kid of ours.”

“We got up late so he just finished his bottle and I’m about to eat,” having warmed frozen pancakes and rolled them around some science-oven sausages, “dirty things for breakfast.”

“Sausages in sweaters! Without me? How dare you.”

She liked to make him smile.

&&&&&&&&&

John Doggett, on the other hand, called back and set up a time to meet, the next day, 1:30 in the afternoon.

He arrived 3 minutes, 10 seconds early and stepped off the elevator with about as much trepidation as a seasoned police officer could muster surrounded by copy paper, handcarts, and the prospect of working with Fox Mulder. Namely, he figured he’d get to see what all the fuss was about surrounding the X-files and what he hoped would be a decent cup of coffee. He’d been searching out re-assignment to the DC area, looking for a change of scenery, a change of boss, a change of his life in general …

And why not do the interview? It would be a temporary assignment, get him used to the city, allow him to meet other agents, see if the Hoover Building tickled his fancy.

Then he registered the yelling.

But it wasn’t angry yelling …

It was a good old-fashioned shouting match argument like the ones he used to have with his guys back before the Bureau.

Eyebrow raising slightly then dropping back in place, he listened to mention of bats, invisible snakes, bite marks, and some science-y jargon he could neither spell nor repeat even with gun to head. Wondering if he should just get the hell out now, the voices suddenly stopped, then the door opened further, “ahhh, see, I told you I thought I heard the elevator.”

John Doggett was confronted with a cautiously friendly Scully smile as she stepped slightly aside, “come on in … welcome to the basement.” Holding out her hand once he was inside, “I’m Agent Dana Scully and my partner there is Fox Mulder. If you heard mention of giant vampire bats, don’t hold it against him, the bite marks are remarkable similar.”

Mulder moved to shake his hand yet directed his words at Scully, “so you admit vampire bats exist, just not giant ones?”

Leaning over the car seat stationed safely dead center of a cluttered desk, she made sure their arguing hadn’t woken Will, “I never said they didn’t, Mulder. Common, hairy-legged, and white winged are well document in their species and while I don’t subscribe to there being ones with six-foot wingspans and the ability to drain a person of their entire blood supply, their faces have a slight resemblance to pigs and that amuses me enough to allow you to ramble on without me killing you with a stapler.”

Glancing sidelong at a silent Doggett, “he’s still here.”

“That’s a good sign.” Finally turning her attention to the new guy, “would you like a cup of coffee?”

&&&&&&&&&

They talked to him for over an hour, drilling him about cases, opinions, past alliances, and why he drank his coffee black. Mulder analyzed every little quirking finger twitch, non-invasive nose scratch, and random, rapid blink. Scully kept Mulder reigned in enough to not send Doggett screaming into the hallway.

Doggett wondered what the hell kind of circus ride he might be getting himself into and how long it would be before both the agents in front of him were carted off by the lovely men in white coats with caged-lined vans.

Finally, the pair seemed to have finished their interrogation and Doggett got to open his mouth, his first sentence being, “I think the pair of you are thick as thieves and crazy to boot.”

Honest-to-God, Scully liked him and she thought that maybe Mulder might, too, “I keep his crazy in check.”

“She needs a little crazy every now and then. It works well for both of us.”

Doggett couldn’t help it. He had to smile, hang his head while doing it mind you, but smile, “I can only promise that I’ll do my best to solve these cases. I won’t be buying into the whole paranormal thing and I will never believe that Casper or Chuckie did it in the basement with magic herbs and a summoning circle but I will catch the bad guys, I guarantee it.”

Mulder folded his arm in a loose gesture of agreement to Scully’s unspoken question hanging between them, “he knows what a summoning circle is and whether he learned it on TV or from his hippie big sister, he used it properly in the sentence.”

“Mulder.”

Holding his hand out to Doggett, “feel like giving it a trial run?”

Without hesitation, he shook back, “when do I start?”

#Mulder analyzed every little quirking finger twitch non-invasive nose scratch and random rapid blink #switching to decaf is a necessity #msr #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #MulderNScully #John Doggett #Leyla Harrison #My writing #life part 4 series

[writethelifeyouwant]

Femme Fatale - Ch 2 / 2

Pairing: Alex x Reader Rating: 18+ Tags: Sub!Alex, Domme!Reader, pegging, blow job on a dildo, praise kink, bondage, cock bondage, spreader bar, dirty talk about exhibitionism, degradation Word Count: 3.2k Created for: @spnkinkbingo - Praise Kink | @anyfandomgoesbingo - Blindfolds

A/N: Thank you so much for being my first ever commission Sin! I've had a lot of fun tackling this challenge because I've never written a Domme!reader before but I really appreciate you trusting me with your idea, and I hope I do it justice ❤️

Series Masterlist

Alex has been waiting so patiently. Since he and Y/N had gone to Femme Fatale a few weeks ago, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about everything he saw there. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about what he saw Jared doing – or more accurately, what he saw being done to Jared.

Seeing Jared submit so publicly to all those people had been mesmerising; Jensen watching on proudly from the sidelines, offering Jared encouragement and praise when Jared finally couldn’t take it any longer and asked permission to cum. Jared had spurted into Jensen’s hand, held just below him while some tiny thing continued to pound into him from behind, her own domme egging her on the whole time, and then Jared had dutifully licked Jensen’s hand clean for him when he was finished. Alex had thought he was going to cream his shorts just from watching but he’d managed to restrain himself until they got home and Y/N had ridden him until they were both shuddering and sated.

He’s been dreaming about it, waking up hard every morning since that night. And not just semi-chubbed up – achingly, maddeningly, rock-solid and leaking. It’s gotten him into trouble, because he hasn’t been able to resist touching himself when he’s that hard up, and he’s not allowed to do that. Y/N had actually brought home a cock cage the night before for him to sleep in, so he didn’t wind up breaking his rules and ruining her plans for him. She can’t very well give him what he’s been dreaming about for weeks if he’s misbehaving.

Y/N had brought home a few other things last night along with the cock cage – she’d clearly enjoyed her shopping trip a little too much. The object of his fantasies is now sitting in front of him in the centre of their bed, black and threatening against the crisp, pale linens of the rest of the bedroom. The strap-on was a good size. Alex had been nervous that Y/N would be too cautious, too gentle with him, and get something shamefully small, but she hadn’t. Caution has never been her style anyways. He’s already getting ahead of himself imagining what it will be like to take something even bigger.

Alex is wearing the other new addition to their collection, a silicone plug that has been holding him open for the past hour or so while he kneels, waiting, at the foot of the bed. He had settled easily into the familiar position, his ankles and knees spread wide and in line while he sat back lightly on the spreader bar holding his legs apart. Being held open like this, he has to concentrate on staying tight so the plug doesn’t slip out. He knows if it does, he’ll be punished.

Y/N is in the shower, part of her ritual when they plan longer play sessions like this. She leaves Alex to sit and settle into his headspace while she uses the steam and the quiet to find her own. At the sound of the hairdryer, Alex feels his cock try to harden inside its restraint. That sound means Y/N is almost ready for him, and it’s a conditioned response by now, the excited heat he feels creeping under his skin. The sound of the door opening and closing comes a moment later, and Alex’s cock gives another smothered leap. She’s in the room with him now.

The scrape of blunt nails across the short hairs at the nape of his neck makes Alex shake, and the cuffs on his wrists and ankles rattle. He tries to crane his head back to see her but she pulls away, and he knows that means he’s not supposed to look yet.

“Have you been good for me, baby boy?” Y/N’s voice rings sweetly above him, sinking into his veins like a shot of something cool and calm. She’s using Jensen’s nickname for Jared again, the name he’s come to associate with this act. With dildos and harnesses and boys on their knees showing off how good they can be when they’re told what to do – when they’re owned like he and Jared are.

“Yes, Mistress,” Alex answers steadfastly. He has been good, he knows he has. He has been perfect for her.

“Yes, I can see you have been,” and he can hear the smile in Y/N’s voice, even though she still won’t move to where he can see her. He gasps suddenly but manages to choke it off before he gets too loud. Y/N had bent down to tap against his plug, nudging it maddeningly close to his prostate. “Good boy,” Y/N drops a small kiss to his shoulder in recognition of his efforts to keep quiet.

Alex savours the compliment, smiling proudly until a wisp of black trails up his back and over his eyes – his blindfold. He instantly deflates as Y/N secures the tie at the back of his head. He wants to see her. Well really, he wants to see her with a cock jutting out from her hips. He desperately hopes this doesn’t mean he won’t get to do that. A sharp tug on his cock sends Alex’s back rigid again as he tries to hold in the cry of shock at the sudden pain, however short lived.

“If you’re going to mope, we can stop right now,” Y/N speaks gently against his ear. She’s not mean about it, not cruel or teasing, she’s simply informing him.

“No, sorry, I’m sorry,” Alex sits as straight as he can manage, shoulders back, thighs and spine tensed.

“It’s okay, baby boy,” Y/N slips the back of her hand across his cheek and down his chest before pulling away. The creak of the bed springs tell Alex that she’s climbed on, hopefully, he prays as fervently as he can, to retrieve the strap-on she’d left him to contemplate this whole time. There’s moving and rustling and breathing but it’s all muddling together in his ears. He can’t make out where anything is, what anything is. He can only wait.

Something firm brushes against his lips. Y/N is in front of him now, and, he hopes, wearing the harness. The dildo is what’s pressing at his lips, and it is pressing now, not just brushing against them. Y/N wants him to let her in. He does, with relish.

“Good boy,” Y/N intones above him, her hands reaching for his head and combing through his hair. She doesn’t try directing him at first, just lets him explore the toy on his own. The silicone feels odd against his lips, it dries too quickly every time he pulls back so his mouth catches against its veins on each push back in. He isn’t sure how much of it he’s managing to fit into his mouth but he finds his limit fairly quickly, accidentally gagging himself and having to pull off.

“Sorry,” he pants, wishing he could wipe the spit that’s dripping down his chin, but his arms are still tied to the bar behind him. He must look so pathetic right now. His cock gives another twinge in its cage.

“It’s okay baby boy, try again, you can do it.” Y/N reassures him gently and pulls his mouth back to the toy. This time, when he reaches his limit and starts to pull away, Y/N stops him. She grips his hair tightly and holds the back of his head still on her cock. Alex gags again but stays still, and after a moment the intrusion doesn’t feel as bothersome. “Good boy,” Y/N murmurs above him, and Alex’s chest swells with warmth. “Just take a little more for me, baby boy. There we go,” Y/N eases him down just a fraction, and Alex starts to suck to distract his throat from wanting to push the toy out the other way.

“Fuck, you look so good like this baby,” Y/N sighs above him, petting his hair in appreciation. “Can just imagine how jealous all those guys at the club would be, seeing you suck me down so good. They’d all want a turn. It’s a shame to have you waste such a pretty mouth on a cock that can’t even feel it.” Alex moans around the toy and Y/N lets him pull back to suckle at the head. “You tryin’ to make me cum, baby boy?” Y/N laughs as Alex nods. “Such a fucking cumslut, aren’t you? Perfect fucking toy for that club.”

Alex’s mouth is suddenly empty and the air around him grows still and cold. He wants to call out, ask where she’s gone, but he doesn’t dare. Y/N keeps him waiting, testing him to see if he can behave, if he can keep quiet.

He passes.

The restraints holding his wrists to the bar click as Y/N undoes the buckles. She carefully rubs each wrist and moves the arm gently back and forth so she doesn’t shock his joints, before placing each hand palm down on the bed in front of him.

“Stand up, and keep bent over.” Alex pushes up from his knees onto his toes gracefully, in a move reminiscent of a yoga transition, and sinks his head and shoulders to the mattress, back arching and feet still widespread, leaving his ass open and on display. Arousal courses through him from the depth of the submission in this position. “So pretty,” Y/N coos. “I’ll have to bring a camera next time.” Next time. Alex’s blood sings at the promise, and he hasn’t even been fucked yet.

A fingernail trails lightly over the head of his cock through its cage, and he groans, unable to hold it in. That earns him a smack right over the plug sticking out of his exposed hole. He can’t stop the moan that follows that either, and Y/N repeats the motion harder, and harder again.

“C’mon baby, if you’re gonna moan like a little bitch then at least try to sound sexy while you do it,” she sneers behind him. Alex feels his body flame red under the insult. “You just sound like a slut. There’s plenty of those to go around, nothing making you special.” Alex cries out at the next hit and feels a spurt of precome force its way out of his cock. “That’s more like it,” Y/N praises, and he sighs in relief that he got it right.

The next sound Alex hears is the snick of a plastic cap – lube – he clenches just thinking about it. Then the plug in him is being twisted, swirled and thrust in and out of him teasingly. He moans again, now that he has permission, and Y/N pumps the plug in even harder as a reward. His ass doesn’t want to let it go when she pulls it away, oh so slowly, but it’s almost immediately replaced with her finger. It’s much thinner than the plug, and Alex feels his hole fluttering around it wantonly, silently begging for more, which she readily gives.

A second finger follows quickly and easily. The third is tougher, this time it’s a stretch, but the tight pain sends another shot of warmth through his cock and leaks out of the tip onto the bed. Y/N notices.

“You like that, baby boy?” she asks, sugar sweet. Alex nods and whines, and her fingers leave him instantly.

“Yes, Mistress!” he corrects, arching his back to try to find her fingers. She obliges him and pushes them in again.

“You think you’re ready?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he answers properly, fucking himself back into her hand.

“Okay,” she withdraws her fingers and gives his butt a soothing pat. “On the bed, on your back for me, yeah?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Alex turns to sit on the bed and hoists himself back until he can feel their pillows and headboard behind him. He lays down, bending his knees and pulling them back to his chest. The bed dips below him as Y/N climbs on too, crawling between Alex’s legs. Another click, more lube drips down his ass, the cool liquid pooling on the covers as it runs off his ass. He feels the dildo press against his hole and he holds his breath.

The first nudge inside of him is strange. It’s thicker and rounder than anything he’s had back there before. The second little push is uncomfortable, and Alex scrunches his eyes shut, even though, with the blindfold on, it doesn’t make much difference. Y/N’s hands smooth up the backs of his thighs, rubbing gently, soothing the tension that had rocketed through them a moment before. After a few seconds of sympathetic touching Alex manages to relax, and he feels the dildo slip a little further inside of him.

Y/N keeps up soft cooing noises under her breath, making sure Alex knows how good he’s being, what a perfect baby boy he’s being for her. The praise makes him glow, and helps him forget the pain that’s still pulsing dully between his legs.

“I think you deserve a little reward, for being so good,” Y/N whispers when she’s finally pushed the toy all the way in, her hips flush with his.

“Can I see you?” Alex asks desperately. “Wanna look at you Mistress, please.”

“That’s what you want?” Y/N laughs, a little creully. “I was going to take this off,” her fingers skim over his balls and the cock cage keeping him soft and Alex jumps under the touch, “but if you want the blindfold off instead…” Y/N trails off, leaving the choice up to him. Alex falters, caught out by his own eagerness. If Y/N doesn’t take the cage off him now, she might not take it off at all. But on the other hand, the thought of not being able to see her the rest of the night… not being able to watch her fucking him, to see the cock pushing in and out of his body, the same sight he’d been so transfixed by when he was watching it happen to Jared… he needs to see it.

“The blindfold,” Alex whimpers as Y/N continues to tease his cock through the metal rings clamped around it. “Take off the blindfold, please, Mistress.”

“As you wish.”

Alex blinks up at Y/N’s smiling face as his eyes adjust to the light in the room. She looks fucking sexy. She’s in the same lingerine that she’d worn to Femme Fatale that night, the set he’d picked out for her to wear, and the addition of the leather harness at her hips is unfairly attractive. Alex glances down to their hips, takes in the sight of his cock lying limp against his stomach in its little metal prison, and skims further down to catch a glimpse of shiny black poking out from between their bodies. He swallows hard. This was absolutely the right decision.

“Like what you see baby boy?” Y/N taunts, swivelling her hips just a little to pull a groan from him as the dildo rubs against his prostate.

“Fuck yes,” Alex whines, the sound catching high in his throat and pouring out of him raggedly.

“Gonna let me fuck you now?” she asks sweetly, swinging her hips again.

“Fucking please, Mistre– fuck!” Alex shouts as Y/N pulls out and pistons her hips back in harshly. The pain is still there but the sharp strike of the toy inside him sends something like lightning up his spine that drowns out any other feeling his body is trying to conjure.

“Such a dirty mouth,” Y/N pants, beginning to sound out of breath as she fucks his ass relentlessly. “Love that about you, baby. Let me hear you.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” That’s the only word Alex can remember right now. He’s been waiting for this, dreaming about this, for so long and now it’s finally happening he can’t hold himself back. His cock aches and his head goes fuzzy as all the blood in his body tries to drain to his groin to get him hard but the cage keeps him soft and passive. It doesn’t stop him from leaking precum all over his stomach though. It’s dripping down his side, pooling in his belly button, leaving him slick and sticky and fucking humiliated the more he looks at it. Y/N catches where he’s looking and smirks, running her fingers through the offending liquid and bringing it to his lips.

“Look at this fucking mess, such a needy little slut aren’t you?” Alex whimpers and nods, head jerking back as Y/N pushes his hips up so she can get even deeper. “Like my cock in your ass baby boy?” Alex nods again, lost for words and breath. “Can’t wait to see how much more this slutty little hole can take. Maybe it can take two? What do you think about that, me and someone else fucking you open so you’re all loose and used up?”

Y/N’s monologue has Alex gasping for air. He’s always found her voice sexy, and when she paints these pictures for him, how can he not fall straight in and give himself up to the pleasure she’s promising?

“Wanna get you a cock that’s so big I can see it inside you.” Y/N runs her hand over his stomach, through the sticky mess he’s leaking over his happy trail. “Wanna see it right here, punching up inside you, filling you up so good.” Alex groans, pushing up into her hand and pushing his hips back onto her cock. “That’s it baby, fuck yourself for me, good boy.”

Alex is starting to get dizzy. The physical exertion and the immense pleasure and the tinge of pain and lack of hard on to channel everything into has him thrown off, and achingly desperate – obviously just how Y/N wants him. Then, without warning, the pressure on his cock disappears and it fills so rapidly it’s painful and without the chance to even think about asking for permission he’s cumming in long pulses, shooting up his chest and onto his lips and his chin. He thinks he screamed but he can’t be sure and then everything goes orange and red and splotchy, and then white.

Alex blinks awake in the semi-dark, the blue glow of Y/N’s laptop illuminating her baggy t-shirt and messy hair as she sits up in bed reading. It takes him a moment to orient himself, to remember how to move his fingers and toes but he finally manages to drag himself closer to Y/N.

“Hey there, sleepy head,” she grins down at him, and reaches out to stroke his hair off his forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“Completely dead,” Alex breathes. “In a good way,” he adds when he catches the tinge of worry flit across Y/N’s face. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, baby boy,” Y/N leans down and brushes his lips in a soft kiss. “So, you want to do that again?”

“Absolutely,” Alex sighs, snuggling into Y/N’s side and wrapping his arms around her like a teddy bear.

“Good,” Y/N pushes away her laptop and settles into the cuddle, curling up in Alex’s arms like a happy little spoon. “Because I’ve got some ideas.”

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[keeper0fthestars]

midnight cravings and other starry-eyed confessions

Frankie Morales x f!reader

summary: Frankie trusts you enough to let his guard down, to be vulnerable with you. Love languages and the messy emotions that go along with that, fluff, cheesy self-indulgence. this started out as a series of soft h/c and I have no idea what happened.  3K words later, here we are. A few of you have touched on domestic Frankie in the kitchen and it turns out i'm a sucker for the ‘slow dancing in the kitchen’ trope too. 

warnings: mentions of anxiety/PTSD, a tiny bit of smut 

~~ 

Francisco Morales is a man who notices everything. He tucks a blanket around you when you've fallen asleep on the couch. If you're outside together and if he sees goosebumps on your arms, he’ll drape his jacket around your shoulders before you even realize you're cold.

He notices when you're exhausted after a long day and he’ll be there to wrap his arms around you as if it’s what he’s been waiting for all day long. He makes you laugh when you need it most.

He notices when you're too tired to shower sometimes and he says, ‘babe, let me help you,’ and he gets in the shower with you and if you want him to, he'll wash your hair because he knows how. 

His tendency to do little things for you plays into one of his love languages. He notices when the fuel gauge on your car is low and he'll fill it up for you without saying anything. Not that you can't do it yourself, he knows you can, but the next time you get into your car, you'll try unsuccessfully to hide your smile when you discover he did it for you.

Frankie is a man who finds comfort in your nearness. 

If he finds you in the kitchen making coffee, two broad arms will wrap around you from behind. If he’s walking through a crowd with you, his hand will rest on the small of your back. If he's sitting beside you at a restaurant, if you're in the car with him, anywhere within arms reach, soft fingertips rest on the inside of your knee, his thumb moving back and forth. In the mornings, there are warm lips on your shoulder and ‘c’ mere baby’ as he folds you closer to that sleepy thick voice.

He'll drive across town on his day off to bring your favourite treat at work because he knows you have a stressful day ahead. 

If he's away for the week, he’ll stash away little notes for you to find. He'll surprise you with tickets to see your favourite singer.  When you’re under the weather, he'll show up on your doorstep after work with hot soup and honey ginger tea.  

He also knows he can count on you. 

It’s getting a single text at the end of the day with the words ‘I need you’  

It's the brittle sound of his voice against your neck in the middle of the night. You hold him and talk him down and fight his demons with him when it becomes too hard to do on his own. You never force him to talk about it. When he's ready, he'll tell you and right now, the way his fingers are absently tracing patterns on your bare arm tells you that his guard is down, in the darkness he trusts you. 

He’s getting used to the safety of your arms. He's slowly getting used to the way you pay attention; the way you listen, and actually hear what he's saying. He notices you're not just lying there, waiting to jump in and interrupt the moment he stumbles and falters. He's glad you can't see his eyes right now in the darkness of your bedroom, but at least his voice no longer shakes.

You've made a safe space for him inside your arms and underneath the blankets, he confides in you. He tells you that his neighbours think he’s lazy because he lets his front yard grow out of control when in reality, the smell of fresh-cut grass triggers his PTSD and that’s why he doesn't use the lawnmower as often as he should.

Two days later, he would come home from work to find it all done for him and it sends his heart reeling so hard he thinks he might collapse right there on the driveway.

No one's done anything like this for him before. The fact that you’d done that for him. The fact that you did that. For him.

You’ve just piled a week’s worth of freshly laundered clothes into a basket to be folded when there’s a knock on your door. Resting the basket on one hip, you swing the door open and see him standing there, still dressed in work clothes, sleeves rolled up, and hands in his pockets. He lifts the brim of his hat to reveal a pair of piercing eyes brimming with some desperate emotion you have no name for, his mouth parted slightly, chest caving in like the wind’s been knocked out of him. 

“Francisc-,” is all you manage before he wordlessly barrels in, capturing your waist in one arm so fast your stomach lurches. His other hand gently curves around the back of your neck, his thumb on your jaw, tenderly seizing your lips in a blinding kiss, smothering you, engulfing you with those broad shoulders. The basket of clothes tumbles to the tile floor in your tiny foyer, forgotten. Warm hands cover the expanse of your back as he holds onto you, your spine bending with the force of him. You hear his hat softly hit the floor as he inhales shakily against your neck like his throat is clogged.

Judging by how hard he’s struggling to control his breathing, you might be able to guess why he hasn’t let go of you yet. Melting into his embrace, you breathe him in, combing your fingers through his tousled hair. You smile against the swell of emotion stinging behind your eyelids. Struggling with a hitch in your own throat, your voice shrinks to nothing but a hoarse whisper, "you never have to do it again, okay."

“Thank you,” he manages in a watery voice, pushing his face into the bottom of your neck. Words fail him but not because he can't talk about his feelings, but because words are too simple to express the depth of emotion he has for you. When you're inside his arms, cradled against his chest, with his lips against your temple, you hear all the things he doesn't say out loud. 

**

His love language is handing you a bowl with two scoops of ice cream when you’d only asked for one. He rolls his eyes and kisses the corner of your mouth, ‘you never only want one’

It's tickle fights and sappy old movies and saving all the red m&m’s for you because those are your favourite. 

He's the man all your friends wish they had.

He's also the man that will casually rest his hand on your thigh under Santiago's crowded dinner table and secretly start tracing letters on your jeans, slowly spelling out what he wants to do to you afterwards. He is enjoying the fact that you're too distracted to finish eating now, and if you so much as look at him, he’ll stop. 

His love language is being in the kitchen late at night, dancing to an old playlist, your soft curves fitted into his solid frame. One of you had a craving for cookies and someone left them in the oven a bit too long and now they're a little too brown. But it’s not his fault that Andy Kim started singing from the tiny speaker on the table and Frankie needed every inch of you pressed against him and it still wasn’t enough. 

Maybe his jaw accidentally, on purpose, brushed the spot at the bottom of your neck that made goosebumps shiver down your arms. Maybe his mouth lingered on the skin behind your ear and trailed up across your cheekbone, nudging your face upward, his breath mingling with yours.

Maybe his mouth still tasted like the sweet ache of your first orgasm from earlier that evening when you’d left Santiago's place and Frankie couldn't unlock the door of his truck fast enough to nudge you back across the seat, his eyes all dark and hungry like he'd had this on his mind all day. And maybe he did. Maybe he'd parked here at the far end of the block on purpose knowing this dead-end would be dark and quiet at this time of night. His door swung wide, he’d stood between your legs on the broken pavement, using two fingers and a thumb to loosen the button on your jeans, a gruff edge to his voice, 'Lay down for me, baby.’

His mouth was slow and lazy but his hands were greedy, tugging your jeans down just to your knees, trapping your legs together and lifting them, bending his head underneath your knees, leaving just enough space between your legs for his mouth. 

When you finally do make it to his place, maybe you end up on the couch straddling his lap. 

The only thing better than the slide of your tongue in his mouth is the sweet stretch of you around his cock. He’s fairly certain nothing will ever exist beyond the flare in your eyes when he twitches inside you and he feels every snug inch of you clench tight and wet.  

‘...so fucking good for me’

You are unable to move beneath the solid weight of his hands on your hips, his grip on your supple thighs, where they press and dig and tease. He likes it when your fingers are lost in his overgrown curls. 

Something deep in his stomach blazes white and hot when you tell him how fucking good he makes you feel. Seated as deep as he can go, he rocks, fucking into you that much further, giving you the friction you need. He likes to bunch the thin fabric of your t-shirt in one fist, yanking it just high enough so he can see how hard your nipples are. 

He wants to chase the deafening arousal in his stomach when you beg him to ‘just please fuck you already.’ 

He grins, his breath hot, his voice like gravel right above your ear, 'gimme one more first'  

The sound of your muffled whimper against his mouth nearly sends him over the edge so he slips his thumb down, circling once, twice.  Your sharp gasp pulls all the air out of his mouth. He likes the sight of you falling apart; he doesn't even wait for you to come down this time because his favourite thing to do is fuck you through it. One solid hand anchoring your hip firmly in place, the other arm caged across your back, gripping the top of your shoulder for leverage, he finally gives you what you want. 

Eventually, you make it to the bed; his bare legs tangled with yours, his ear resting on your chest. The soothing echo of your heartbeat combined with your fingers sifting through his hair soothes every frayed edge inside his mind. 

He wants your scent in his bed forever. He wants to come home from work to see your car in his driveway; he wants your toothbrush next to his, he wants to go grocery shopping with you, he wants to fall asleep with you curled into him, he wants to wake up every morning and reach for your warmth and leave kisses on your shoulder not wanting to get out of bed. 

“Frankie,” you whisper. 

“Hmm?”

“I can hear you thinking.”

A soft puff of air escapes his nose, you see his sheepish smile as he nuzzles his face into your t-shirt, tracing his nose along your exposed clavicle. “Is that so?” 

"You can tell me," you offer.

He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow. He’s been laying on you so long that his hair is flattened on one side; there is a crease on his cheek from a seam on your t-shirt. 

He dips his head, craving the softness of your lips; not letting you read what’s on his glass face. In a slow succession of kisses one after another, I don’t want to live without you, he pours forever into your lungs, you’re everything.

His mouth is unhurried, his stubble tickling softly, and it sends you into a hazy half-awake state where breathing no longer matters. You are nothing without the weight of his body beside you, without the sweet warmth of his mouth, without the backs of his fingers tracing the bare skin at your waist.  How could you ever define the way you bloom under his touch? An entire lifetime could go by inside this moment, clinging to his ribs, with your hand against the rough side of his jaw, his forehead pressed against yours, and you’d happily allow it. 

All too soon he pulls away. It’s no small feat to open your eyes again but when you do, he’s watching you, his head slanted, one side of his mouth tilting upwards, the curve of it reaching his eye, making it crease. The look in his eyes makes your heart twist.  

“What was all that?” you stutter, surprised your voice even works after that.

His words are right there, taking up space in his mouth, he’s never been surer of anything in his life. Move in with me.

“Let's make cookies,” comes out instead.

Your eyes widen because you know he’s not joking. “NOW?” 

“You’re gonna say no to chocolate chip cookies,” he nips at your neck, unable to hide a smile, “really?”

“I don’t think you realize, my legs stopped working like two hours ago.”

“We don’t even have to bake them,” he sits up, throwing his t-shirt over his head, pulling his jeans over his bare ass. He bends down to kiss you again, that boyish grin working its magic. “We can just eat it outta the bowl with a spoon.”

“Fine, but I am not putting pants on.”  

“Even better.” 

He’s managed to keep his hands off you long enough to measure the butter and sugar and flour, and when he’s done mixing, you reach into the bowl for a taste, he tries to swat your hand away. But you're faster. 

Barely. 

"Wanna lick," teasing him, you twist away with a mouthful of cookie dough. There’s a high-pitched squeal as he snares your waist, pulling you back with frightening speed. 

The hand around your waist playfully digging while you squirm, the devious crinkle around his eyes a reminder that you are powerless against his quiet strength. The single thought sends a low tingle of arousal down your spine. 

With his free hand, he calmly reaches for the bowl on the counter.

"You were saying?" his voice like velvet, low and playful, one eyebrow quirked up, two of his fingers armed with playful retaliation and now you’re laughing so hard no sound is coming out.

"Hey…" you manage, between breathless giggles, ‘be nice,' struggling to hold his wrist away with both hands, trying to anticipate his next move, the wicked glint in his eyes sends another deep shiver down your back. 

"Ohhh," he hums, "I’ll be nice alrigh-," 

But you don’t give him a chance to finish the thought, distracting him with a wet swipe of your mouth along his bottom lip. 

He melts like a sugar cube on your tongue. 

Taking full advantage of the golden lapse where his brain stutters and stops before he chases your mouth, you pull his fingers into your mouth sucking every bit of sweetness onto your tongue. 

His gaze falls to your mouth, to his fingers buried to the first knuckle. 

Somewhere between his ‘fuck, you’re such a tease,’ and your ‘two can play this game, sweetheart,’ the walls of his tiny kitchen echo with laughter. At some point, he finally manages to cage you against the counter.

"Mm," he growls against your lips, "you taste like chocolate and sex." 

You very nearly lose yourself in the dark heat of his eyes.  "No babe, that’s you." 

Surprisingly enough, there's enough cookie dough left for a single pan. The light dusting of cocoa powder on his cheek currently matches the state of your kitchen and now you have twelve minutes to kill before you can take them out of the oven. Leaving the bowls in the sink, he pulls you against him again. 

'C’mere, it’s a good song, dance with me’ and well, you're now occupied with the lingering taste of his tongue inside your mouth and you, just, sort of, forget to set the oven timer.

At some point, the small of your back bumps against the wall, your hands tracing the smooth length of his back underneath his t-shirt, slipping down into the back pockets of his jeans, a brand new ache already throbbing where the bulge of his zipper pins you in place, his soft little moan, hotter than sin. You feel him twitch against the seam of your panties, his fingers blindly finding the warm skin under your shirt, cupping the weight of bare breasts, thumbs scraping, teasing. The whole world fades away when his eyes darken like this. 

The digital clock on the coffee machine blinks into single digits and you find yourselves sitting on the floor, backs against the cupboards, catching your breath. At some point, the oven was shut off, oven mitts were involved, and you'll never be able to look at double chocolate chip cookies the same way again. Leaning heavily on his shoulder, one bare leg still splayed over his, it takes considerable effort to keep your eyes open. When you look up, there is a tender ache in your chest at the sight of Frankie's mussed hair and permanently flushed cheeks, his eyes drowsy and sweet, shining with a gentleness that takes your breath away. 

He lifts your hand, bringing your knuckles to his warm lips, before ducking down and capturing your mouth with his.  Your throat fills with a fierce rush of pastel pink words. Foolish words like always and forever, sugary blossoms that dissolve on your tongue, permeating your bloodstream, swapping your heart for a glowing blissful mess. You want to tell him. You want to tell him you cannot live without him. 

Holding a glass of milk, he assures you around a mouthful of cookie still warm from the baking pan, "if you dunk the cookie in the milk long enough, you can barely tell they’re burnt."

And it's fucking perfect.

~~ 

#francisco morales #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales #soft frankie hours #pedro pascal #frankie morales smut #fluff #love languages #domestic frankie is utter fucking bliss #self indulgent daydreams ftw #you best believe frankie makes cookies from scratch like his grandma taught him #tw: anxiety #tw: ptsd #anxiety #ptsd #look i know this is kinda shitty but maybe if i clear this out of my head it would make room for NEW STUFF #*sigh* #wouldn't that be grand #*cries into the void* #so i'm just gonna drop this here before I change my mind #*c.txt #*mine: writing

[sumsebien]

by design pt.1//Prince Friedrich

prologue // series masterlist

summary: the journey from london to sanssouci is long. what will y/n and friedrich do with all this free time?

word count: 3.4k

warnings: none

a/n: hello i am sorry for being so late with this one. the next ones will also be a little further apart than you’ve come to expect from my last series but i think this quality-wise will be improved (hopefully)

The carriage was spacious enough so that Friedrich could sit without bumping his knees against whoever sat in front of him. Right now, that was you. Heinrich was next to Friedrich, briefing him about the itinerary for the day. And Friedrich tried to pay attention. He really did but his eyes kept landing on you every couple of seconds. 

You sat quietly. Your face turned away from them as you gazed out of the windows. But then, he heard the faintest of sniffles. He turned to Heinrich. His valet stopped talking. 

And then, he heard it again. This time, Heinrich heard it as well, laying the map down in his lap. Their eyes directed towards you. 

You were crying. 

The two men gave each other a look. 

Friedrich hadn’t a clue what to do. He could not recall the last time he had had to comfort someone in distress. He figured it was because a Prince was not the most ideal person for people to confide in. 

Heinrich, on the other hand, had three little sisters. Therefore, he was way more knowledgeable. He nudged the Prince’s shoulder, tipping his head towards your figure and mouthed ‘Do something!’

Friedrich shrugged. ‘What?’

‘Just do something!’ 

The silent conversation and stern looks Heinrich threw him forced a few words out of his mouth. All of them formed without any forethought. “My lady, would you like a handkerchief?”

His voice startled you. You quickly wiped the back of your hand under your eyes and shook your head. “I’m alright. Just something in my eyes,” you said, a weak smile on your face. 

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, a little bit too quickly for someone who was actually telling the truth. “It’s just been a long day. That’s all.” 

You thought they didn’t notice or perhaps at the least would ignore it if they did. You obviously thought wrong. How you wish you could swing the window open and flap away. 

It was a completely normal thing that all girls must go through at one point. You should be thinking of yourself as lucky even. The ladies of the ton would happily die to be you right now, moving to Prussia with your husband, the Prince. That was what you kept telling yourself.

Tears began to prick at your eyes again as you thought about a life that was foreign in every sense of the word. 

Maybe life in London was not all that bad. Sure there was a certain face you had to keep up at all times but at least there was your best friend Olivia. You never thought you could ever miss the horrible balls and tea parties, the cruel gossip and the contemptuous looks. But as London disappeared behind you, the thought of never returning frightened you. 

You inhaled a shallow breath, afraid of alarming the Prince and his valet. They probably thought you weak and pitiful now. 

“Shall I get you a blanket? We still have quite the journey,” said the Prince. 

You shook your head, not even dreaming of requesting anything from him. “I will just admire the countryside for now. Don’t worry about me.”

You promised yourself that you would stay awake. One of the things your mother managed to say to you in the carriage ride to the abbey was to not fall asleep as “it might put your husband off” in her exact words. She always made it a point to tell you just how ungraceful you looked when you were sleeping. And perhaps you should take her advice. The last thing you would want is for your husband to find you ungraceful just after your wedding ceremony. 

Of course, not long after that, you fell asleep. 

When you woke up, everything was pitch black. The last thing you remembered was trying to keep your eyes open. But the repetitive sights and the quiet droning of the Prince’s valet made it too difficult to resist giving in to the heaviness weighing on your eyelids. 

As you blinked and regained your vision, you noticed that you were alone in the carriage. The blinds had been drawn on all windows. You felt yourself panic. Was something wrong? Where was everyone? 

As you began to think up millions of ways the trip could have gone wrong, the possibility of a raid came up.

You drew a shaky breath and moved. That was when you realized that you had someone’s coat covering you this whole time. You held it up to the little sliver of light peaking through the curtains and recognized the navy blue color. It was the Prince’s. 

Just as you were holding the coat, the door was opened. You nearly froze when you saw Heinrich on the other side. 

“Your Highness,” he bowed, “you’re awake.”

The title threw you in a bit of a loop in your drowsy state. It took you a moment longer to realize that he was referring to you. It was going to take a while to adjust. 

You masked the initial shock by clearing your throat. “Yes. What time is it?”

“It’s 9 pm, ma’am. Would you like to board the ship now?”

You nodded, picking up your skirt and making your way down the steps. He took the coat for you and held your hand to help you. 

“You should wear this, your Highness. It’s a little bit cold.” 

The night breeze sent goosebumps up your arms and you carefully draped his coat back on, now noticing the citrusy scent clinging onto it. You held onto the lapels of the coat and followed Heinrich. 

The sailing ship was anchored just by the dock, a couple of steps away from where the carriages stopped. It was an absolute beast with towering sails for wings, a strong body made of wood and a long pointy bow spirit as a fearsome horn. The sails flapped in the wind, wanting to stretch free of its frames and fly off into the night sky.

As you and Heinrich made your way up the stairs to the main deck, you could hear the commotion happening before you could see it. Thumping footsteps, shouts and grunts as the crew got ready to set sail. 

They did not care that you were here and you liked that. Being invisible was nice. Heinrich, however, did not enjoy it as much. He seemed a bit anxious to have you witness all of this and quickly led you away from all the noises down one flight of stairs. You could still hear heavy footsteps but they were muffled, less prominent than before now that you were one floor below. 

The air heavy with moisture and salt filled your lungs as you made your way down a lengthy and narrow hallway. Not too far away stood two ladies. Heinrich confirmed that it was in fact your room. 

“These are your lady’s maids-Lea and Ilse. Should you need anything, they shall help you.”The girls curtsied at the sight of you and each nodded at the mention of their names. 

You studied their faces, trying to cling to certain features so that you would not forget their names. Both of them had perfectly combed blonde hair, although instead of just a simple bun, Ilse’s hairdo was a little more intricate with the way she wrapped her hair. Lea was a little taller and seemed a little tougher than Ilse with her strong eyebrows and tall gait. Ilse, on the other hand, was bright-eyed and more youthful, reminding you of Olivia. 

“Thank you, Heinrich.”

He nodded and bowed his head. But before he could walk away, you called him, prompting him to spin around again. 

“May I ask where the Prince is?”

“His Royal Highness is speaking to the captain of the ship, ma’am. Should you like me to call for him?”

You shook your head firmly. “No, thank you.”

When he was out of sight, you suddenly remembered you were still wearing the Prince’s coat. But he had gone too far for you to call him back again now. 

You sighed quietly, turning to face the door. Reaching out your hand, you were just about grab the doorknob but found that Lea was already there too. 

“Oh, I’m sorry!” you held your hands up to your chest, allowing her to open the door. 

“It’s alright, your Highness,” she said with a smile. 

You took a moment to admire the room before you. Almost everything was made from walnut wood-the walls, the floors, the furniture, covering the whole room in a rich chocolate brown color. The candles washed the room in a soft orange glow, accentuating the warm earthy tones and setting a completely different mood from the shivering wet deck. 

You wandered inside, running your hand along the wall panels, delighting in the little crevices on the surface. 

“I hope you don’t mind. We’ve drawn you a bath, your Highness,” Ilse said. 

You shook your head. “No, of course not. Thank you.”

“Would you like us to assist you with your dress, ma’am?”

You shook your head. “I shall be quite fine. You can take your break now, ladies.” 

You expected the two of them to leave right away. After all, it had been a very lengthy day and even though you intended on getting to know the both of them, now was simply not the time for sharing childhood tales. But they lingered on by the door, prompting a “Yes?” from you. 

“Would you like supper brought to you, ma’am?” Lea asked. 

“I can do that?”

Both of them nodded, probably finding you the oddest lady they had ever served. 

“Well, if it is not too much trouble, I’d love it.” 

The girls curtsied and left the room. 

Now completely alone, you let out a long, tired sigh. It was a terrible habit of yours and you were well aware. You always thought too much whenever amd wherever you could, especially when you were left on your own. Your mind instantly ran over every little detail, picking out anything that might have left a bad impression on your new husband and staff members. 

There were simply too many. 

With a sigh, you shrugged the coat off of your shoulders, carefully placing it on the bed. If you must admit, you missed the comforting weight of it on your shoulders and the faint smell of orange and cinnamon. You then thought of him. The Prince. 

For reasons unknown, you felt intimidated by him. So far he had been nothing but kind and he had done nothing that could warrant such a feeling. 

Something inside you just wished you would not disappoint him like you did your parents. It was difficult because you had no idea what his expectations were of you. All you knew was that Miss Bridgerton was who he really wanted. And if that was the goal, you found yourself far from ever reaching it. You might have been born into a higher born family but you lacked the charm that she had. She was always the older ladies’ favorite when they were small. Even now, she had the favor of everyone she met. 

You prepared different conversational topics for when he would come into the room eventually. There was nothing less attractive than a tone-deaf lady and you made sure political icebreakers were left far far away for the night. Maybe you could talk about the weather or music. They seemed to be perfectly proper matters of discussion for a lady. Far better than overly formal issues currently happening.

The bath you took wasn’t as relaxing as you had hoped for. Not even the slight sear of the water and the faint lavender scent could rid your mind of thoughts. You decided not to sit for long, your legs growing a bit restless in the water. Just as you finished tying your dress robes, you heard a knock and a voice from behind the door. 

“Your Highness! We’ve brought you supper!” 

“Yes. Come in!” you called. 

At the sound of approval, your maids brought in a tray with silver dish covers on top. They opened the covers for you, revealing a piece of steaming roasted salmon and pudding. You then realized that you were starving. The piece of bread you managed to shove into your mouth earlier today was definitely long gone. 

“Would you like some wine, your Highness?” Lea asked. 

You shook your head. All you wanted was to sit down and eat everything. And as helpful as they had been, their questions at this moment was not. “No thank you. This shall be perfect.”

“Should we bring you more food?” Ilse added. 

“No. I am happy with this. Thank you.” 

They finally left. But you had barely sit down when there came another knock on the door. You groaned to yourself. Again? 

“What?” you poked your head out, expecting your maids and more questions. But the last time you saw them they didn’t wear blue and there were certainly two of them. 

Oh crap. 

 It was the Prince of Prussia. 

Blush crept onto your cheeks as you became aware of your curtness. “Your Highness!” 

He had his brows raised at the curious sight of you poking only your head out, leaning against the door rather inelegantly. He stepped away almost immediately. “Oh, am I interrupting you? I apologize-“ 

“No! I apologize, your Highness. Would-would you like to come in?” You stood up straight, opening the door a little wider. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest, wishing to break free from your ribcage.

He shook his head. “I am just here to ask you if everything was alright.” 

He didn’t want to come in?

“I am alright. Thank you for asking, your Highness.”

He cleared his voice. “Good. Well, it’s been a long day for you. You should get some rest. There will be a lot more traveling for tomorrow.” 

“Oh thank you. So should you. Oh-and before I forget.”

You disappeared into the room. In the meantime, Friedrich managed to catch a quick glimpse of your room. He had assigned the largest one to you, his was half the size. But it did not matter where he was. After all, he wanted the best for his bride, no matter who she was. 

You appeared again moments later, thanking him for lending the coat to you. He held his coat in the crook of his elbow. “Good night.”

You leaned against the door, your back landing on the surface with a dull thump. You were relieved that he didn’t come in because you were not ready at all. Yet, you could not help but feel the clouds of dread forming over you. Was he being thoughtful or did he want nothing to do with you? 

...

The next morning when Lea and Ilse came into the room, you could practically hear their thoughts. 

Lea was a bit better at hiding her surprise while Ilse had to look away, turning to the curtains for an escape. As they got you ready, they distracted you with their millions of questions about what you would like for your hair, your dress and your food. But what all three of you were thinking about was the reason why you were alone on your wedding night. 

“Do you know where the Prince is?” you asked, finally tired of dancing around the topic. 

Ilse gasped, no longer brushing your hair. “Your Highness, was he not here?” 

“Ilse, I mean no offense but you are a terrible liar.” 

Your comment made Lea choke back a laugh. Meanwhile, Ilse’s face grew bright red as she began to comb your hair again, laughing quietly. “I apologize, your Highness. I just cannot see why he wasn’t here with you. You’re beautiful!” 

“Well, I don’t think he likes me very much.”  

“I don’t think that is the case, your Highness. Maybe you just don’t know each other,” Lea added, putting on a diamond necklace for you. “You still have plenty of time for that until you arrive at the palace.” 

Perhaps she was right. But whether right or wrong, you felt some weight lifted off your shoulders. You felt that way with Olivia too, back in London. It gave us great comfort to know that at the very least you and your lady’s maids would get along perfectly fine.

“Will you two be with me then?” 

“Of course!” Ilse assured you, placing the comb down, happy with how your hair looked. “Right, Lea?”

“Yes and there will be another lady too. Your chief of staff.” 

You had finished getting ready but your appearance was the last thing on your mind right now. You turned in your chair, curious as to how the Prussian court worked. “Oh?” 

Ilse was more than glad to pass around the gossip. “Rumors have it that the King had someone in mind for you. But we left before he made the decision. I bet Heinrich knows.” 

...

It was definitely not a good time to ask questions. 

When you and your maids got off of the ship onto French soil by noon, there were new carriages that awaited you. Just as you were marveling at the beautiful paintings on the side of the carriages and the gold ornate trims on the wheels, your attention was quickly drawn to the people standing next to the largest carriage at the front. 

It was the Prince and Heinrich.

They were in quite a heated discussion when they noticed you looking and promptly paused their conversation. 

“Your Highness,” Heinrich bowed. 

You looked between the two of them, sensing the tension but did not dare ask for the reason. The Prince offered his hand and helped you into the carriage wordlessly. 

Outside of the window, Heinrich got on horse, charging away before your carriage even began to move. It was awfully curious. 

“Did you sleep well?”

You tore your eyes away from the window, deciding to focus on him instead. Inside of the carriage, the Prince was a completely different person than he was a mere second ago. He was sighing, his brows knitted, his hands waving about as he spoke to his valet about very important matters surely. But now, he had a friendly grin on his lips, his gaze soft as he engaged in small talk with you. 

“Yes. Thank you for asking, your Highness.”

That made him laugh. You did not know just what it was that he should be laughing about though. “You know, you do not have to call me that.”

“I-I don’t?”

He shook his head. “Call me Friedrich. We are husband and wife, after all.”

You nodded. “Well, then, please call me Y/N.”

“We have a deal.” 

Silence fell on the two of you after that. 

Friedrich looked out of the window, observing the French countryside in the distance, the sound of waves crashing ashore was mere memories now.

You had always been a little impatient in these awkward pauses, never quite sure what to do. You had been rehearsing for this moment in the bathroom yesterday. But perhaps going by a first-name basis gave you the boost of confidence you needed to be the one to break the silence, without the help of scripted conversations.

“Is Heinrich not joining us?” 

Friedrich shook his head. “He will meet us at the train station. There was just a little something that needed to be checked.” 

As soon as he said it, he regretted it. 

“Is there anything wrong?” 

“Just a mix-up with the train schedules. No need to worry though. We will just have to switch the rooms around a bit.”

That was a lie. And you’d find out the truth eventually when you got to the train station. Heinrich seemed pale as a ghost when he saw you and Friedrich emerge from the carriages, rushing towards the both of you. He did not seem to mind that you were there to listen, frantically speaking. “Your Highness, the state train is not coming.” 

“When did this happen?”

“I just checked. Apparently, they cancelled it from Potsdam.”

You had no idea what was happening but from the sigh leaving Friedrich’s lips you knew it was not good news at all. 

“So we’ll take the standard then?”

“I am afraid so, sir.”

It was exactly what he had feared. 

His father was mad and now that they were about to enter Prussia, there was no escaping his wrath. Friedrich did not mind, in particular. He was quite used to his father’s tantrums by now.  

Whenever his father lost, he would make sure no one could win. 

When Friedrich made the decision to marry you in England, he had prepared himself to face the King once they arrived at the Berlin Palace. He just felt bad for you having to get the wrong end of the stick because of him. 

“I apologize,” he said, “I am afraid there is no other way.” 

You waved your hand. “It is fine. I don’t think it is a big deal at all. I shall be good with anything.”

“Heinrich, see to it that you book her highness the room. I’ll sit where ever.”

You held up your hand. “Wait, excuse me?”

“There is only one room on the standard train, ma’am.” 

“I-I will sit with my maids. I can’t-”

Heinrich looked to the Prince who was looking at you, his lips parted. 

He shook his head furiously. “You are the Princess of Prussia. I will not allow you to sit in the back.” 

There was only one solution. 

Simple and straightforward to all of your current troubles. Friedrich did not want to suggest, he knew you were forced into this mess as much as he was. He was not going to make you do anything. And he was quite ready to sit with his staff, giving you your privacy when out of the blue...

“Then-then we’ll share the room.” 

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