๐ฎ ๐๐ฒ๐ฑ | she/her, chaotic, virgo, autistic, 18+
โ a multifandom space for morally grey characters, emotional damage, obsession, and complex characters.
๐๐๐จ๐ฎ๐ญ ๐๐ก๐ข๐ฌ ๐๐ฅ๐จ๐
I write x reader fics, headcanons, for emotionally complex, gritty, or broken characters and the people who love (or survive) them.
๐ ๐๐ฅ๐จ๐ ๐๐ญ๐๐ญ๐ฎ๐ฌ
โ requests: OPEN (for birthday event)
โ ask games: sometimes
โ updates: mostly everyday?
๐ this blog explores mature/dark themes.
๐ฎ ๐๐๐ฏ๐ข๐ ๐๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง
โ masterlist (organized by fandom)
โ requests & rules
โ masterlist II
โ fandoms
๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ซ ๐ ๐๐ฏ๐จ๐ซ๐ข๐ญ๐๐ฌ
โ the new favorite (femalemechanic!reader x sons of anarchy)
โ Clingy Carmen (carmen berzatto x female reader)
โ how the supernatural characters show their affection
โ How the spn characters react to finding out they have feelings
โ How the Sons react to someone hitting on you
๐ค wanna get shipped/matched up with someone?
๐๐๐ฏ๐๐ง๐ญ๐ฌ โ until august 30th 2026!
UNWRAPPED.
Pick your present. Add your bow. Receive your surprise. Itโs my birthday soon, which means Iโm once again i'm giving you presents! You get to pick a wrapped present, add a bow, choose a character, and Iโll write you a drabble/oneshot as your gift.
I'm requesting a red present + a gold bow + Chibs.
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title; about time
pairing; chibs telford x fem!reader
prompt;ย red present (suggestive) + gold bow (mutual pining)
You know better than to look at him like that.
Chibs Telford had a way of existing in a room that made the air feel heavier. The scars, the accent that curled around every word like smoke, the quiet weight of a man whoโd seen too much and still chose to keep standing.
Youโd told yourself a hundred times that you and he were from too vastly different worlds. That you were just the one who kept the books straight, fixed the coffee, and stayed out of the way when things got bloody. You thought looking at him the way you did was a private, stupid habit you could control.
You were wrong.
It started small. The way his eyes found yours across the clubhouse when no one else was watching, how heโd linger a second longer when you handed him a beer, fingers brushing yours like an accident that never quite felt accidental. The way his voice dropped when he said your name, low and rough, like it belonged in a different kind of conversation entirely.
You told yourself it was nothing; he didnโt mean it the way your brain wanted him to.
But some nights, when the party had thinned out, and the music was just a distant thump, youโd catch him watching you. Arms crossed, cigarette burning low between his fingers, that unreadable look on his face that made your stomach twist. Youโd look away first every time because if you didnโt, you were afraid of what might happen next.
He never pushed; that was the worst part. He justโฆ waited. Like he already knew.
But tonight was different.
Youโd stayed later than usual, helping clean up after a particularly loud club party. Most of the guys had either passed out or taken someone home. The clubhouse was quiet in that rare, almost peaceful way it only ever managed after midnight.
You were wiping down the bar when you felt him behind you.
โYouโre still here,โ he said, voice quiet, Scottish burr rough from laughter with the guys tonight.
โSomeone has to make sure this place doesnโt burn down.โ You mused softly with amusement.
A soft huff of laughter came from him, along with the soft scrape of a stool being pulled closer. You finally looked to see him sitting there like he belonged in that exact spot, elbows on the wood, watching you with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. The scars along his face caught the low light. His eyes, dark and steady, didnโt look away.
โYouโve been avoidinโ me,โ he said, almost knowingly.
You set the rag down. โIโve been busy-.โ
โAye. Busy lookinโ at me when you think Iโm not watchinโ.โ
Heat crawled up your neck as you opened your mouth to deny it, but the words wouldnโt come because he wasnโt wrong.
He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping even lower. โIโve been doinโ the same. For months now. Keep tellinโ myself itโs a bad idea. That youโre too good for this life. For me.โ His gaze flicked down to your mouth, then back up. โDoesnโt stop me wantinโ you, though.โ
The honesty of it hit harder than any flirtation could have. You felt it settle between your ribs, warm and dangerous.
โIโm not askinโ for anything youโre not willinโ to give,โ he said, quieter still. โBut Iโm tired of pretendinโ I donโt feel it every time youโre in the same room. Tired of watchinโ you walk away and pretendinโ it doesnโt matter.โ
You could almost hear your own heartbeat. The clubhouse felt too small, too quiet, like the walls themselves were listening.
You stepped closer. Just one step. Close enough to catch the faint scent of smoke, leather, and something uniquely him. Close enough that when he reached out, slow and careful, his fingers brushed the side of your wristโnot grabbing, just resting there, warm and solid.
โIโve been waiting for you to look at me like that and mean it,โ you told him, the words barely above a whisper.
Something in his expression shifted and softened. The usual hard edge of the road and the club eased just enough to let something else through. Something that looked a lot like relief.
His hand slid up, cupping the side of your face with a gentleness that didnโt match the scars or the life he lived. His thumb brushed your cheekbone once, then again, like he was memorizing the feel of you.
โThen stop waitinโ,โ he murmured.
You leaned in at the same time he did. The kiss was slow, careful at first, like both of you were afraid of breaking whatever fragile thing had finally been allowed to exist. Then it deepened, his other hand finding your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. You felt the quiet sound he made against your mouth, low and rough, and it sent a shiver straight down your spine.
When you finally pulled back, just far enough to breathe, his forehead rested against yours. His eyes were closed for a second, like he was grounding himself.
โAbout fuckinโ time,โ he stated, the smile in his voice soft and private.
You laughed under your breath, fingers curling into the front of his cut. โYeah. It was.โ
Tomorrow the club would wake up with its usual noise and chaos. But for right now, in the quiet of the empty clubhouse, Chibs was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered, and for the first time, you didnโt look away.
Hi! Could I get a blue present with a white bow for Juice please. Also, I love your writing!!๐
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title; jealousy, jealousy
pairing; juice ortiz x fem!reader
prompt;ย blue present (hurt/comfort) + white bow (jealousy)
You'd been nursing the same half-empty beer for twenty minutes, leaning against the far end of the bar while the clubhouse thumped with music and loud voices. Juice was somewhere in the mixโusually he stuck close, but tonight he'd been pulled into a conversation with Happy and Bobby about a run.
You didn't mind; you liked watching him like this, easy in his skin among the brothers, excitable grin on his face, and the way his hands moved when he talked.
Then some new prospect, all tall, cocky, and reeking of cheap cologne, slid up beside you as if he belonged there.
"Seen you around," he said, eyes dragging over you in a way that made your skin crawl. "Juice's old lady, right? He's a lucky bastard."
You gave him a flat look. "I'm not interested."
He didn't take the hint as his hand landed on the small of your back, fingers pressing just a little too firmly. "C'mon, just talk to me. I can be real nice-"
You shoved his hand away. "I said no."
The prospect's smile tightened as he leaned in closer, and that was when Juice appeared.
He didn't raise his voice; he didn't need to. One second the prospect was crowding you; the next Juice had him by the collar, dragging him back three hard steps until the guy's back hit the wall.
"You touch her again," Juice said, low and flat, "and I'll put you in the ground myself. You understand me?"
The prospect's face went pale as he nodded quickly. Juice let him go with a shove that sent him stumbling toward the door. A few of the guys glanced over, then looked away. Happy nodded to Juice for handling business.
Juice turned back to you; his eyes were dark, jaw tight, the muscle in his cheek ticking. He reached for your wrist, gentle but insistent, and steered you out the side door into the cooler night air of the lot.
The door swung shut behind you, muffling the noise. "You okay?" His voice was rough and irritated.
You nodded anyway, not wanting him to get any more upset, even though your pulse was still jumping. "I'm fine. He was just being an asshole."
Juice's hands flexed at his sides as he looked at you like he was trying to decide whether to pull you in or punch something. "He put his hands on you. I saw it."
"Juice-"
"I don't like it." The words came out sharp, then softer, almost ashamed. "I don't like other guys looking at you like that. Touching you. Makes me feelโฆ I don't know. Crazy." He dragged a hand through his short mohawk, the way he always did when he was wound up. "I know it's not fair. You're not property. But every time someone gets near you, I want to-" He cut himself off, shaking his head.
You stepped closer, seeing the jealousy sit on him like a weight, and under it you could see the worry, the protectiveness that always lived just beneath his skin. You reached up and cupped his face, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw.
"Hey. Look at me." He did, and the hard edge in his eyes softened the second they met yours.
"I'm right here," you tell him firmly. "I'm yours. That guy doesn't matter. Nobody does. Only you matter to me."
Juice exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for minutes. His hands came up to your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt, pulling you in until your chests touched. He rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed.
"I hate that I get like this," he murmured. "Hate that it makes me feel weak. But when I saw his hand on youโฆ" His voice cracked a little. "Scared the shit out of me. Thought for a second I might lose you."
You slid your arms around his neck, holding him tighter. "You're not losing me. Not ever."
He made a small sound, like both relief and hunger, then kissed you. It started soft and careful, then deepened when you opened for him. One of his hands slid up your back, anchoring you against him like he needed the contact to believe you were still here, still safe, still choosing him.
When he finally pulled back, his breathing was uneven. He pressed a softer kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your temple. "Come home with me," he said. "I justโฆ I need you close tonight. Need to know you're okay."
You nodded, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. "I'm okay because of you. No doubt the guys will give him shit for this. He'll probably be cleaning the toilet in a thong if Tig gets a hold of him."
Juice's arms tighten around you one more time, like he was still chasing the last of the fear out of his system, letting out a breathy laugh. "Poor kid." He snorted with a small laugh.
Lacing your fingers together, he led you toward his bike. The jealousy still lingered in the set of his shoulders, but the worst of it had burned off, replaced by something quieter. Something that felt a lot like need, so you let him keep you close all the way home.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! ๐ฅณ Can i have a pink present + white bow for jackson teller please ๐
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title; eyes on me
pairing; jax teller x fem!reader
prompt;ย pink present (fluff) + white bow (jealousy)
You feel the bass from the clubhouse speakers vibrating up through the soles of your boots before you even push open the door. Charmingโs summer heat clings to your skin, but inside the clubhouse the air is thick with cigarette smoke, leather, and the low rumble of laughter.
Jax is already at the bar, one elbow propped on the scratched wood, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand. His cut hangs open over a black tee, the presidentโs patch catching the light every time he shifts. He doesnโt turn when you walk in, but you see the way his shoulders ease the second your boots hit the floorboards.
โTook you long enough,โ he says, voice rough and warm. He finally looks over, blue eyes dragging slowly from your boots up to your face. That familiar half-smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. โMissed you.โ
You slide onto the stool beside him, close enough that your thigh presses against his. His hand finds your knee under the bar like it belongs there, thumb stroking once, lazy and possessive. You order a beer, and a prospect nods from behind the taps and slides it over without a word.
Everything feels easy for a while. Jax tells you about the run that went smoother than expected, about how Abel is already trying to climb the porch railing like heโs got somewhere important to be. You laugh, soft, and lean into his side. His arm settles around your waist, heavy and solid, and for a few minutes the clubhouse noise fades into background static.
Then the front door swings open again, and she walks in.
You donโt know her name. Blonde, tight jeans, a smile that lands on Jax like sheโs practiced it. She drifts over to the group of prospects near the pool table, but her eyes keep sliding back to the bar. To him. Jax doesnโt notice at firstโheโs still talking to you, fingers absently tracing circles on your hipโbut you notice.
The way she laughs a little too loud when someone cracks a joke, the way she keeps angling her body so sheโs in his line of sight.
Something hot and tight coils low in your stomach.
Jaxโs hand stills as he glances down at you, then follows your gaze. The blonde catches him looking and gives a little wave, bold as anything. His jaw tightens for half a second before he turns fully back to you, deliberately putting his back to her. โHey.โ His voice drops. โEyes on me.โ
You try for a cool shrug like you weren't mentally planning her demise. โWas just looking.โ
โBullshit.โ He stands, crowding you against the bar without ever raising his voice. One hand braces beside your hip, the other tips your chin up so you have to meet those storm-blue eyes. โYou think I give a shit about anyone else in this place when youโre sitting right here?โ
The jealousy still burns, but itโs starting to twist into something softer under the weight of his attention. You open your mouth to answer, and he kisses you insteadโslow, thorough, the kind of kiss that says mine without needing the word. His free hand slides into your hair, tilting your head just the way he likes, and the rest of the clubhouse might as well have disappeared.
When he pulls back, youโre both breathing a little harder. Jax rests his forehead against yours, voice low enough that only you can hear it.
โI spent half the afternoon thinking about getting back here so I could do that. So I could get my hands on you. You really think some girl I donโt even know is gonna change that?โ
You shake your head, the last of the tension melting out of your shoulders. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, gentle in a way that still surprises you sometimes.
โGood.โ He presses another kiss to the corner of your mouth, softer this time. โBecause Iโm taking you home after this drink, and Iโm not sharing you with anyone. Not even the idea of anyone.โ
You finish the beer faster than usual, and Jax stays pressed against your side the whole time, arm locked around you like heโs making a point to the entire room. When you finally slide off the stool, he follows, fingers laced with yours, and the blondeโs eyes track you both all the way to the door as she scoffs.
Outside, the night air is cooler as Jax walks you to his bike, then turns and cages you against the seat with both arms, kissing you again until youโre smiling against his mouth.
โStill jealous?โ he murmurs.
You tip your head back to look at him, the streetlights catching the silver in his hair. โA little.โ
He grins, that rare, real one that softens his whole face. โGood. Means youโre still mine.โ
He swings a leg over the bike and waits for you to climb on behind him. Your arms slide around his waist, cheek resting between his shoulder blades. The engine rumbles to life beneath you, and as Charmingโs streets blur past, you feel the last of the jealousy dissolve into something warm and steady.
You sit on the edge of your car hood under a sky thick with stars, the metal still warm from the dayโs drive. The bunker is only a few miles behind you, but the quiet out here feels necessary. You needed air, needed space that didnโt smell like old books and gun oil, away from the brothers bitching at each other again over a case.
The gravel shifts behind you, but you donโt have to look to know who it is.
Castiel stops a few feet away, trench coat hanging open, tie slightly crooked the way it always is when heโs been thinking too hard. His head tilts, that familiar, searching expression, as if the universe itself just whispered something he needs to understand.
โYou left without saying anything,โ he states. His voice is low, rough around the edges from disuse.
โI just needed a minute.โ
He steps closer, and the air changes when he does, like the pressure drops, like the night itself is holding its breath. You feel it in your chest first: a soft, steady pull, warm and insistent. Itโs been there for weeks, quiet and persistent, but tonight itโs louder.
Castielโs eyes widen a fraction; he feels it too.
โI have known the shape of every soul I have ever touched,โ he says quietly. โI have rebuilt them. I have watched them break. But yoursโฆโ He trails off, searching for words the way he still sometimes does. โYours feels like a place I have always been meant to return to.โ
You swallow softly; the bond between you isnโt loud or dramatic. It doesnโt demand; it simply existsโsteady, certain, like a heartbeat youโve only just learned to listen for.
Soulmates.
The word feels too small and too vast at the same time.
Castiel reaches out, then hesitates, hand hovering near yours. You close the distance yourself, threading your fingers through his. His skin feels warm, always warmer than it should be.
โI do not understand all of it yet,โ he admits. โThe way your presence settles something in me I did not know was restless. The way I can find you in a room full of people without looking. The way the world feelsโฆ quieter when you are near.โ
You smile, soft. โYouโre not the only one who feels it.โ
He studies your face like heโs memorizing it all over again. Then, carefully, he lifts your joined hands and presses his forehead to your knuckles; the gesture is so gentle it nearly undoes you.
โI have spent so long fighting,โ he murmurs against your skin. โFor Heaven. For the Winchesters. For free will. I never expected to be given something this soft.โ
You free one hand and rest it against his cheek, and he leans into the touch immediately, eyes drifting shut for a moment. The bond between you hums, content.
โYou donโt have to fight for this,โ you tell him. โItโs already yours.โ
Castiel opens his eyes, and thereโs something almost vulnerable in them, an angel who has seen the birth and death of stars looking at you like you are the only miracle that ever mattered.
He steps closer until the space between you disappears. One arm slips around your waist, careful and reverent. You rest your head against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of rain and something uniquely him. His hand settles at the small of your back, thumb moving in slow, absent circles.
Above you, the stars keep shining, indifferent and endless, but down here, Castiel holds you like the universe finally got something right.
โStay,โ he says, so quietly it almost isnโt a request. โJust a little longer.โ
You nod against his coat. โIโm not going anywhere.โ
His arms tighten, just enough to say everything the words canโt. The bond settles deeper, warm and sure, wrapping around both of you like a promise neither of you has to speak aloud.
For the first time in a long time, the night feels gentle.
May I please have a black present, with a bow of your choice? For Pope Cody? Please?
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title; i fixed it
pairing; pope cody x fem!reader
prompt;ย black present (dark romance) + silver bow (yandere)
a.n; thank you for being my first pope requst but also letting me choose the bow! he just gives off yandere vibes to me??
You never should have come to Oceanside.
Thatโs what you tell yourself every time Pope Codyโs eyes find yours across a room. That heavy, unblinking stare that feels less like looking and more like being claimed. The rest of the Codys talk too loud, laugh too hard, move through the world like they own it. Pope doesnโt need to. He just watches. And once he decided you were his, the watching never stopped.
It started small. A hand on the small of your back that lingered too long, the way he always seemed to appear when some guy at the bar got too close, or the way his voice dropped when he said your name, like it was something sacred and dangerous at the same time.
You told yourself it was just Pope being Popeโintense, unstable, a little unhinged. The family warning you off only made it worse. They said he was broken, but you thought you could handle broken.
You were wrong.
Tonight the Cody compound is quiet. Too quiet. Baz and Deran are out. Smurf is somewhere dealing with whatever new mess the boys have made. Craig is probably chasing his next high.
Nothing keeping him from doing what he wants, and so Pope is in your apartment doorway, shoulders filling the frame, eyes black in the low light. He doesnโt knock; he never does anymore. Just breaks in or uses the key he had made.
โYouโre thinking about leaving again,โ he says. Not a question.
You freeze with your phone in your hand, the search history still open; bus tickets, one-way, anywhere that isnโt here. You lock the screen too late. Heโs already seen.
Pope steps inside and closes the door behind him with a soft click that sounds final. โYou donโt get to leave.โ
โPope-โ you say, backing up slightly.
โNo.โ The word is quiet. Absolute. He crosses the room in three long strides and takes the phone from your hand like it belongs to him. Maybe it does now; everything of yours seems to. โYou think I donโt know what youโve been doing? Looking at tickets. Talking to that bartender like he could take you somewhere safer.โ His mouth twists. โThere is nowhere safer than me.โ
Your pulse kicks hard against your throat. โYouโre scaring me.โ
โGood.โ He backs you against the wall without touching you, close enough that you can feel the heat rolling off him. โYou should be scared of what Iโll do if anyone tries to take you. Of what Iโll do if you try.โ His hand comes up, not to hurt, but to cradle your jaw with a gentleness that somehow feels more dangerous than violence. โI would burn this whole fucking city down before I let you walk away.โ
You should push him, scream, do something. Instead, your traitorous body leans into the contact, into the dark gravity of him. Popeโs eyes search your face like heโs memorizing every micro-expression, cataloging fear and want in equal measure.
โI see the way you look at me when you think Iโm not watching,โ he murmurs. โYou like that Iโm like this. That Iโd kill for you. That I already have.โ
Your breath stutters.
The guy from the bar last week, the one who put his hand on your waist and laughed when you told him to stop, hadnโt shown up for his shift since. No one talked about it. Pope had just shown up at your place that night with blood under his nails and a calm so deep it was terrifying.
โHe touched what was mine,โ Pope says now, reading the memory on your face. โI fixed it. Iโll keep fixing it. Every single one of them.โ His thumb strokes over your lower lip. โYouโre not going anywhere. Not tonight. Not ever. You belong to me, and I will destroy anything that tries to change that. Including you, if I have to.โ
The threat should send you running; instead, it sinks into you like a brand. Pope leans in until his forehead rests against yours, breath warm and uneven.
โSay it,โ he whispers. โTell me youโre staying. Tell me youโre mine.โ
Your voice comes out smaller than you want it to. โIโm yours.โ
Something dark and satisfied settles over his features. He kisses you like a man sealing a deal with blood, hard and claiming, and when he finally pulls back, thereโs something almost tender in the ruin of his expression.
โGood girl,โ he says. โNow get some sleep. Iโll be right here. Iโm always right here.โ
He doesnโt leave and he never will. As you lie awake later with his arm locked around your waist like a shackle and a promise, you understand the truth with perfect, terrible clarity:
You stopped being free the moment Pope Cody decided he loved you.
happy birthday:) hope itโs everything you wish for!! May i request a red present + gold bow + jax teller :)
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title; unspoken
pairing; jax teller x fem!reader
prompt;ย red present (suggestive) + gold bow (mutual pining)
You feel him before you see him.
The low rumble of his bike cuts through the late-night quiet of the clubhouse lot, and something in your chest tightens the way it always does around Jax. The man whoโs been looking at you like youโre the only thing in Charming that still makes sense.
You stay where you are on the picnic table, legs dangling, a half-empty beer warming in your hand. The door to the clubhouse is open behind you, laughter and music spilling out, but out here itโs just the night and the smell of gasoline and leather. He parks, kills the engine, and swings off the bike with that easy, dangerous grace that makes every other man look like heโs trying too hard.
His eyes find you immediately.
โDidnโt expect you still out here,โ he says, voice rough from the road. He walks over slow, like heโs giving you time to decide if you want him closer. You donโt move; you never do.
He stops a few feet away, rolling a cigarette between his fingers but not lighting it. The club lights catch the ink on his skin, the line of his jaw, the way his cut sits on broad shoulders. Youโve memorized all of it. You hate how much.
โCouldnโt sleep,โ you answer. โToo quiet at home.โ
He huffs a quiet laugh. โYeah, quietโs never been our strong suit.โ His gaze drops to your mouth for half a second, then back up. That look again, the one that says heโs thought about this more times than heโll admit. The one that makes heat coil low in your stomach.
You shift on the table, thighs pressing together without meaning to. His eyes track the movement. He notices everything.
โYou keep looking at me like that,โ you murmur, โand people are gonna start talking.โ
โLet โem.โ He steps closer. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that you can smell the road on him, leather and smoke and something warmer underneath. โBeen looking at you for months. Figured youโd have noticed by now.โ
You did. God, you did. Every time he brushed past you in the clubhouse, every time his hand lingered a second too long when he handed you a drink, every time his eyes stayed on you across the table while the rest of the table argued. Quiet, heavy and dangerous. You both knew the rules. Club business first, complications second, and you were supposed to be neither.
But here you are.
He sets the unlit cigarette on the table beside your hip. His fingers are close enough that if you shifted even an inch, theyโd brush the bare skin where your shirt has ridden up. You donโt. Neither does he. The air between you feels charged, thick with everything neither of you has said.
โI keep telling myself to leave it alone,โ he says, voice lower now. โYouโre not some club girl. Youโreโฆ different. And I donโt do different carefully.โ
Your pulse is loud in your ears. โMaybe I donโt want careful.โ
Something dark and hungry flickers across his face. He leans in just enough that his breath ghosts over your cheek when he speaks. โYou say that, and I start thinking about all the ways I could have you. Against the wall in the garage. On the back of my bike. In my bed with the door locked so no one interrupts while I take my time learning every sound you make.โ
Heat floods your face, your chest, lower. Your fingers tighten around the bottle. You can picture it too easilyโhis hands on your hips, that mouth on your throat, the way heโd look at you while he moved inside you like he was claiming something heโd already decided was his.
You swallow. โJaxโฆโ
He doesnโt kiss you. He doesnโt touch you. He just stays there, close enough that the want is a physical thing between you, and lets the silence say the rest. His eyes drop to your lips again as yours drop to his. The moment stretches, taut and electric.
Finally he straightens, slow, like it costs him. He picks up the cigarette and tucks it behind his ear.
โGo inside,โ he says, quieter. โBefore I forget why Iโve been trying so hard not to do this.โ
You slide off the table, and your shoulder brushes his chest as you pass. Neither of you pretends it was an accident. His hand lifts, almost settles at the small of your back, then falls away again.
You walk toward the clubhouse door without looking back, but you feel his eyes on you the entire way. Mutual. Unspoken. Heavy with everything still waiting to happen.
And you know, both of you know, that next time careful might not be enough to stop it.
Hey! Could I have a black present, with a white bow with Happy, please?
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title; all for you
pairing; happy lowman x fem!reader
prompt;ย black present (dark romance) + white bow (jealousy)
You feel his eyes on you before you see him.
The clubhouse is loud tonightโmusic thumping, bottles clinking, the usual chaos of the Sons winding down after a long run. Youโre leaning against the bar, laughing at something one of the prospects said, when the air shifts. The laughter dies in your throat, and you donโt need to turn around to know Happy is watching.
Heโs always watching.
You glance over your shoulder anyway. Heโs sitting in his usual corner booth, arms crossed over his chest, that familiar blank expression on his face. Most people think Happy doesnโt feel much. Theyโre wrong. He feels everything; he just doesnโt waste words on it.
The only thing that ever cuts through that stillness is when something, or someone, gets too close to whatโs his.
And you are his.
The prospect doesnโt notice. Heโs still talking, still smiling, still standing a little too close. His hand brushes your arm as he reaches past you for a beer. Itโs nothing. Harmless. Friendly.
Happy stands up.
He doesnโt rush; he never does. He just walks over, slow and deliberate, boots heavy on the floorboards. The prospect finally looks up and goes pale when he sees whoโs coming. Happy doesnโt say a word. He just stops beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours, and stares the kid down until the prospect mumbles something about needing to check the bikes and practically runs for the door.
The second heโs gone, Happyโs hand settles on the small of your back. Possessive and claiming, โOutside,โ he says, voice low and rough.
You know better than to argue when he uses that tone. You follow him out the side door into the cool night air, away from the noise and the eyes. The second the door shuts behind you, heโs on youโbacking you up against the wall of the clubhouse, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks.
โYou let him touch you.โ
Itโs not a question.
โIt was nothing,โ you say, but your voice comes out quieter than you meant it to. His eyes are dark, almost black in the low light, and the jealousy in them is sharp enough to cut.
โDidnโt look like nothing.โ His thumb digs into the soft skin just above your jeans. โHe put his hands on whatโs mine.โ
Your pulse jumps. Youโve seen Happy angry beforeโquiet, focused, deadlyโbut this is different. This is personal. This is the kind of dark that lives under his skin and only comes out for you.
โIโm yours,โ you tell him, because itโs true and because you know he needs to hear it. โHe doesnโt matter.โ
Happyโs jaw tightens. He leans in until his mouth is almost against yours, breath warm and controlled. โThen why the fuck were you smiling at him like that?โ
Thereโs no good answer that wonโt make this worse. You donโt try to give one. Instead you reach up and curl your fingers into the front of his cut, pulling him closer. He lets you as his hand slides from your hip to your throat, not squeezing but just resting there, a quiet warning and a claim all at once.
โI donโt share,โ he says against your mouth. โNot you. Not ever.โ
The kiss that follows isnโt soft. Itโs hungry and edged with that same dark jealousy, teeth catching your bottom lip, tongue demanding. You open for him because thereโs no other option. Your body already knows who it belongs to. His free hand shoves under your shirt, palm rough against your skin, mapping every inch like heโs reminding himself whatโs his.
When he finally pulls back, youโre breathing hard and so is he.
โAnyone else looks at you like that again,โ he says, voice quieter now but no less dangerous, โIโll put a blade in their throat. You understand me?โ
You nod. You understand perfectly. Happy doesnโt make empty threats. The same hands that hold you like youโre something precious are the ones that have ended men for far less than a lingering glance.
He studies your face for a long moment, searching for any sign of fear or hesitation. When he doesnโt find any, something in his expression eases slightly. The jealousy is still there, coiled and ready, but the sharpest edge of it softens into something darker and more possessive.
โGood girl,โ he murmurs, and the words sink into you like a brand.
His hand leaves your throat only to cup the back of your neck, pulling you in until your foreheads touch. For a few heartbeats he just breathes with you, grounding himself in the fact that youโre still here, still his, still unmarked by anyone elseโs hands.
Then he kisses you again, slower this time, but no less intense. Like heโs trying to rewrite the memory of that prospectโs casual touch with something permanent.
When he finally steps back, itโs only far enough to take your hand. His fingers lace through yours, tight and unyielding.
โWeโre going home,โ he says.
You donโt ask why; you already know. Happyโs jealousy doesnโt burn out quick. It settles in, deep and dark, and the only thing that settles it is having you under him, marked and claimed all over again until thereโs no room left for anyone elseโs shadow.
You follow him to his bike without a word. The night air is cool against your flushed skin, but the heat of his hand never leaves yours.
And as the engine rumbles to life beneath you, you feel itโthat familiar, dangerous certainty settling in your chest.
Happy Lowman doesnโt love easy.
He loves like a man who knows exactly how much blood heโs willing to spill to keep whatโs his.
Happy Birthday! Could I have that blue present with the pink bow for spn gabriel? Thank you!
unwrapped masterlist | main masterlist | navigation
title; iโve got you
pairing; gabriel x reader
prompt;ย blue present (hurt/comfort) + pink bow (established relationship)
a.n; I forgot to write on my unwrapped post for people to specify if you want fem!reader or gn!reader so if you request try to remember it. ty!
You wake to the soft crackle of the motelโs ancient radiator and the heavier, warmer weight of an arm draped across your waist. For a second, the room is just dim yellow light and the faint smell of sulfur still clinging to your clothes. Then the ache hitsโdeep in your ribs, sharp when you breathe, and a dull throb behind your left temple where something heavy had connected.
Gabrielโs voice is low against the back of your neck.ย ย
โEasy, sunshine. Youโre still in one piece. Mostly.โ
You try to roll toward him and the pain flares. His hand tightens, not restraining, just anchoring. He shifts so heโs propped on one elbow, looking down at you with those gold-flecked eyes that always seem older than the rest of his face. The usual smirk is gone. In its place is something quieter, almost careful.
โHunt went sideways,โ you manage, your voice sounding rough. โDemon had friends.โ
โI noticed.โ He brushes a thumb under your eye, tracing the bruise you can feel blooming there. โI felt it the second it happened. Almost tore a hole in the fabric of reality just to get here faster.โ A small, humorless huff. โDean wouldโve loved that.โ
You try to smile, and it hurts. He notices. Of course he does.
Gabriel leans in and presses his mouth to your forehead, lingering. When he pulls back, thereโs a faint shimmer of grace in the air, warm and golden, and the worst of the throbbing in your skull eases. He doesnโt take it all away, never does when itโs this bad. He says you need to feel some of it so you remember youโre still human. You used to argue, but you donโt anymore.
โI shouldโve been there,โ he murmurs.
โYou were on a job.โ Your fingers find the soft cotton of his t-shirt and curl into it. โWeโre not joined at the hip.โ
โCould be.โ The attempt at lightness falls flat. He looks at the split on your lip, the way your free hand is pressed protectively over your side. โI hate this part. The part where the universe keeps trying to take pieces of you and Iโm supposed to justโฆ watch.โ
You reach up, slow, and cup the side of his face. His stubble scrapes your palm. For a moment he leans into the touch like itโs the only solid thing in the room.
โYouโre not watching,โ you say. โYouโre here. Thatโs the difference.โ
Something in his expression cracks. He dips his head and kisses youโgentle at first, careful of the cut, then deeper when you make a soft sound of encouragement. His hand slides under the hem of your shirt, not seeking anything heated, just settling warm and steady over the worst of the bruising along your ribs. Another quiet pulse of grace, and the sharp edge of the pain dulls to something manageable.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.
โI keep thinking one of these days the universe is going to win,โ he admits, voice barely above a whisper. โThat Iโll show up, and you wonโt be breathing. And I donโt know what Iโd do with that, sunshine. I really donโt.โ
You thread your fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. โThen donโt think about it. Think about this. Right now. Youโre here, and Iโm breathing. Weโre okay.โ
He exhales, long and shaky, and gathers you closer, careful of every injury. Your head finds the familiar spot against his chest where his heartbeat is steady and human-sounding even though you both know better. One of his hands strokes slow circles between your shoulder blades. The other stays splayed over your side like a shield.
Gabriel presses another kiss to the top of your head. โSleep,โ he says. โIโve got you. Not going anywhere.โ
You close your eyes slowly. The ache is still there, but itโs distant now, held at bay by the solid warmth of him and the soft golden light that never quite leaves when heโs this close. For the first time since the fight, your body believes itโs safe.
Thank you so much for inviting us all to your celebration! ๐ฅณ
I'd like to request a Grey Present + Opie Winston, please.
Thank you very much! ๐ฉท
unwrapped masterlist | main masterlist | navigation
title; hold on (opie winston x fem!reader)
prompt;ย grey present (angst)
a/n; thank you for the request i can't believe my first birthday request of this year is angst but nevertheless hope you enjoy!
You wake before the sun, the same way you always do when Opieโs side of the bed is cold. The sheets still hold the shape of him, the faint smell of motor oil and the cheap cologne he thinks hides the clubhouse smoke. You press your face into his pillow anyway, like it might answer the question thatโs been living in your throat for weeks.
Where are you when youโre not here?
The house is quiet; itโs just you, the ticking clock and the empty space where Opieโs boots should be by the door.
You make coffee the way he likes itโtoo strong, black, no sugarโand leave the mug on the counter like an offering where it soon goes cold. You drink it yourself later, bitter and wrong, just to feel like youโre still part of the same morning.
He comes home after dark, always after dark. The door opens soft, like heโs trying not to wake a sleeping child instead of a woman whoโs been waiting with every light on. You hear the heavy thud of his cut hitting the chair, the quiet unzip of his boots. You stay on the couch, knees drawn up, pretending the television is interesting.
โYouโre still up,โ he says. His voice is rough and tired. The kind of tired that sleep doesnโt fix.
โCouldnโt sleep.โ
He doesnโt cross the room. He just stands there, shoulders filling the doorway, looking at you like heโs already halfway gone again. Thereโs a fresh cut on his knuckles as you notice everything now. The way his eyes skip past yours, the way his hand flexes like it wants to reach for you but decides against it.
โClub business,โ he offers, the same two words heโs been giving you for months.
You nod. Youโve learned not to ask for more; asking only makes the silence thicker.
He sits on the edge of the couch, close enough that your knee brushes his thigh. The contact feels like a dare you donโt pull away, and neither does he. For a long moment the only sound is the low murmur of the TV and the distant highway.
โI hate this,โ you say quietly.
His jaw tightens. โI know.โ
โI hate that I never know if youโre coming back. I hate that I have to smile at the other old ladies like weโre all fine while half of us are lying awake doing the same math. I hate that loving you... feels like holding my breath.โ
Opie looks at you, really looks. The blue of his eyes is storm-dark, full of everything he wonโt say. He reaches up, slow, and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger against your cheek, rough and careful.
โI never wanted this for you,โ he murmurs. โAny of it.โ
โBut itโs what we have.โ
He nods once.
The motion is small, defeated. You lean into his hand because youโre selfish and because the alternative is watching him disappear without touching him at all. He pulls you closer until your forehead rests against his. His breath is warm, and his heart is steady, like a stubborn drum under your palm when you press it to his chest.
โIโm still here,โ he says. Itโs not a promise. Itโs a fact heโs fighting to keep true.
You close your eyes. โFor how long?โ
He doesnโt answer. Instead, he kisses youโslow, careful, like heโs memorizing the shape of your mouth in case the night takes it away. You kiss him back harder, angry and aching, pouring every unspoken fear into the press of your lips. His hands frame your face. Yours fist in the soft fabric of his shirt.
When you break apart, neither of you speaks. The silence is heavier than before, but itโs shared now. You curl against his side as he wraps an arm around you, solid and warm, and for a little while the world shrinks to the sound of his breathing and the steady beat of a heart that still chooses you.
Outside this moment, the club waits. The road waits. Tomorrow waits with all its sharp edges.
My dear @brunettemarionette, I'd like to apologize for requesting an angsty fic, but it's the first thing that comes to my mind when I think about Opie and I knew you'd write an absolute gem because you outdo yourself with every piece you write.
Thank you very, very much for this masterwork, I LOVE IT. And I promise you that, no matter how tempted I may be, I'll leave angst aside and choose a happy theme for my next request ๐ ๐ซ๐ฉท
Dearest @a-winter-tale, I humbly accept you apology. Though I myself get sad reading angst I somehow write it well, but seriously thank you for your (early) birthday wishes, request and sweet words.
Feel free to request more angst, I'll just cry as I write it to the sounds of Evanescence's "My Immortal". ๐ซ๐
Thank you so much for inviting us all to your celebration! ๐ฅณ
I'd like to request a Grey Present + Opie Winston, please.
Thank you very much! ๐ฉท
unwrapped masterlist | main masterlist | navigation
title; hold on (opie winston x fem!reader)
prompt;ย grey present (angst)
a/n; thank you for the request i can't believe my first birthday request of this year is angst but nevertheless hope you enjoy!
You wake before the sun, the same way you always do when Opieโs side of the bed is cold. The sheets still hold the shape of him, the faint smell of motor oil and the cheap cologne he thinks hides the clubhouse smoke. You press your face into his pillow anyway, like it might answer the question thatโs been living in your throat for weeks.
Where are you when youโre not here?
The house is quiet; itโs just you, the ticking clock and the empty space where Opieโs boots should be by the door.
You make coffee the way he likes itโtoo strong, black, no sugarโand leave the mug on the counter like an offering where it soon goes cold. You drink it yourself later, bitter and wrong, just to feel like youโre still part of the same morning.
He comes home after dark, always after dark. The door opens soft, like heโs trying not to wake a sleeping child instead of a woman whoโs been waiting with every light on. You hear the heavy thud of his cut hitting the chair, the quiet unzip of his boots. You stay on the couch, knees drawn up, pretending the television is interesting.
โYouโre still up,โ he says. His voice is rough and tired. The kind of tired that sleep doesnโt fix.
โCouldnโt sleep.โ
He doesnโt cross the room. He just stands there, shoulders filling the doorway, looking at you like heโs already halfway gone again. Thereโs a fresh cut on his knuckles as you notice everything now. The way his eyes skip past yours, the way his hand flexes like it wants to reach for you but decides against it.
โClub business,โ he offers, the same two words heโs been giving you for months.
You nod. Youโve learned not to ask for more; asking only makes the silence thicker.
He sits on the edge of the couch, close enough that your knee brushes his thigh. The contact feels like a dare you donโt pull away, and neither does he. For a long moment the only sound is the low murmur of the TV and the distant highway.
โI hate this,โ you say quietly.
His jaw tightens. โI know.โ
โI hate that I never know if youโre coming back. I hate that I have to smile at the other old ladies like weโre all fine while half of us are lying awake doing the same math. I hate that loving you... feels like holding my breath.โ
Opie looks at you, really looks. The blue of his eyes is storm-dark, full of everything he wonโt say. He reaches up, slow, and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger against your cheek, rough and careful.
โI never wanted this for you,โ he murmurs. โAny of it.โ
โBut itโs what we have.โ
He nods once.
The motion is small, defeated. You lean into his hand because youโre selfish and because the alternative is watching him disappear without touching him at all. He pulls you closer until your forehead rests against his. His breath is warm, and his heart is steady, like a stubborn drum under your palm when you press it to his chest.
โIโm still here,โ he says. Itโs not a promise. Itโs a fact heโs fighting to keep true.
You close your eyes. โFor how long?โ
He doesnโt answer. Instead, he kisses youโslow, careful, like heโs memorizing the shape of your mouth in case the night takes it away. You kiss him back harder, angry and aching, pouring every unspoken fear into the press of your lips. His hands frame your face. Yours fist in the soft fabric of his shirt.
When you break apart, neither of you speaks. The silence is heavier than before, but itโs shared now. You curl against his side as he wraps an arm around you, solid and warm, and for a little while the world shrinks to the sound of his breathing and the steady beat of a heart that still chooses you.
Outside this moment, the club waits. The road waits. Tomorrow waits with all its sharp edges.
UNWRAPPED.
Pick your present. Add your bow. Receive your surprise.
Itโs my birthday soon, which means Iโm once again i'm giving you presents! You get to pick a wrapped present, add a bow, choose a character, and Iโll write you a drabble/oneshot as your gift.
let's get unwrapped...
birthday rules;
๐ my usual rules still apply, you can find them here!
๐ you can ask for multiple presents but just please do them separately to avoid gift confusion
๐ birthday presents take a while to wrap so please be patient
๐ gifts are available up until august 30th 2026!
๐ all requests must go through my ask box, also this is a no minors birthday bash so you'll assume full responsibility for your own consumption
๐ specify if you want a female!reader or gender neutral!reader, otherwise my go to is usually fem!reader.
who's at my birthday party?;
sons of anarchy โ jax, opie, chibs, tig, happy, juice
miscellaneous โ daryl dixon, lip gallagher, eddie munson, billy hargrove, angel reyes, bucky barnes, frank castle, simon riley, tangerine (bullet train), jack abbot, pope cody
how to request:
Present + Bow (optional) + Character
Example: Red Present + Gold Bow + Character or Blue Present + Character
๐ PRESENTS (choose one)
Red Present โ Suggestive
Pink Present โ Fluff
Blue Present โ Hurt/Comfort
Purple Present โ Slice of Life
Yellow Present โ Comedy
Green Present โ AU
Grey Present โ Angst
Black Present โ Dark Romance
๐ BOWS (optional โ choose one)
ใปGold Bow โ Mutual Pining
ใปSilver Bow โ Yandere
ใปRed Bow โ First Kiss
ใปPink Bow โ Established Relationship
ใปBlue Bow โ Confession
ใปWhite Bow โ Jealousy
ใปPurple Bow โ Soulmates
ใปYellow Bow โ Friends to Lovers
ใปGreen Bow โ Forbidden Love
ใปTeal Bow โ Enemies to Lovers
ใปBlack Bow โ Second Chance
ใปGrey Bow โ Forced Proximity
Thank you for celebrating my birthday with me, if you have any questions just send me an ask!
I canโt wait to make some gifts for you all! ๐
summary; you keep โcreatively prioritizingโ Dr. Abbotโs instructions in the ED and he finally corners you for a private lecture, only for the usual puppy-dog eyes, soft apologies, and shameless flirting to work their magic once again.
warnings; brat!reader, med student reader, age gap, power dynamics (attending/med student), mentor/mentee dynamics, light power play, fluff, late-night ED setting, big use of puppy eyes that jack can't handle, reader being flirty, stern jack? kinda?, reader is probably his favourite.
wc; 1,138 words
a.n; i found shawn hatosy... through a clip of him making sandwich on youtube. Here come the jack abbott, and pope cody fics- and whatever else I watch with him in it.
Sometimes Dr. Jack Abbot looks at you like heโs already calculated the exact number of years your career has left if you keep testing him.
You have pointed this out, out loud, more than once. Every time, the rest of the ED pretends they didnโt hear it, which is how you know theyโre all cowards.
Tonight is no different.
Itโs past two in the morning, the kind of quiet that only happens between disasters, and youโve just finished presenting a case that was, in your professional opinion, mostly correct. The differentials were solid. The plan was thoughtful. The only minor issue was the part where you maybe, possibly, slightly adjusted the order of labs heโd specifically told you to run first.
Creative prioritization. Thatโs what youโre calling it.
Abbot is leaning against the counter outside bay four, arms crossed, scrubs still looking unfairly put-together for someone whoโs been here since the previous noon. His eyes are that particular shade of amber that always makes you feel like youโve been caught doing something you havenโt even decided to do yet.
โWalk me through it again,โ he says. Flat. No preamble, just classic Abbot.
You rock back on your heels, hands tucked behind your back the way youโve learned makes you look marginally less like a problem. โOkay, so the patient presented with-โ
โThe part where you decided my instructions were optional.โ
You blink up at him, already preparing the softest, most wounded version of your face. โI didnโt decide they were optional. I decided they wereโฆ flexible. In the spirit of clinical judgment.โ
โClinical judgment.โ He repeats the words like they personally offended him. โYouโre a third-year med student. Your clinical judgment currently consists of โdonโt forget to wash your handsโ and โmaybe donโt stick yourself with the needle.โโ
You tip your head, letting the fluorescent lights catch the puppy-dog eyes at just the right angle. โThatโs unfair. Iโve also mastered โlook cute while asking for help.โโ
A muscle ticks in his jaw. Progress.
โYou ignored the order I gave you.โ
โI optimized it.โ
โYou rearranged it.โ
โI improved the flow.โ
โYou-โ He stops. Inhales slowly through his nose, and you watch the exact moment he decides yelling would take more energy than heโs willing to spend at 2 a.m. โCome with me.โ
He turns and walks toward the empty conference room without checking if youโre following. Of course you are; you always are.
The door clicks shut behind you. The room smells like old coffee and dry-erase markers. Abbot sits on the edge of the table, legs stretched out, and points at the chair across from him like heโs assigning detention.
You sit with your ankles crossed and fold your hands in your lap. Best approximation of a model student.
He stares at you for a long second. โExplain.โ
You lean forward a little, voice dropping into something softer, sweeter. โI was thinking about efficiency. The patient was anxious, the wait times were already long, and I thought if I could get the more relevant labs back faster, we could-โ
โYou thought.โ His tone is mild. Dangerous. โYou thought past the attending who told you exactly what to do.โ
You open your mouth, close it, and then try again. โI was trying to be helpful.โ
โYou were being a brat.โ
The word lands warm and low in your stomach. You donโt even try to hide the tiny smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth. โOnly a little.โ
Abbot pinches the bridge of his nose. โChrist.โ
You shift closer in the chair, close enough that your knee almost brushes his. โI know I shouldโve asked first. I know. But you were with the trauma in three, and I didnโt want to interrupt. The patient kept looking at me like I was supposed to already know everything, and I-โ
You stop to soften your eyes further, letting the lower lip do that small, unconscious pout that has historically worked on everyone except him (and still works on him, even if he pretends otherwise). โI just wanted to do a good job for you.โ
He looks at you, really looks. The kind of look that makes the age gap feel suddenly very present. Your early twenties and his decades of experience, the power imbalance sitting heavy and quiet between you like a third person in the room.
โThat look,โ he says eventually, voice quieter, โis going to get you into trouble one day.โ
โIs it working tonight?โ
He doesnโt answer.
Instead, he reaches out, slow, and tugs lightly at the sleeve of your scrub top so you scoot the chair even closer. His hand stays there, warm fingers curled around the fabric.
โYouโre going to write up what you did,โ he says. โWhy you did it. Why it was wrong. And then youโre going to sit here while I go over the correct sequence with you until you can recite it in your sleep.โ
You nod immediately, eyes bright. โYes, Dr. Abbot.โ
โAnd youโre going to stop rearranging my orders.โ
โIโll try very hard.โ
โYouโre going to succeed.โ
You tip your head, giving him the full force of the puppy eyes one more time. โWhat if I promise to only rearrange them when youโre not looking?โ
His mouth twitches, almost a smile. Almost. โThen Iโll start locking the supply closet so you canโt get to the lab slips without me.โ
You laugh, soft and genuine, and lean forward until your forehead briefly rests against his shoulder, just for a second. Long enough to feel the way he stills, then the careful way one of his hands comes up to rest between your shoulder blades.
โIโm sorry,โ you murmur into the fabric of his scrub top. โFor real this time. I justโฆ like when you teach me things. Even when youโre annoyed.โ
He exhales, the sound almost fond. โI know.โ
You stay like that a moment longer than is strictly professional. When you pull back, his hand lingers half a second before dropping away.
โNotes,โ he says. โNow. And if you so much as look at me with those eyes while Iโm explaining electrolytes, Iโm making you do the entire presentation again in front of Robby.โ
You grin, already pulling a pen from your pocket. โWouldnโt dream of it, Dr. Abbot.โ
He watches you open the notebook, the corner of his mouth still fighting that almost-smile.
โLiar,โ he says quietly.
You donโt deny it; you just look up at him through your lashes one last time, soft and shameless and completely unrepentant, and start writing.
Not because of the soft hush of โgood girlโ that comes from his lips gruffly or the way his hand grazes your back to adjust your posture with a huff but for academic purposes...
Or at least thatโs what you tell yourself and everyone else.
โพโญ.หโ pairing; carmy berzatto x female reader
โพโญ.หโ summary; Carmy catches a cold but refuses to admit it. During a slow service, heโs sniffling, voice hoarse, moving slower than usual. You drag him to the office to feed him soup you made. The crew accidentally catch him being ridiculously cuddly.
โพโญ.หโ wc; 851 words
The lunch rush is mercifully light, but The Bear still feels like a pressure cooker. Youโre wiping down the pass when you catch Carmy gripping the edge of the counter a second too long, shoulders hunched. His usual laser focus is dulled at the edges. He clears his throat, raw and scratchy, then winces.
โCarm,โ you say quietly, stepping closer.
โIโm fine,โ he mutters before you even finish.
Classic him.
His voice sounds like gravel. His nose is pink, and every few minutes heโs stifling a sniffle like it personally offends him. Marcus gives you a look from the pastry station that says, โGood luck.โ Sydney just raises her eyebrows and keeps plating.
By the time the last ticket prints, youโve had enough. You grab Carmyโs wrist as he tries to reorganize the lowboy for the third time.
โOffice. Now.โ
โI still have to-โ
โNope.โ You tug him gently but firmly. โSydneyโs got it.โ
He grumbles the whole way but lets you pull him. The second the office door clicks shut, he slumps into the chair like his strings got cut. You disappear into the kitchen for two minutes and return with a thermos of soup youโd made at home this morningโjust in caseโand a blanket Tina keeps in the break room for emergencies.
Carmy eyes the thermos as if it had betrayed him. โIโm not sick.โ
โYou sound like a chainsmoker with laryngitis, chef.โ You unscrew the lid, and the smell of chicken, garlic, and herbs fills the small room. โSit back.โ
He opens his mouth to argue, but youโre already perching on the edge of the desk and lifting a spoonful toward him. His cheeks flushโpart fever, part embarrassmentโbut after a stubborn second, he leans forward and takes it. The moan he lets out is almost indecent.
โFuck, thatโs good,โ he rasps. โNeeds a little more thyme, though. And maybe-โ
You raise an eyebrow. He shuts up and accepts another bite, but his hand finds your knee, thumb rubbing slow circles like he needs the contact to stay upright.
โYouโre an idiot, you know that?โ you murmur fondly, brushing damp curls off his forehead. Heโs burning up.
โYeah, wellโฆ this idiotโs got a restaurant to run.โ His head tilts into your touch anyway, eyes fluttering half-shut. The tough exterior is crumbling fast.
The door creaks open. Richie pokes his head in, smirking like he won the lottery. โYo, Carm, weโoh shit.โ
Carmy doesnโt even pull away. He just sighs and leans heavier against your leg, eyes closed, letting you card your fingers through his hair. Richieโs phone is already out.
โDo not,โ Carmy mumbles, zero heat behind it.
โToo late, cousin. This is blackmail gold. Carmy Berzatto getting spoon-fed like a sick toddler. Tinaโs gonna love this.โ
โRichie,โ you warn, but youโre smiling.
Sydney appears behind him, takes one look at Carmy practically purring under your hand, and shakes her head. โHeโs got a fever, doesnโt he?โ
โHeโs denying it,โ you say.
โIโm fine,โ Carmy insists weakly, but when you offer another spoonful, he takes it without complaint, his free hand sliding up to rest on your thigh. Possessive even when half-dead.
Tina pushes past the guys with a soft laugh. โLook at him. All that yelling in the kitchen, and he turns into a house cat the second his girlโs around. Cute.โ
Carmy groans in protest but doesnโt move. If anything, he nuzzles closer when you drape the blanket over his shoulders. His forehead drops against your stomach, arms loosely wrapping around your waist.
โYouโre staying in here until service is over,โ you tell him, voice gentle. โThen Iโm taking you home.โ
He hums in agreement, the fight finally drained out of him. โOnly if you stay with me,โ he mumbles into your shirt. โDonโt like the bed when youโre not in it.โ
Richie makes a gagging noise. โJesus Christ, heโs whipped. Iโm telling Fak.โ
โOut,โ you laugh, shooing them. Sydney gives you a supportive nod before dragging Richie away by the collar.
Once the door shuts again, Carmy lets out a long, shaky breath. โLove you,โ he whispers, so quiet you almost miss it. His arms tighten around you. โEven when youโre bossy.โ
You smile, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. โLove you too, stubborn. Now finish this soup. Doctorโs orders.โ
He obeys without another word, eyes heavy, cheeks flushed. By the time the bowl is empty, heโs half-asleep in the chair, still clinging to you like you might disappear. You manage to coax him onto the tiny couch in the corner, curling up beside him. His head finds your lap immediately, one arm slung across your legs.
The sounds of the kitchen feel far away. You stroke his hair as his breathing evens out, the tension finally leaving his body.
Richie will never let him live this down. The whole crew is probably placing bets on how long it takes before Carmy tries to deny the whole thing tomorrow.
But right now heโs soft, warm and yours, quietly snoring into your thigh with your fingers in his curls.
You bite your lower lip while reading the morning paper across the breakfast table and Thomasโs sharp blue eyes lock onto the movement instantly; he sets his cigarette down slowly, voice low and rough, โCareful, love. Keep doing that and Iโll have to remind you what that mouth was made for.โ
Every time you absentmindedly suck on the end of your fountain pen during a tense Shelby Company meeting, Thomasโs gaze darkens beneath the brim of his cap; he clears his throat, interrupting whoeverโs speaking just to watch you freeze with the pen still between your lips.
Late at night in the Garrison, when you swirl your tongue on the rim of your glass while thinking, Thomas leans in close, breath hot against your ear, murmuring, โIf youโre that hungry for something to suck on, Iโve got something better waiting upstairs.โ
You chew on your thumbnail when youโre anxious about a deal and Thomas pulls your hand away, replacing it with two of his own fingers, pressing them gently against your tongue while he whispers, โUse me instead, eh? Thatโs my girl.โ
He starts buying you those expensive imported lollipops from London just so he can watch you unwrap one slowly in his office; the way your cheeks hollow makes him shift in his chair and growl, โYouโre doing that on purpose, arenโt you, darling?โ
During a quiet moment on the couch at Arrow House, you suck on an ice cube to cool down and Thomasโs hand slides up your thigh, voice velvet-rough: โIce wonโt satisfy you the way I will. Open up for me.โ
He notices how you roll a cigarette between your lips before lighting it and he snatches it away, replacing it with his own mouth in a deep, claiming kiss that leaves you both breathless and him muttering, โMy lips. Only mine.โ
When you nervously suck on your lower lip during an argument, Thomas stops mid-sentence, eyes blazing; next thing you know heโs backed you against the wall, thumb tugging your lip free so he can replace it with his tongue.
He loves watching you eat cherries at dinner, the way you swirl your tongue around the stem before tying it in a knot; his hand finds your knee under the table and squeezes hard enough to promise whatโs coming later.
In the privacy of the bedroom heโll press his thumb to your bottom lip and command softly, โShow me how you use that pretty mouth,โ then groan when you immediately suck it in, eyes fluttering shut.
You sometimes trace your own lips with a fingertip while lost in thought and Thomas catches your wrist, bringing your finger to his mouth instead, sucking lightly while maintaining eye contact until your knees go weak.
After a long day heโll pull you into his lap, press a fresh lollipop against your lips and murmur, โGo on, love. Suck. Let me watch exactly how youโll take me later.โ
Even in public, if you start chewing on the inside of your cheek heโll lean over and whisper against your ear, โStop that. Save it for when my cock is the only thing between those lips tonight.โ
He keeps a small silver tin of mints in his pocket purely so he can offer you one and then watch, mesmerised, as you roll it around on your tongue before it disappears between your lips.
โพโงโห โ ๐๐ซ๐ญ๐ก๐ฎ๐ซ
The second you start sucking on your straw at the Garrison, Arthurโs loud laugh dies in his throat; he stares, wide-eyed and already half-hard, before blurting, โFuckinโ hell, woman, you tryna kill me?โ
You bite your lip when youโre concentrating on sewing a button back on his shirt and Arthur drops to his knees in front of you, big hands on your thighs: โIf you need somethinโ to bite, love, Iโve got plenty.โ
Every time you nervously chew on a matchstick while waiting for him to finish a fight, Arthur comes back bloody-knuckled and immediately kisses you hard, tasting the wood and growling, โTastes better on your tongue than it ever did in my mouth.โ
He buys you bags of boiled sweets just to watch you suck them down; heโll sit across from you, legs spread, eyes dark, muttering, โChrist, the noises you makeโฆ gonna make me lose my fuckinโ mind.โ
When you suck on your fingers after eating, Arthur grabs your wrist and brings those same fingers to his own mouth, sucking the salt off them while staring at you like he wants to devour you whole.
In the back room of the Garrison heโll pull you onto his lap and press his thumb against your tongue, voice wrecked: โGo on, love, show me how youโd suck me off right here where anyone could walk in.โ
You roll your tongue around the neck of a beer bottle absentmindedly and Arthur nearly chokes on his own drink, slamming it down before hauling you upstairs with a growled, โMouth. On me. Now.โ
He loves when you bite your lip during sex; heโll pin your wrists above your head and demand, โDo it again. Fuck, look at you, my dirty girl and her perfect mouth.โ
After a bad day heโll come home, see you chewing on a pen, and immediately replace it with his cock, groaning, โNeed you to fix me the way only you can, sweetheart.โ
You suck on an ice lolly in the summer heat and Arthur watches it drip down your chin, then licks the trail clean before pushing the rest of the treat between your lips and whispering, โKeep sucking, love. Practice.โ
Heโll trace your lips with his rough thumb and mutter, โThis mouth is gonna be the death of me. Always wet, always readyโfuckinโ perfect.โ
During a family meeting you start sucking on your lower lip and Arthurโs hand slides under the table to squeeze your thigh hard enough to bruise, eyes promising heโll ruin you the second everyone leaves.
He keeps a little tin of cinnamon sticks in his jacket just so he can offer you one and then watch, mesmerised, as you roll it around your tongue before he yanks you in for a messy kiss.
Late at night heโll pull you close, press two fingers to your lips and order softly, โOpen up for me, darling. Let me feel that pretty tongue before I give you somethinโ bigger.โ
โพโงโห โ ๐๐จ๐ก๐ง
You chew on the end of your pencil while doing the books and John leans over your shoulder, grinning wickedly: โKeep that up and Iโm gonna give you something thicker to wrap your lips around, eh?โ
Every time you suck on a lollipop in front of the kids, John waits until theyโre out of earshot before whispering, โYouโre lucky theyโre here, love, or that lolly would be on the floor and my cock in its place.โ
He catches you biting your lip during a cheeky argument and immediately kisses you stupid, mumbling against your mouth, โThatโs my job, biting that lip.โ
John starts carrying extra gum just so he can watch you chew it, jaw working, then pulls you into a dark corner of the betting shop and replaces the gum with his tongue.
When you swirl your tongue around a spoon after eating, Johnโs eyes go dark and he mutters, โFuck me, woman, youโre gonna make me finish in my trousers like a teenager.โ
He loves dragging you into the kitchen at night, pressing a fresh strawberry against your lips and groaning when you suck the juice off his fingers: โThatโs it, loveโpractice for later.โ
You suck on your own fingers after licking sauce off them and John grabs your hand, sucking each finger clean while maintaining eye contact and whispering filthy promises.
During a family dinner you absentmindedly roll a cherry stem around your tongue and John nearly knocks his chair over trying to drag you upstairs before dessert.
Heโll pin you against the wall after a long day and press his thumb to your bottom lip: โOpen up, baby. Show your husband how much you missed him.โ
John buys you a lot of lollipops just so he can watch your cheeks hollow; he always ends up stealing it from your mouth and replacing it with something else.
You bite your lip when youโre trying not to laugh at his jokes and he leans in, voice low: โKeep biting that lip and Iโll bite something else tonight.โ
In the bedroom heโll hold your jaw gently and murmur, โLove watching this pretty mouth work. Show me how good you are, eh?โ
He keeps a secret stash of those toothpicks just so he can slip one between your lips and then kiss you senseless, tasting the wood on your tongue.
Late at night heโll pull you into his lap, press two fingers past your lips and groan, โSuck, love. Pretend itโs me. Fuckโyouโre too good at this.โ
โพโงโห โ ๐๐ข๐๐ก๐๐๐ฅ
You suck on the end of a cigarette filter while waiting for him at the office and Michaelโs elegant fingers tighten around his pen until it nearly snaps; he clears his throat and says, voice smooth, โDarling, if you need something to suck on, come here.โ
Every time you bite your lip while reading contracts, Michael slides his chair closer, thumb tugging your lip free: โYouโre distracting me on purpose, arenโt you? Naughty girl.โ
He starts bringing you imported French bonbons just to watch you suck them slowly; his eyes never leave your mouth as he murmurs, โYou have no idea what that does to me.โ
When you swirl your tongue around an olive at dinner, Michaelโs hand finds your knee under the table and squeezes, voice low: โIf you keep that up Iโm taking you home and putting that tongue to better use.โ
You chew on a pen cap during a phone call and Michael ends the call early, pulls the pen from your mouth and replaces it with his own fingers, eyes dark: โMuch better.โ
He loves when you suck on ice cubes in summer; heโll steal one from your glass, run it across your lips, then kiss the cold away with heat.
In his office after hours heโll sit you on his desk, press his thumb to your tongue and whisper, โShow me, love. Show me exactly how youโll worship me later.โ
You trace your bottom lip with a fingertip while thinking and Michael catches your hand, sucking your finger into his mouth while maintaining perfect eye contact.
Heโll buy you those fancy chocolate-covered cherries and watch you suck the chocolate off before biting into the cherry, then immediately drag you into his lap.
During a tense meeting you start sucking on your lower lip and Michaelโs voice doesnโt even waver as he says, โExcuse us,โ and pulls you into the hallway to kiss you breathless.
He keeps a small tin of mints in his waistcoat pocket purely so he can offer you one and then watch, mesmerised, as your tongue works around it.
Late at night heโll cradle your face and murmur, โThis mouth was made for sin, darling. And tonight itโs all mine.โ
You suck on a straw while sharing a milkshake and Michaelโs hand slides up your thigh: โKeep doing that and this milkshake is getting abandoned for something much sweeter.โ
Heโll press two fingers past your lips after a long day and groan softly, โThatโs it, love. Suck. Let me feel how much you need me.โ
โพโงโห โ ๐๐ฅ๐๐ข๐
You bite your lip while listening to one of his long rants about bread and Alfie stops mid-sentence, eyes lighting up: โRight, right, you keep doing that, right, and Iโm gonna forget every fuckinโ word I was saying, pet.โ
Every time you suck on a piece of toffee while sitting in his office, Alfie leans back in his chair, hands behind his head: โFuckinโ hell, woman, youโre sweeter than the toffee and twice as sticky.โ
He catches you chewing on the end of a pencil and immediately replaces it with his thick thumb, voice gravelly: โUse me instead, yeah? Thatโs a good girl.โ
Alfie starts baking special honey sweets just so he can watch you suck them slowly; heโll mutter, โLook at you, all hollow-cheeked and innocent... fuckinโ liar, you ainโt innocent.โ
When you swirl your tongue around a spoon after tasting his latest batch of rum, Alfie growls low: โRight, thatโs it, everyone out. My missus needs a private tasting session.โ
You suck on your own fingers after eating sticky dates and Alfie grabs your wrist, sucking each finger clean while muttering Yiddish curses under his breath.
In the bakery after closing heโll press a fresh chunk of honeycomb against your lips and groan when you suck the honey off his fingers: โThatโs my girl, suck it all up, yeah?โ
You nervously chew on your bottom lip during one of his stories and Alfie stops, tilts your chin up: โOi, none of that. Save the biting for my shoulder later, right?โ
He loves watching you eat cherries; heโll tie the stem in a knot with his own tongue just to show off, then demand you do the same before he kisses you senseless.
Alfie keeps a jar of those fancy imported lollipops on his desk purely so he can hand you one and then watch, completely distracted, as you work it between your lips.
During a quiet moment heโll cup your jaw and press his thumb to your tongue: โOpen up, pet. Let me feel that clever mouth before I give you something thicker.โ
You trace your lips with a fingertip while thinking and Alfie leans in, voice low and rough: โYou keep touching that mouth and Iโm gonna put it to work right here on my desk.โ
Heโll pull you into his lap after a long day, press two thick fingers past your lips and rumble, โSuck, love. Thatโs itโfuckinโ perfect. Gonna ruin me with that mouth one day.โ
Late at night heโll mutter against your ear, โYou and your bloody oral fixation, right? Lucky for you Iโve got the perfect cureโbig, thick, and all yours, pet.โ
You stood there for a long moment, fingers still pressed to your lips, the ghost of Richieโs mouth lingering like a brand. The kitchen felt too big, too empty without him. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, mocking the way your heart was still racing.
Carmyโs footsteps grew louder, then stopped. You grabbed the towel Richie had abandoned and started wiping down the counter like your life depended on it.
โYouโre still here?โ Carmyโs voice was gravelly with sleep, his curls messy as he stepped into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. He looked exhausted, permanently exhausted, the way he had since Mikey died. Since heโd come back and tried to fix everything that was broken.
โYeah,โ you said, forcing a casual shrug. โCouldnโt sleep. Figured Iโd finish up so you donโt have to yell at the new hires tomorrow.โ
He studied you for a second too long. Carmy had always been able to read you better than anyone, except when it came to Richie. That particular blind spot had saved you so far.
โYou okay?โ he asked, softer.
โFine. Justโฆ thinking about Mikey. The usual.โ
That did it. Carmyโs shoulders dropped, the suspicion fading into shared grief. He crossed the room and pulled you into a quick, tight hugโthe kind that still felt like big brother even though you were both adults now.
โGo home, kid. I got this.โ
You nodded against his shoulder, guilt twisting in your stomach like a dull knife. โNight, Carm.โ
The walk to your apartment was short but felt endless. Every shadow on the street made you glance over your shoulder, half hoping Richie had waited, half terrified he had. When you finally locked the door behind you, you leaned against it and let out a shaky breath.
Your phone buzzed.
Richie: You make it home safe, princess?
You smiled despite yourself.
You: Barely. Carmy almost caught me looking freshly kissed. Youโre a terrible influence.
Richie: Good. Been practicing for years.
The dots appeared, disappeared, then:
Richie: Tomorrow night. My place instead. Safer. Iโll cook.
You: You? Cooking? Should I be scared?
Richie: Fuck you. I make a mean steak. And I want you in my bed, not sneaking around like weโre teenagers.
Your face heated. You typed back before you could overthink it.
You: Then Iโll be there. But Richieโฆ we have to be careful.
Richie: I know. Iโm not trying to lose the only family I got left. But Iโm also not giving you up. Not anymore.
The next night, Richieโs apartment was surprisingly neat. Not spotlessโthere were still stacks of takeout menus and a chaotic pile of mail on the counterโbut it smelled like garlic, rosemary, and seared meat. Heโd even lit a candle. A single, slightly crooked candle on the tiny dining table.
When he opened the door, he was in a clean black button-down, sleeves rolled up, hair still damp from a shower. The sight of him hit you low in the stomach.
โHi,โ you said, suddenly shy.
Richie didnโt answer with words. He pulled you inside, kicked the door shut, and kissed you like heโd been starving for it all day. This wasnโt the desperate, frantic kiss in the kitchen. This was slower, deeperโhis hands sliding down your back, gripping your hips like he was afraid youโd disappear.
โBeen thinking about this since I left last night,โ he muttered against your mouth. โCouldnโt focus for shit today. Tina asked me if I was having a stroke.โ
You laughed into the kiss, then gasped when he lifted you onto the counter like you weighed nothing. The steak could wait.
โRichie-โ
โTell me to stop and I will,โ he said, lips dragging down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. โBut Iโve wanted you for so fucking long. Since you came back from college with that smart mouth and those eyes that see right through my bullshit.โ
Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer. โThen stop talking and show me.โ
He groaned, the sound raw. In one smooth motion, he had you off the counter and in his arms, carrying you toward the bedroom like he couldnโt wait another second. Clothes hit the floor in a messy trailโhis shirt, your sweater, his belt. When your back hit the mattress, Richie hovered over you, eyes dark and serious in a way that made your chest ache.
โYou sure?โ he asked, voice rough. โOnce we do thisโฆ thereโs no pretending anymore.โ
You reached up, tracing the stubble on his jaw, the scar near his eyebrow from some old fight Mikey had probably dragged him into.
โIโm sure. Iโve been sure for years, Richie. I just didnโt think you saw me like that.โ
He laughed, low and disbelieving. โBaby, Iโve been trying not to see you like that since you were twenty. Failed miserably.โ
The kiss that followed was fire, years of stolen glances and careful distance finally snapping. His hands mapped every inch of you like he was memorizing territory heโd been denied for too long.
He buried his face in your neck โMine. Youโre mine now.โ
You wrapped your legs around him, nails dragging down his back. โThen prove it.โ
He did. Again and again, until the only names either of you could remember were each otherโs.
Later, tangled in his sheets with takeout containers balanced on the bed between you, Richie traced lazy circles on your bare shoulder.
โCarmyโs gonna kill me if he finds out,โ he said quietly.
You pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. โThen we make sure he doesnโt. Not yet. Not until we figure out what this is.โ
He tilted your chin up, eyes soft in the low light. โI know what this is. Itโs the only thing thatโs felt right since Mikey died. Scary as shit, but right.โ
You swallowed hard, emotion thickening your throat. Outside, Chicago kept movingโsirens in the distance, the low hum of the city that had raised you, broken you, and somehow brought you here.
Forbidden. Messy. Inevitable.
And for the first time in years, it felt like hope.
