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ᯓ★ — summary; after years of liking your best friends older brother, you finally confess your feelings (Angel Reyes x fem!reader)
ᯓ★ — warnings; best friends brother!angel, mutual pinning, love confessions obvs, they kiss lol, my first time writing angel so possible ooc!angel ??, but that’s it? (764 words)
ᯓ★ — a/n; first angel fic, kinda nervous lol
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19 days of louie | main masterlist
you and Ez had been best friends for years now, but slowly over time, your feelings started to blossom for his brother.
and how could they not?
Angel was always nice to you whenever you were around, not to mention the shameless and teasing flirting he did whenever Ez wasn’t around.
but he was off limits, or at least that’s what Ez told you.
of course, you were never one for Ez’s ‘rules’.
his brother didn’t seem to follow those rules either.
Angel found you outside their dad’s house waiting for Ez, a smile gracing his face as he moved closer to you sat on the steps leading up to the house.
“you waiting on Ez?”
you turned to look at him, greeting him with a similar smile before you nodded.
“yeah, hope that’s okay?”
he chuckled, that infuriatingly smug laugh that you knew all too well.
you moved aside to let him sit next to you, looking away from him as his knee rested against yours.
“didn’t know waiting on my brother made you look this good”
Angel drawled lowly, making you roll your eyes.
“you flirting Reyes or just bored again?”
another chuckle fell from his lips.
that infuriating chuckle that never failed to stop heat spreading through your body.
“why can’t it be both?”
you muttered something under your breath and kept your focus on the steps in front of you, not daring to look over at him while he leaned towards you.
he watched you with that same casual heat he always did, except lately it had started to feel less like teasing and more like something else.
and you hated it.
you weren’t supposed to think about Angel like that, not when Ez was practically your brother with your long lasting bond and closeness. not when you grew up in their kitchen, eating tamales made by their mom and falling asleep on their couch after movie nights. you were family.
but Angel.. Angel made it really damn hard to remember that, or Ez’s rules for that matter.
“Ez’s dealing with something for dad, won’t be back for a bit”
Angel told, making you look towards him, but he wasn’t smiling anymore.
you crossed your arms over your lap, keeping your head tilted in his direction, while trying not to let your heart stutter at the way he was looking at you.
“what’s with the seripus face?”
he huffed at your question and the half joking tone to your words.
“how long are we gonna pretend this isn’t something?”
you blinked at him, taking a minute to process his words.
fuck, his flirting wasn’t just teasing lately, was it?
“what..?”
he motioned between you both, his knee still leaning against yours.
“this, i know you feel it too”
your stomach flipped as you opened your mouth and then closed it again.
this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. you were supposed to keep pretending, it was safer that way.
“i’m your little brother’s best friend, you know how messed up this is?”
you finally said after a minute, though you made no effort to push his leg away from yours.
“yeah, i do. trust me, i’ve spent months trying to stay away because of that”
he gave a dry laugh, while your breath caught.
this was really happening right now.
“but i can’t anymore, i’ve been in love with you and it’s driving me insane watching you act like we don’t have this thing between us”
Angel continued, scooting impossibly closer to you.
you shook your head, fighting the way your body wanted to move closer to his.
“Angel..”
he reached out, cradling your face in his right hand and stroking his thumb across your cheek, letting his touch linger longer than he needed to.
his hand stayed there, fingers ghosting across your skin while you sighed.
“i know it’s complicated. i lnow Ez’s gonna lose his shit, but i don’t care anymore. i don’t wanna keep pretending”
your throat tightened.
“you love me?”
as if it wasn’t obvious.
“yeah, i always have”
silence fell between you, thick with everything unspoken. all of the glances, the late nights, the jokes that went a little too deep.
but then, after a long minute, you whispered to him.
“i love you too”
Angel was on you in seconds, his lips pressing to yours in a kiss that was all heat and desperation, along with the years of holding back.
you didn’t care about being seen or the consequences of Ez, not right now.
because for once, you weren’t pretending with Angel.
title; already showered (Happy Lowman x fem!reader)
build a fic choices; 5) prone, f) giving their ass a soft (or hard) spank and ꒰ 𓃱 ꒱ a seedy motel room — from build an nsfw fic
warnings; established relationship, happy’s reffered to being handsy lol, smut, minors do not interact!!!, p in v, pullout method used, talk of finishing inside next time tho, but that’s it tho?? (691 words)
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you’d gone on a long ride with Happy, way too far from Charming to make it home before dark, leaving you both having to spend the night at a motel.
was it the best place? no, but with Happy any place was better than nothing.
but of course, Happy’s hands always tended to wander whenever you were with him, especially when you had just gotten out of the shower.
his eyes followed yours as you sat on the edge of the bed, still naked from being in the shower before he pounced on you.
he had rolled you onto your stomach, settling behind you while his hands kneaded at your hips.
Happy watched you for a minute, searching for any sign of discomfort or hesitation, but when he found none he was leaning over you to murmur against your ear.
“if you change your mind, tell me, got it?”
you nodded but Happy wanted to hear it, he always did.
“got it Hap”
he hummed in satisfaction, rocking against your ass before he positioned himself at your entrance before pushing in in one sharp thrust.
the feeling of him had you moaning out, dropping your head to the pillows as he started to roll his hips.
his thrusts were harsh, causing the headboard to slam against the wall every time he rolled his hips, creating a steady thump against the wall along with your moans.
“baby, the people next door..”
you babbled out, but it didn’t make Happy stop.
“let em hear”
was all he said before continuing to rock his hips, leaning over you to groan against the shell of your ear.
of course Happy didn’t care about people hearing.
“you worried?”
you shook your head ‘no’, earning a satisfied hum in response.
he groaned against your ear again, his hips moving with more force as he created a slapping of skin on skin throughout the room.
it was lewd, everything about it was.
the steady thrust of his hips against yours, the headboard slamming against the wall with the force of his thrusts as well as the sound of your wetness echoing in the room.
Happy groaned, his hands firm on your hips as he kept you pinned down to the bed beneath him, easily picking up the pace of his thrusts and driving into you with more force and need.
“Hap..”
you mewled, but he only slapped your ass in response, adding to the sounds coming from both of you.
he slapped your ass again, groaning lowly as your walls fluttered around him at the feeling.
“shit baby, you like that huh?”
Happy asked against your ear, voice low and lust struck as you nodded in response, already hurtling towards your climax.
“close baby”
his thrusts continued at your words, angling his hips to hit that one spot over and over, making your vision whiten at the feeling.
a low groan fell from his lips as your walls spasmed around him, making his pace falter for a second before he caught himself.
“that’s it, cum for me”
the head of his cock hit that one spot again and again, sending you careening over the edge with a cry of his name.
your cunt spasmed around him, soaking his cock with your release, easing his thrusts as he chased his own climax.
“atta girl baby”
he groaned out between thrusts, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he pushed himself closer and closer to the edge.
Happy rolled his hips again and again, a wrecked groan falling from his lips before he abruptly pulled out.
you glanced over your shoulder at him, watching as he stroked his cock with a desperate need before he spilled himself onto the swell of your ass and lower back.
“are you serious? i just showered”
his lips tugged up into a smirk as he met your eyes, his hands moving to the bed on either side of your head as he leaned in to kiss you.
“what you want it inside next time?”
he watched as you shrugged, amusement clear in your eyes while his smirk widened.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
jax teller x reader | forbidden love | step!siblings (not everyone’s cup of tea, if it’s not yours scroll on) | touches lightly on the subject of non consensual sex & other things - nothing graphic | explicit language & violence | dual 1st person pov | y/n’s description is limited but in moments where it’s needed will be black!reader
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We didn’t say much between leaving the hospital and getting home. Part of me wanted to beat Rayes ass for being out of town. Id rather she spent the night with me than having to spend it with Jax. Not because I didn’t trust him, but because I didn’t trust myself. I'm not gonna sit here and lie and act as if I hadn’t thought of that night, that kiss, every single fucking day since it happened, because I had.
Part of me felt bad. I feel like I antagonised him into doing it. Maybe if I didnt piss him off so much he wouldn’t have done it. Either way, its happened now and i cant get it out of my fucking head. Especially now, sitting at Gemmas large dining table, watching him move domestically around the house. Closing the curtains, turning on the TV. I havent allowed myself to look at him in this much detail for a long fucking time.
Our life, since that night has consisted of avoiding each other, no matter how hard it could sometimes be. But now, as I sit here, watching him closely I can physically see the weight of the patch draining the life from him. His knuckles all raw and calloused and his kutte looking exactly the same.
After finishing warming up the house, Jax pulls out the dining chair opposite me slowly, shrugs off his kutte and takes a seat. A small sound of breath leaves his nose as he does so. His eyes are on mine and at this precise moment in time, I wish I could read his thoughts. I wanna ask him about Tara, I wanna know what the fucks going on with those two. I saw them as I was coming out from saying bye to Dad, talking in the corner. She looked all professional, different to the teen girl who would keep me awake at night from my brothers bedroom. I don't know what the fuck they are, I just wish they wasn’t.
He leans back in his chair, his smirk already tugging at his mouth. “First time back on a bike since you ate shit off the one me and Ghost rebuilt?”
I let out a laugh, rolling my eyes. “I told you I’d never get back on one again.”
“Yeah,” he drawls, shaking his head. “Guess I can’t blame you. I thought you actually died that day.”
“You were the one closer to death than me. Did you see Dad’s face when he ran down to us?”
Jax laughs, that rough throaty sound. “Yeah I remember, pretty sure he was already plannin' my funeral...don't blame him though, you were bleedin’ out on the ground and I was just stood there all frozen”
I shake my head, still smiling. “I still got the scar you know”
That makes his grin slip into something smaller, his eyes dropping towards the floor “Yeah I know”
Because he does know. He's always known, He’s seen that scar more times than he could count. Catching glimpses when I wore shorts in the summer, when I curled up on the couch, the night that we kissed, when everything shifted between us. Even after that, in all the stolen moments that followed, his eyes always found it. He always fucking saw it.
The silence between us stretches, a little heavy, borderline uncomfortable. Until he clears his throat, sitting forward, resting his elbows on the table, his tone shifts almost immediately. “Ghost told me about Logan…” his voice is more serious now “…that's what the screamin' was about when I showed up, right?”
I suck my tongue across my teeth, of course Dad told him. He's his VP, he has to know. But it doesn't make it easier sitting here with just the two of us “Yeah” I mutter, shifting in my chair.
“You good?” The question catches me off guard, Id braced myself for some form of lecture, but instead its like he's trying to help take the weight off my shoulders.
“I guess…” I say, “more worried about Dad, you know?”
Jax nods once, “He'll be good. He's tougher than any of us. Don't stress over it…” his tone darkens “…Logans the one I don't give a fuck about. Whatever happens to him? Couldn't care less. You're my priority. You're the one I'm lookin’ out for...we’re lookin’ out for”
“What's gonna happen?” I ask finally, part of me already knowing whatever answer I get isn't gonna be pretty.
“I'm sittin' down with Laroy tomorrow…” his tone returns to normal, but still stern “…I'll let him know who you are. We don't know for sure if his guys are actually gunnin’ for you, but I'm bettin’ they've been tailin’ Logan, seen you both together and if they can't get to him, they'll try any route that they can”
I nod in response as he keeps going.
“But once Laroy knows you're ours, know's you ain't got shit to do with Logan's mess, he'll leave you out of it” his next words come out harder. “Whatever they do to Logan after that...ain't my problem.”
There's something in his tone, something maybe a little possessive, something that doesn't entirely feel just like club business, but I ignore it, just nod again. The thought of Logan getting his ass beat, or worse, doesn't bother me. Not even a little. And that's all the confirmation I need to know that it’s over. Not tonight, but soon. Tonight, I'm staying here, alone with my brother for the first time in years.
“You got somethin' to change into?” Jax's voice breezes through the crack in my door. There's a quiet knock before he pushes it open and steps inside without waiting for me to answer.
His eyes move over everything, and I know he's remembering too. All the late nights we spent talking here, all the times he crashed on my floor or snuck into my bed when he couldn't sleep.
Back then, it was innocent. Just a couple of kids who didn't like the dark. It all stopped after that morning Dad caught us curled up together. He didn't yell, didn't blow up. Just smacked Jax awake, grunted for him to get back to his own room. No lectures, no drama. But I still remember the look in Dad’s eyes. The way his brows crossed like maybe he was worried about what we were growing into. And I guess he wasn't wrong. But he must of forgot about it soon after cause nothing was said again.
I hold up one of my old tees that I had left behind. Soft and worn, the collage of Tupac cracked and faded but just enough to still be recognised.
“Fuck” Jax's voice comes from the doorway, stepping further into the room and dropping onto the edge of my old bed like he's done a thousand times. “Never thought I’d see that fuckin’ thing again”
I glance over my shoulder, holding it up at the hem. “Jax. Rule still stands, no Tupac hate”.
He smirks leaning back onto his palms like he's settling in. “Never Pac hate. Just that fuckin’ shirt. You used to wear it like three days in a row”
“Yeah...and?” I snap back, heading for the bathroom. I hear his voice through the door as I peel off my top.
“And I could smell you from round a fuckin' corner” He taunts.
I laugh under my breath, shaking my head as I slip the tee over my body and it falls against my skin like an old memory.
When I step back into the room, Jax is now sprawled out on my bed. legs spread, white tee clinging to his shoulders with those same fucking grey pants loose on his hip. He looks so...at ease. Like no time has passed at all.
“Shut the hell up” I say, grinning as I ball up the shirt I just took off and throw it at him. He catches it one handed, smirk deepening, and tosses it towards the corner like it’s nothing.
I sit down next to him, just close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. For a second, neither of us speaks, just listening to the old house creak around us.
“I saw you and Tara talking earlier, as I was leaving Dad's room. Everything Okay?” I ask, picking at a loose thread on my shorts.
He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Just lettin’ me know when she's droppin' the keys off. She's movin' back to Chicago”
A scoff of a laugh escapes me. “Again?”
“For good this time” He somewhat mumbles.
“Gemma and Dad know?” I ask, still holding onto the edge of the conversation.
He lets out a short laugh. “Ghost does, but Mom?”he shakes his head “I'd rather tell her once Tara's actually gone. No use givin' her a reason to start swingin' before it's even done”
I laugh quietly, because he's right. Gems temper is something different. “Thought so.”
“Yeah... she's been ready for that fight for years.” he sighs.
“So what she’s just gonna move all her shit out of your place and fuck off back to chi-town?”
There's a beat of silence, the kind that's comfortable but feels like its balancing on the edge of something heavier. He suddenly shifts, leaning back further until he's laying flat on his back, hands laced behind his head with one of his elbows pressing lighting into my thigh where I'm sitting.
I nod slowly, letting out a quiet breathe “I'm sorry”shocking myself at how much I actually mean it.
“Don't say sorry” he smiles faintly, a flash of that boyish smile I haven't seen in years. “You hated her”
“Hate” I correct with a dainty smirk. “I hate how she made you feel” the confession slips out before I can stop it. “I mean...” I stumble the words a little. “I only know what I heard through Gem and Dad but...me and you, we weren’t really...” I try to think of the right word to use.
“Around each other” he finishes for me.
“Yeah.”
Then he stands, his hand wrapping gently around my wrist, giving it a squeeze before letting go. “Well, you don't gotta worry little sis, I'm all good”The words hit like they shouldn't do, especially those two words, sending that weird shiver low in my stomach. Heat crawls up the back of my neck before I can stop it, and I swear my thighs press together on their own accord. Fuck, what the hell is wrong with me? He doesn't notice, or if he does he doesn't show it. His expression is unreadable, like always, before he steps towards the door.
“Gonna make somethin' to eat” he throws over his shoulder “want anythin'?”
I shake my head a little too quickly, forcing a small smile “Nah. Just gonna try and get some sleep”
“Alright…” he nods once, “…If that asshole calls or texts you, don’t answer it” then he leaves, pulling the door shut behind him.
I can't lie. The way she reacted to what I said had my cock twitchin’ in my sweats.
she thinks she hides it. Most people wouldn't notice. But I know her too well. I don't need to see the blush to know it's there. I can read it in the way her lashes flutter, the way her tongue rolls into the corner of her mouth like she's tryin’ to keep it together. And yeah, maybe it shouldn't get to me like that, but it did.
Callin’ her little sis should’ve been enough to build a wall back up between us, Instead, it just twisted somethin’ low in my gut. Had me thinkin’ about a few things, maybe she's just as fucked up as me. I shove the thought down and head back downstairs, the house quiet except for the low creak of the floorboards under my feet. I slap together a sandwich, eatin’ it at the counter not even botherin’ to take a seat. I flip the TV on, some bullshit reality show playin’. I'm starin’ at it but I'm not really watchin’ it, its just noise fillin’ in the silence.
When I’m done I kill the lights, and head back to my room. I pass Mom and Ghost's without enterin’. No birds to cover anymore, Mom's little ritual long dead with them. Halfway down the hall, I see a glow under her door. For a second, I think she's still awake, but then I hear it. That soft snore she's always had. It makes me pause, restin’ my head weakly on the cool wood of her door. When we were kids, I used to sneak into her room almost every night. Couldn't sleep alone, hated the fuckin’ dark. She never asked questions, just moved over to let me climb in. It was the only way I could sleep some nights.
It all ended the mornin’ Ghost caught us. He didn't say anythin’ to her, didn’t even raise his voice in front of her. Just sent me back to my room and followed me down the hall. Shut the door behind him and stood there anger fillin’ his face. Told me a fifteen year old boy had no right climbin’ into bed with his fourteen year old sister. Said I better never let him catch me in there again. Later that night, mom cornered me in the kitchen. Of course he told her. She said I needed to start actin’ my age, that people would get the wrong Idea. And that was it, I never slept in her bed again, even when I really wanted to.
I drag myself away from the door, cause standin’ there listenin’ to her breathe feels too much like back then. I head for the bathroom and crank the shower cold, lettin’ it rain down on me until the memories stop playin’ in my head. Tomorrows gonna be a long fuckin’ day. Need to sit down with Laroy, clear her name. Logans got what's comin’ to him, one way or another. But y/n? she stays out of this. No matter what it cost me.
“Long way from Charming to Oakland” Laroy says, grinnin’ as I step towards him. His voice lazy but with that smooth edge to it. “What brings the Prince of Samcro down here to meet me face to face?”
I don’t sit, just stand in front of him. “Logan”
That gets a reaction, his grin fades just a little. “What about him?”
“That brick that went missin’?” I let out a sharp laugh but there’s hardly any humour in it. “Woulda been better puttin’ Stevie fuckin’ Wonder in charge of it. At least then nobody woulda been surprised when it went awol”
He chuckles at that, but his eyes zone in on me, probably tryin’ to work out how the fuck I know about it.
“I know you and your boys are casin’ him” I say, pullin’ my jeans higher before finally takin’ a seat next to him. “Do what you gotta do to settle that debt. But you and your boys gotta leave my sister out of it. She’s not part of his shit”
That wipes the grin completely off his face. He sits up, the business armour now in place. “Sister?”
“Yeah” I say through clenched teeth. “Ghost’s kid”
“Shit man” Laroy rubs at his chin, “Never knew that fool was wrapped up with you”
“Not wrapped up” I correct him, “Far fuckin' from it. We ain't got no ties to him. Don't give a fuck how you handle that shit I'm just here to make sure my sister stays safe”
Laroy's face tightens for a second, like he’s weighin’ on tellin’ me somethin’. He bites his bottom lip, eyes flickin’ to the goons posted around us. “I won't lie to you man...she was on our radar. The next step. But now I know she's Ghost's kid...your sister, that shit's done. We'll pull back no problem”
I try to keep my anger steady at his admission, Laroy isn't the one who deserves it. Its all on Logan.
“You gotta watch that fool though” Laroy says, leanin’ forward. “Motherfucker had no problem throwin’ your sister under the bus to keep us off him”
My head snaps up. “What do you mean?”
He raises a finger, not to shut me up but to call one of his boys over. “That plan tonight? off the table. Girl don’t get touched. Not by anybody, ya hear me?” he says loud enough that it grabs the attention of the others standin’ around.
The guy nods, mutterin’ a “got you” before backin’ away. Laroy turns back to me, ready to finish the conversation.
“Coupla days ago, after we found out that fool lost my property, Logan came to me. Said he didn't have the money but he had...somethin’ else"
My stomach twists as I swallow hard “What?”
He licks his bottom lip like he's workin’ out how to say it. “Videos, man” he looks at me from the corner of his eye.
My brows arch together, not clockin’ what hes goin’ on about, until he carries on.
“Him and his girl. Sent us a whole fuckin’ stash. One of my boys runs a site, makes good money. Logan wanted us to post em, get the money back off the views”
I watch him talk, the anger building slow and ugly, but he keeps goin’.
“Had a look at a few-”
The snarl slips before he finishes. He throws his hands up quick “Aye man, we never knew it was your sister” he pulls a joint, lights it then offers it to me, guess he can tell I need somethin’. “Anyway, we looked. But most of em? unusable.”
My jaw grinds, not sure I even want the answer. “Why?”
He shrugs like it disgusts him. “I'm a lot of things man, but non consensual shit? not my thing”
“What the fuck do you mean by non consensual? Are you sayin' he's ra-”
“No, no, not like that brother” Laroy says, palms slidin’ down his jeans. “Trust me, she's more than willin’” his eyes cut to me.
“Laroy.” My tone a warnin’.
He exhales, “Nah, what I mean is, some of the videos she knows, like…playin’ up to the camera of sorts…but most of em’? She don't even know she's bein’ recorded. Hidden camera type shit. Real fuckin’ sneaky”
I bow my head, shovin’ my hands through my hair like it can make this any better. “Are you sure its her?”
“Tattoo on her lower back. Big ass scar on one of her thighs?”
The image of the scar that I put there hits me like a punch. “Shit!” I stand, kicking at the trash can beside the bench.
“You still got them?” I finally manage to get out.
“I'll get them deleted. No traces from our end. You have my word Jax…” I do trust him “…but he’ll still have copies so…”
“I'm gonna kill him” I say low, more to myself than anyone else.
But he hears it. He chuckles dry as a bone “please do. Saves me the fuckin' trouble”
“Appreciate it, brother” I tell Laroy as he stands. “I might need you in on a few things later” I say, thinkin’ how the hell I’m gonna get this fuckin’ asshole. We shake hands, pullin’ each other in and finishin’ it of with a clap on the back like always.
“Heard about Ghost…how’s he doin'?” Laroy asks.
“Still laid up. Should be home in a few days, but ridin's off the table for a while”
He nods, “Toughest bastard in Charming. He'll pull through”
“Yeah” I say quietly. “He will”
Myself, Tig and Opie roll in side by side to the clubhouse after the ride back from Oakland, the gravel crunchin’ under the tires. Tig kills his engine first.
“Man, I need a fuckin' drink” he mumbles before headin’ towards the clubhouse doors, and straight to the bar.
Opie swings a leg off his bike and gives me that scowled look he saves for when he knows I'm full of shit. “Somethin' you're not sayin’?” he asks. He knows me too fucking well.
I drag a breath and shake my head, not even sure where to start. “Logan, man...tried to give the Niners videos of him and...” my jaw grinds before I force it out “…him and y/n instead of the money for the brick that got jacked.” I cut my eyes up at Ope.
“Videos like...?” Opie's brows pinch together cause y/n's his little sister as much as she is mine.
“Yeah. Exactly what you're fuckin' thinkin’”
“Jesus Christ” He rips his beanie from the top of his head and fists it “She know?”
I bite down on my lower lip. “Some of them she clearly knows whats goin on...playin’ to the camera I guess or whatever. But some? the angles and shit...she doesn't even know”
“Wait...you watched them?”
“Fuck no!” I snap, “No”
“Then it could be anyone. Might not even be y/n”he says, tryin’ to make me feel better.
“Nah, it’s her. Laroy mentioned the scar on her leg, and the tattoo she has that the rest of the world probably wont ever see”
Opie squints at my words “Then how d'ya know she has it?”
“Has what?”
“The tattoo that isn't visible to others...” his face scrunches as he digs into the past.
“No dipshit” I mutter, “Saw it the other night on accident when I went to pick her up, she wasn't exactly expectin' me. She had these little black-”I cough away the distraction “Look that aint the point. How the fuck am I gonna tell Ghost? How am I gonna tell her? Better fuckin' yet...you gonna help me bury the fuckers body or what?”
“You know I’ve got your back Jax” Opie says, “But this? You gotta be the one to tell her. Then you tell Ghost. Can't act without his say so. You know that”
“Yeah I know” I rake a hand through my hair and start walking towards the clubhouse.
I'm sitting cross legged on my bed, flicking through old pictures in one of the albums that's been sitting on the top shelf of my closet for fucking ever. They're a little dusty and faded but still clear enough to pull me straight back into the moment, like the last christmas me, mom and Dad had together, and the first one me and Dad had with Gemma and Jax after everything had changed.
The front door slams downstairs, the sound rattling through the old house. I pause letting out a quiet breath. Jax must be back from the sit down with Laroy, thank fuck. I keep looking through the pages, there's a picture of Jax and Dad standing beside the bike they spent forever restoring, grinning like idiots with grease smeared across both their faces. Despite everything the next one makes me laugh. Me and Jax in those awful matching Christmas jumpers Grandpa Nate picked out for us one year, Gemma forced us to take the picture as proof we actually wore them for all of two minutes.
I'm so caught up in the memories I almost miss the shadow shifting in the doorway. When I finally glance up, Jax is standing there, one shoulder resting against the frame, eyes watching me. He doesn't say anything at first.
"Remember this?" I ask, holding up the photo of us.
He huffs out a quite laugh, pushing himself off the doorframe and walking into the room. The mattress dips when he sits down on the edge of my bed.
“Maybe we should go see him soon” I add quickly, filling the silence while I flip to another page. “Gem said he’s getting worse and we haven’t seen him together in ages…” My fingers move over the plastic sleeves “I mean like… like...once Dad and Gemma are back obviously” I say, making sure he knows I don't mean just the two of us.
“I, uh...” Jax starts, ignoring everything I just said. He looks down at his hands for a second before speaking again. “Laroy knows who you are now...”he says quitley. “So you don't need to walk around thinkin’ you still go a target on your back or anythin'”
I let out a small laugh, trying to keep the mood light. "Never thought that anyway, and plus I’m not scared of your friends Jax" But when I look up at him properly, the laughter dies in my throat. His jaw is tighter than ever, the muscles twitching slightly, and theres a look on his face I havent seen in years, but recognise immediatley.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask slowly, closing the album and pushing it aside. “It’s the same look you used to give me when you knew Dad was about to cuss me out for doing something wrong”
Jax shifts in his space, turning his whole body to face me now. “Did you know Logan tried to pay for that brick?” He asks.
“No...he didn't...that's why all of this is-”my voice falters as I see the pain radiate over my brothers features. My stomach drops so fucking hard. “What did he do?” The words come out barely above a whisper, already knowing I'm not gonna like the answer.
Jax drags a hand down his face like he's trying to pull himself together before he speaks. “He tried payin' for the brick y/n” he actually mumbles, I'm struggling to even hear him correct. “Just...not with anythin' Laroy was willin' to touch. Some shit that-”
He clenches his jaw so fucking hard he stops talking. Then pushes off the bed so fucking hard. His hands go straight to his hair, dragging back through the slickened strands as he paces like there's too ,much anger brewing inside of him.
“Jax?” I get up and follow him without even thinking. “What did he...” He turns on me so fast my breath catches in my throat. His lips are pressed tight like he's trying to will the words to come out but they just wont.
“Tell me...” I say, stepping closer. “...please”.
His eyes lock onto mine and for a second I see the protective anger shimmering under his mask. “You”the words leave his mouth reluctantly. “He tried to give him videos of you.”
The entire room goes silent. It doesn't make fucking sense. Until it does. All the nights we shared, the shit we'd do...the shit we filmed. Plus all of these other videos Jax is talking about, some where I’m not even aware I’m being recorded. “Oh...” is all I can manage to say, my voice as broken as my trust.
“Fuck!” Jax explodes, the curse ripping out of him as his fist slams into the back of my bedroom door. The crack is so loud it echoes through the house. I flinch, staring at the fresh dent he's left behind. Right next to the old one, slightly higher but just the same impact.
𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 summary: two of your childhood friends owing you a favor helps out when they stop you for speeding (Shane Walsh and Rick Grimes x fem!reader)
𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 setting: pre apocalypse
𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 warnings: smut, threesome, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie(it’s shane), handjob, oral (rick receiving), no lori or carl😶, reader is described as to be the same age as rick and shane/was in the same year of school as them, shane and rick are lowk dirty cops here (they bang reader to let her off), readers described to be wearing a dress, pretty sure that’s it
𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 word count: 1.9k
𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 a/n: no comments | here’s part two!!
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you were on your way home from work, hitting all the quieter roads and failing to stay at the speed limit.
on any other day, you wouldn’t have been stopped but today was different. everything that could’ve went wrong today did, just like now.
you seen the sirens flash behind you, and pulled over with a sigh. rolling down your window and waiting for the cop to walk up to your car, but the look that crossed your face as you met his eyes had a sigh of relief leaving you.
“Shane?”
you questioned, eyes flicking from his face and then down to the badge pinned to his chest. the gold pin reading ‘Walsh’, a last name you’d grown overly familiar with.
“mhm you know how fast you were going?”
he asked, his elbow resting lightly on your wing mirror. his eyes flicking from you and the back towards his partner still in their patrol car, unaware of who the other man was; but the feeling in your stomach had your mind racing to your other old best friend— Rick Grimes.
“was ten over the limit, max”
pleading your case, which made him chuckle. his head shaking from side to side as he moved to cross his arms in your open window, his face inches from yours.
the minty scent from his gum filling your senses from your closeness, eyes flicking down to his lips before his voice was pulling your attention back to him.
“still over the limit sweetheart”
a shiver going down your spine at the nickname, eyes finding his again and meeting the gleam in his eyes.
a pool of warmth setting in your belly under his gaze, leaning closer to him and murmuring out softly.
“remember that favor you owe me?”
another chuckle pushed past his lips, watching his head shake as he stood upright again, motioning towards his patrol car towards Rick.
the older of the two moving over to your car, a telling smirk across Shane’s face as he nodded his head towards you. Ricks hands resting on his hips as his eyes met yours, for the first time in years.
“hm you remember that favor we owe her Rick?”
the favor that you’d brought up was dismal, something from your last year of high school. you’d done both boys a big favor, helping them get out of school for the day while they done something you don’t quite remember. but they both said they owed you one, and now felt as if the perfect opportunity to use up that favor.
“from high school?”
Shane nodded in response, smirk broad across his face as his eyes skimmed down your body. his right hand reaching for the door handle and pulling open your door, arms crossing over the top of it as both men peered down at you.
“and how exactly do you want us to repay that favor for you?”
the innuendo was there, all three of you felt it. gulping as you unbuckled your seatbelt before slowly climbing out of your car, heat shooting through your body.
the road you were on was hardly used by people, so the chance of someone driving by and seeing the three of you was unlikely.
“you know how Walsh, don’t be dim”
he huffed out a laugh at your words, eyes flicking over to meet Rick’s while he shut your car door.
sandwiched between both men, your back to Shane’s chest while you faced Rick.
“gonna let us have fun with you sweetheart?”
Shane’s persistent talking left Rick quiet, not that he minded. it allowed his eyes to rake down your body, stopping at the hem of your dress that Shane was now eagerly pushing up.
“you’re stunning”
Rick drawled out, his hands lifting to grope at your boobs. his thumbs swiping over your hardening nipples through the fabric of your dress.
letting out a breathy moan at his touch, back arching towards him while Shane grounded his hips against the swell of your ass. the bulge in his slacks prominent and throbbing in his boxers.
“reckon she’s soaked for us Rick?”
the words barely registered in your head before one of Shane’s big hands were snaking into the front of your panties to swipe two thick fingers through your folds, pulling more moans from your chest.
“oh fuck”
you and Shane breathed out simultaneously, yours needier than his.
whining as his hand pulled away from your cunt to show Rick his now soaked fingers, that smirk still across his face.
“shit sweetheart”
Rick’s voice dropped an octave, one of his hands keeping your left boob in his hold while the other cradled your jaw. pulling you into a deep, heated kiss— all teeth and tongue while your hips pushed back onto Shane.
the pool of heat in your belly deepened, warmth settling through your body while both men lavished you with their undivided attention.
Shane fumbled with his belt, the clank of it sounding as he got it open. breaking the kiss with Rick to glance back at him, his fingers tugging down his zipper while he spat his gum out to the side.
“ain’t gonna keep you waiting much longer, promise you tha’”
he told before leaning in to kiss you as best he could, hands leaving his slacks to pull your panties down to your knees. the fabric drenched in your arousal.
“can’t leave Rick without any pleasure darlin’, ain’t fair tha’”
he broke the kiss to mumble against your lips, pulling back enough to meet his gaze. nodding slowly, the words formulating in your head in little coherency.
turning back to Rick, missing the way he worked open his belt and pushed his slacks down to his mid thigh. practically ogling at the sight of his cock, hot and hard and standing to attention.
the look on your face must’ve shown your surprise, stood still in place— mind reeling and trying to make sense of what your current situation actually was.
Rick must’ve sensed your hesitation, big hands cradling your face while pulling you into a softer kiss than before.
“you sure you wanna do this?”
his soft questioning made your heart warm, almost swooning at his care.
“want this— want both of you”
those words were all Shane needed to push himself into your warmth in one smooth thrust, his chest flush against your back as he buried himself to the hilt. his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured out lowly to you.
“c’mon sweetheart, take care of Ricky”
your left hand grabbed at Ricks shoulder, helping him move closer before he was kissing you again. tongue licking its way into your mouth and tangling with yours, while your right hand took hold of his cock.
the tip of him leaking beads of precum, his hips rocking into your touch while Shane slowly started moving his hips against yours.
“there we go”
his voice came out hoarse against your ear, hearing the smirk across his lips and breaking the kiss with Rick to glare back at Shane.
“easy darlin’, we’re paying back that favor we owe you”
you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him, his hold on your hips growing tighter as he continued to roll his hips into you.
each drag of his cock against your walls making you moan lewdly, hand squeezing around Ricks cock and pulling a shaky groan from him.
your hand moving slow and almost teasingly along Ricks length, twisting your wrist on the upstroke to pull more and more groans from his chest. his hips rocked into your touch and the head of his cock continued to leak, his precum helping to lubricate your strokes.
“like that darlin’ fuck, yeah just like tha’”
the lilt in his voice grew thicker, hips chasing your hand while Shane continued to thrust into you. his left hand shaking around to your front and pressing two thigh fingers to your clit, drawing tight firm circles against you and drawing whinier moans from your lips.
the whole scene was lewd, but you felt as if you were in paradise.
old feelings for both of them resurfacing and feeling as if you were playing out your fantasies.
“Rick-“
words failed you, but the way your eyes flicked between his and his lips gave away what you wanted. another kiss.
he was leaning in to press his lips to yours again, your hand continuing along his cock while Shane continued to play with your clit.
your walls fluttering and squeezing around him had a groan falling from his lips, his forehead dipping to rest on your shoulder before he was mumbling out.
“shit sweetheart, squeezing me real tight”
the pool of warmth in the pit of your stomach was at its boiling point, ready to tip you over the edge.
and with the way both men’s hips were canting desperately into your touch, you knew they were close too.
continuing to pump Ricks cock, his breath hitching while his cock throbbed in your hand. teetering on the edge, but they both wanted you to cum first.
“close, fuck ‘m close”
your admission had Shane’s hips moving quicker against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin pulling your focus back to the man behind you.
each drag of his cock felt too good, the head of him hitting the one spot over and over again that had you seeing stars. his fingers pressing tighter circles against your clit had you toppling over the edge.
cunt spasming around him as your climax hit, the force of your release had your slumping against Ricks chest. face in against his throat and your hand squeezing around his cock as you tried steadying yourself.
“there we go, atta fucking girl”
Shane’s praise hit your ears like a familiar melody, his hand soothing across your hip while continuing to rock into you.
fighting off his climax as best he could, but your walls fluttering around him again had him toppling over. whining against Ricks throat at the feeling of Shane’s cum shooting into your warmth, each stutter thrust he gave spilling more of him into you.
“jesus you’re perfect”
he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, both of hands softer now across your hips. keeping himself buried to the hilt, and keeping his cum stuffed in your pussy.
Ricks hands cradled your face to pull you back from his neck, nodding his head as you met his gaze.
on the pinnacle of his release, wanting to spill his load down your throat. his hands gently moved your head towards his cock.
your mouth warm and welcoming, and your lips wrapped securely around his cock.
he only had to give a couple bucks of his hips until he was groaning out your name, his climax hitting him and his cum shooting into your mouth. rope after rope of white filling the warm cavern of your mouth before pulling out to let you swallow.
“shit— gonna let me fuck you now angel?”
swallowing down his release, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and standing upright against Shane again.
readying yourself to answer when a call came over both of their radios, both of them groaning in annoyance.
Shane reluctantly pulling out of your warmth and pressing another kiss to your shoulder while a pout worked its way into your face.
“shit, we gotta go darlin’. think we can let you off with a warning now”
he told as they both tucked themselves back into their pants, Rick even helping to pull your panties back into place as Shane’s cum started to seep out of your cunt.
Rick placing a kiss to your temple before they were both walking back to their car, calling out to them as they both opened their doors.
Happy finds out your boyfriend hits you. The boyfriend isn't alive much longer.
Warnings: reader is in an abusive relationship
The first time Happy Lowman sees the bruise, he doesn’t say a word.
That’s what makes it terrifying.
You’re behind the bar at the clubhouse, sleeves shoved down despite the California heat, trying to ignore the ache in your ribs every time you reach for another bottle. The night is loud—music blaring, bikers shouting over pool games, someone revving a Harley outside hard enough to rattle the windows.
Happy sits in the corner booth sharpening a knife with lazy precision, dark eyes half-lidded beneath the brim of his cap.
Watching everything.
Watching you.
You make the mistake of reaching too high for a bottle of whiskey.
Your sleeve slips.
Purple fingerprints bloom around your wrist.
The entire room keeps moving.
But Happy goes still.
Completely still.
You yank your sleeve down fast enough to burn your skin and force a smile at one of the prospects ordering beers, pretending you don’t notice the way Happy’s stare drills into you for the rest of the night.
You’ve known him almost a year.
Long enough to know silence from Happy is never harmless.
Your boyfriend, Dean, picks you up after closing.
He’s already pissed.
You can smell whiskey on him before you even get into the truck.
“The fuck were you smiling at that biker for?” he snaps as soon as the door slams.
“I was working.”
“You looked real happy doing it.”
You stare out the window.
That usually helps.
If you stay quiet long enough, sometimes he burns himself out before things get worse.
Not tonight.
His hand lashes out so fast your head cracks against the glass.
Pain explodes behind your eyes.
“Answer me when I’m talking to you.”
Your ears ring.
You taste blood.
And somewhere behind the truck, headlights appear.
A motorcycle.
Dean doesn’t notice.
You do.
The low rumble follows all the way to your apartment complex.
Happy.
Of course it’s Happy.
Dean finally notices the bike when he parks.
“What the fuck?”
Happy kills the engine slowly and removes his helmet.
No expression.
No hurry.
Just death walking toward the truck in boots.
Dean scoffs and climbs out. “You got a problem?”
Happy ignores him completely.
Looks at you instead.
You’re frozen in the passenger seat, heart pounding so hard it hurts.
Happy’s gaze drifts to the split on your lip.
Then to Dean.
“Get outta the truck,” Happy says quietly.
Dean laughs.
Actually laughs.
“Mind your business, psycho.”
Happy tilts his head slightly.
“You hit her?”
Dean squares up immediately, puffing his chest out like an idiot. “That’s my girlfriend. I do whatever the fuck I want.”
Wrong answer.
You see it happen in Happy’s eyes.
Like a switch flipping.
One second there’s a man standing there.
The next there’s something feral.
Happy grabs Dean by the throat and slams him against the truck hard enough to dent the door.
Dean gasps.
You scramble out of the passenger side. “Happy—”
Dean swings wildly.
Happy barely reacts.
He drives a fist into Dean’s stomach, then another into his jaw. Bone cracks loud in the parking lot.
Dean crumples.
Happy follows him down.
Not angry.
That would almost be better.
No, Happy is calm.
Methodical.
He beats Dean with horrifying efficiency while Dean wheezes and begs and spits blood onto the pavement.
“Happy,” you whisper.
He doesn’t stop.
Dean tries crawling away.
Happy catches him by the ankle and drags him back.
“Please—”
Happy stomps on his hand.
The scream echoes through the complex.
A porch light flicks on somewhere above you.
Happy finally looks up at you.
“You want him alive?”
The question hits like ice water.
Because he means it.
There’s no bluff here. No exaggeration.
If you say no, Dean dies in this parking lot.
Your entire body shakes.
Dean whimpers on the ground, swollen and bloody and suddenly pathetic instead of terrifying.
For months you’ve lived in fear of him.
Months of flinching at slammed doors.
Months of covering bruises with makeup.
Months of convincing yourself you deserved it somehow because that’s easier than admitting someone who claimed to love you enjoyed hurting you.
And now Happy stands over him like judgment itself.
Waiting.
You swallow hard. “I just… want him gone.”
Happy stares at you for a long moment.
Then down at Dean.
Dean starts sobbing.
Actually sobbing.
“I swear to God I’ll never touch her again—”
Happy pulls a gun.
Dean stops breathing.
So do you.
Happy crouches beside him, pressing the barrel beneath Dean’s chin.
“If I see you near her again,” he says softly, “they’ll find pieces.”
Dean nods frantically, crying so hard he can barely breathe.
Happy pistol-whips him once more for good measure.
Dean collapses unconscious.
Silence settles over the parking lot.
Happy rises slowly, blood smeared across his knuckles.
Then he looks at you.
And suddenly all that terrifying violence disappears beneath something gentler.
Not soft.
Happy Lowman isn’t soft.
But careful.
“You hurt anywhere bad?”
The question nearly breaks you.
Because nobody asked before.
Not really.
Your eyes burn unexpectedly.
Happy notices immediately.
He steps closer.
Slow enough not to scare you.
When he touches your jaw, his rough thumb barely ghosts over the bruise there.
The tenderness of it feels more devastating than the violence did.
“You shoulda told me,” he murmurs.
A shaky laugh escapes you. “You’re literally covered in blood right now.”
“Yeah.”
“And somehow that’s not the scary part.”
One corner of his mouth twitches.
The closest thing Happy has to a smile.
Behind him, Dean groans weakly on the pavement.
Happy doesn’t even glance back.
His eyes stay on you.
“You got somewhere else you can stay tonight?”
You hesitate.
Happy reads the answer instantly.
“C’mon,” he says.
Simple as that.
Like there was never another option.
The clubhouse is quieter by the time you arrive.
Most of the guys are gone or passed out somewhere.
Happy leads you to his room without explanation.
It’s shockingly clean.
Sparse.
A bed, dresser, weapons neatly organized like they belong in a museum exhibit for terrifying men.
You hover awkwardly near the door. “I can sleep on the floor.”
Happy gives you a look like you just said something profoundly stupid.
“Nah.”
“I don’t want to—”
“The bed’s big.”
Your stomach flips for reasons that have nothing to do with fear now.
Happy disappears into the bathroom and returns with a first aid kit.
Then he sits on the edge of the bed and pats the spot beside him.
You obey before you can overthink it.
His huge hands are impossibly gentle cleaning the cut on your lip.
“He do this a lot?” he asks quietly.
The question hangs heavy.
You shrug. “Enough.”
His jaw flexes.
You can practically hear the violence he’s imagining.
“You stayin’ with him because you’re scared?”
Your eyes drop.
“…Was.”
Happy finishes taping gauze over your split knuckles.
Then he leans back slightly, studying you with those dark, unreadable eyes.
“Nobody touches what’s mine like that.”
The words settle deep in your chest.
Mine.
Not possessive in the ugly way Dean used it.
Protective.
Certain.
Safe.
You should probably question that.
Instead, your eyes start burning again.
Happy notices.
Again.
“Hey.”
You hate how wrecked your voice sounds. “Sorry.”
“What’re you apologizing for?”
You laugh weakly. “Everything, probably.”
Happy stares at you for a second.
Then, unexpectedly, he opens his arms.
It’s awkward.
Like he’s not used to offering comfort but is doing it anyway.
Your heart cracks clean open.
You move before you can think better of it, crawling into his lap and burying your face against his chest.
Happy’s arms close around you instantly.
Solid.
Warm.
Unmovable.
He smells like leather, gunpowder, soap, and cigarettes.
One massive hand settles at the back of your head.
“That’s it,” he murmurs.
And for the first time in months—
Maybe years—
You feel safe enough to fall apart.
Dean disappears two days later.
Nobody asks questions.
Not at the clubhouse.
Not when Happy comes back from a ride alone, knuckles split open again and a fresh smiley-face tattoo added to his torso.
You stare at it over breakfast.
Happy notices.
“Problem?”
“That for him?”
Happy takes a drag from his cigarette.
“Yep.”
You probably shouldn’t feel warmth bloom in your chest over something so objectively horrifying.
But then Happy slides your coffee toward you exactly how you like it without asking.
His fingers brush yours briefly.
Gentle.
Careful.
Like he’s handling something precious.
And suddenly the violence makes a terrifying kind of sense.
Not cruelty.
Protection.
The kind a man like Happy gives with his whole damn soul.
He catches you staring.
“What?”
You smile softly.
“Nothing.”
Happy studies you for a long moment.
Then hooks a finger through your belt loop as you try to walk past him, tugging you between his knees.
You laugh in surprise.
His forehead presses against your stomach for a brief second before he looks up at you.
Possessive.
Devoted.
Dangerous.
“Anybody ever puts hands on you again,” he says quietly, “I’ll bury ’em.”
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader
Summary: Daryl gets injured during a supply run with the reader. But he snaps when the reader tries to help. After a heated argument, the group tries to get you both to fix it and get to the cause.
Why was he avoiding you?
Warnings: Angsty Daryl ✦ Swearing ✦ Mentions of cuts and bleeding ✦ Injury ✦ Fluff Ending
Word Count: 2.2k
Author's Note: This is my first time writing for Daryl, and I'm so freaking excited I tried really hard to give him and the reader southern accents because they're still in Georgia at this point! I would love feedback, so feel free!
masterlist
The prison was within eyesight as you and Daryl approached the forest. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow along the tree line. In the immediate distance, a tent sat far into the forest. The faded colors of the tent let you know that nobody had been there for a decent amount of time before you stumbled upon it.
“Should go check it out-” A gruff voice next to you stated. Daryl came along with you, much to your dismay.
You let out a brief exhale. “You think we've got time? S’getting late.”
“Fine, I’ll do it.” Daryl pushed past you, his shoulder grazing your arm as his footsteps made prints into the untouched moss and plant life.
There. The root of your frustration. “Daryl, wait!” You reached out to grab him. “Could be a trap-”
“The hell we sitting here talkin’ about it for? You waitin’ for an invitation?” Daryl’s arms flew up in frustration, his crossbow coming with them. He pushed on, nearing the tent with each stomp of his steel-toe boots.
Whip!
Before your brain ever recognized what was happening, Daryl was already dropping his crossbow and holding his arm. As you suspected, a trap was laid out for nearby walkers. Daryl had walked right into it.
You ran up to him, caution still lurking in the back of your mind. “What the hell happened? Are you okay?!” Daryl grunted as he glanced toward the wound. “I’m good, must’ve set off somethin’. Knife came right at me-”
“Jesus-” You sigh to yourself.
Looking around, you confirmed Daryl’s response. There was a tripwire stretched between two trees, with a contraption that would launch the knife straight at the person caught in the trap.
“Did it stab you? Should we go back and get help?” Daryl waved you away before you could get a good look at it.
“S’fine, let’s keep going.” He grunted, ripping a strip from the end of his shirt and wrapping it firmly around his forearm. “Oh- are you sure? We could get you some bandages back home, we’re not too far aw-”
“Said m’fine! Should keep going without you so you can keep acting like a baby about it!” Daryl cringed at the volume of his own voice.
Shit
A pang of anger hit your chest like a truck. “Y’know what? Fuck you. Was just tryin’ to help.” Your voice trailed off into a soft whisper as you stepped over the tripwire, completely ignoring Daryl’s blank look.
His stomach churned at your remark, because he knew it truly wasn’t your fault. Sure, you two had been through a mountain of crap since you met on Hershel’s farm. But through all that, he still felt like there was still a wall between him and anyone who ever gave a damn about him.
He followed behind you, eyeing your movements and walking around the perimeter. He watched as you slashed through the tent to grab whatever was inside.
Daryl’s mind raced at the sight of you. His heart nearly beat out of his chest at the thought of you fawning over him when that knife slashed him.
Because his anger was never at you. Not intentionally.
He brushed the sweat off his forehead, his long hair starting to stick to his face in the hot summer sun. He glanced around you and the tent to scout for possible threats, but he still couldn’t take his mind off the obvious.
His weakness.
God, when you were fawning over him, he felt so unfathomably weak.
Not because of you, but because of everything he’s done. Why should he be allowed to show weakness after all the group has lost? Why does he deserve to be looked after when he couldn’t look after everybody that was lost along the way?
Daryl walked over to you with anxiety bubbling through him. “Need help?” His eyes softened at your struggle to fit everything in the duffel bag you brought along with you. He bit the inside of his cheek at the sound of you scoffing.
“So now you want my help.” You grabbed the last couple of cans that sat in the corner of the tent and held them up wordlessly. The loot you both had found was decent, but with a growing number of mouths to feed, it felt inconsequential.
Daryl said nothing as he moved your hand to the side and instead slung the duffel bag around his shoulder, relieving you of the weight.
His touch sent waves of excitement through you and threatened to burst out and confess your feelings for him. Daryl found you wandering the woods outside of Hershel’s farm, covered in walker guts and absolutely destroyed by whatever dark occurrences you had experienced prior. You were quickly welcomed as family and even joined Daryl in his search for Sophia.
Yet, even after all those hours alone with him, it felt like you could never get close enough.
Daryl was never an outgoing man, but it seemed as though he would never approve of you. Hell, even those search missions for Sophia always ended up in some kind of argument because he was stubborn, and you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.
Or at least you thought.
Daryl pushed forward back to the prison, hauling the duffel bag while you carried the odds and ends that did not fit in the bag. He winced silently at the pain shooting through his arm, his muscles stretched as he continued the hike.
You hadn’t yet caught on to the man’s troubles. “That thing is awfully heavy; we can share some of the load, you know. I can carry it since we’re halfway now.” Your offer fell on deaf ears, as he just grunted a small “No” in response.
After a huff and an eyeroll, you pushed again. “Stop tryin’ to be macho, I know your arm hurts! Let me take it!” Daryl felt that anger and vulnerability rearing their ugly heads again, and his chest grew tight from frustration.
It reached a peak when you tried to take the bag, and it ran right over the gash in his arm. A pained groan settled deep within him, and he threw the bag down onto the dirt road.
“Y’can’t just leave me alone, can ya?” Daryl watched you freeze and look at the ground, as if you had suddenly found something interesting.
And yet he wasn’t done.
“Gotta always be near me, helpin’ me when I don’t need it! Why can’t ya just go away?!” He snatched the duffel bag from where it landed and continued walking, regret settling deep inside of him and making his stomach churn.
Never. Never had he been so vocal and so outright with his remarks. Tears welled up in your eyes, making his fading figure blurry as you watched him leave.
Later that night, the group had all returned from their supply runs. Maggie and Glen were patching each other up and mixing in little kisses here and there. The sight made a smile come to your face.
Despite all of the horrific things outside, love still had a chance inside the walls.
Daryl was in his cell, examining the wound on his arm. The knife had slashed his arm pretty badly, with the need for stitches becoming evident. He lay back, his head gently banging against the cell wall.
“Daryl, we need you for the-” Rick swung by his cell to ask him to help close up the gates for the day. “Did that happen on your run today?” The question brought back a flood of guilt. Daryl only nodded, unable to even speak about the horrible things he said.
“Y/n didn’t patch you up?” Rick frowned at the thought of you not pulling your weight, because that was not typically like you. You have always been a highly valuable and helpful member of the family.
After Daryl’s long pause, Rick chuckled to himself softly. “Lemme guess, you didn’t tell her?” Rick’s suspicions were confirmed when Daryl shrugged and turned over to face the wall.
After a beat of silence from the other man in the room, Daryl turned back around to see that Rick was gone.
Fuck
Daryl knew where he was going. To tell you. In an attempt to make himself scarce, he left his cell and tried to go outside to close up.
“You asshole!” You yelled from across the room, ignoring the numerous heads that whipped around to watch the drama unfold. You had a pack of bandages in your hand as you approached him.
His eyes darted over your appearance. How effortlessly beautiful you were, and how he adored the clear anger across your face.
Even if it was directed at him.
“Back to your cell, let’s go. Now.” You stated firmly, watching him walk back to his cell like a puppy with its tail between its legs.
Rick and the others snickered at how easily you broke through his stubbornness.
“If she yelled at me like that, I think I would die of fear.” Glenn teased Daryl behind his back, earning a laugh from Rick and Maggie.
Daryl finally made it up the stairs and back to his cell, with your footsteps reminding him of his impending ass-kicking.
“I asked if you were okay an’ you told me you were! Lemme see it.” You sat down on the bed next to him, already sending chills of excitement down his skin.
And you hadn’t even touched him yet.
Daryl reluctantly took off the makeshift bandage, revealing what he had been hiding all day. You winced in pain just from looking at it.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Daryl?” His heart fluttered at the mention of his name from your lips.
He took a pause, almost as if he could find solace in the silence before finally opening his mouth for the first time since he got back to the prison.
“Didn’t want ya’ to think I was weak. Ain’t never had somebody care about me like that, s’all.” Daryl felt as if he would scare you away. As if his weakness would prove that he didn’t deserve you.
If he couldn’t take care of himself, how could he take care of you?
“You’re not weak.” A pout settled on your mouth. Not kissing you in that moment was nearly impossible.
“You’re the strongest man in this damn place. But that doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help.” Even though the words came from you, he couldn’t believe them with his full being.
After being alone and relying on himself for so long, it feels so hard to rely on everyone else. Especially the woman he admires.
“Jus’ wanna be strong for you. Wanna be there for you instead.” You smiled at him as you cleaned him up.
“Honey, you don’t have to be strong for me.” His ears turned red at the pet name. Hearing it from you made all the difference.
“And hell, you’re there for me more than anybody else is. Remember when you first found me? How weak I was?” Daryl remembered it like it was yesterday.
A thunderstorm had just passed by, and Daryl was out looking for Sophia. He called her name several times and heard rustling from deeper in the woods. He pushed forward and was met with a woman who looked like she’d been through hell and back.
As he approached, you could barely move, your eyes begging for help without ever actually saying it.
He carried you back to Hershel’s place that day, where he nursed you back to health with his presence.
“You think I felt proud of having you carry me all the way to Hershel’s? I felt like a damn fool. But it didn’t matter because you were there for me.”
Daryl's guilt hit him hard, and he turned his body toward you. He disregarded your work on his arm. “M’so sorry bout what I said earlier. Didn’t mean none of it.” He couldn’t even look in your eyes, but he was praying his apologies worked.
“I know.” You kept working on his arm anyway, finishing up the stitching and wrapping it in clean gauze. His heart sank at your silence, wondering if you really could forgive him for all that he said.
“I ain’t worth your help’, and-” he paused.
“I do want ya near me. Want you all the damn time. Just hurts to feel weak when I’m supposed to be there for you.” He realized how stupid he sounded as the words left his mouth.
“Could you forgive me?” His silent prayers were answered when you looked up at him with that gorgeous smile.
“Yes, Daryl. I forgive you for being an asshole back there.” You took his cheek in your hand. “But you pull that shit again and I’m leavin’ your ass!” You laugh, earning a quiet chuckle from him.
You expected a response along the lines of “shut up”, but you found him staring at your lips. Wanting, waiting, yearning for something to happen.
You filled in the gap between the two of you. The kiss wasn’t urgent or rushed at all.
It was soft. Forgiving. And understanding
Daryl’s hand caressed your waist and hips as you gripped the sides of his face. Your lips moved with his in sync
You eventually pulled away, hearing a quiet, disappointed sigh from him. “Ya gonna be nicer to me now? Or am I gonna have to keep teachin’ you lessons?”
Daryl laughed this time, a full-body laugh that made your cheeks heat up. “I don’t know, might have to teach me a few more lessons.” His grip tightened, pulling you closer to his chest.
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summary: the ER knows you're married, pregnant, and hopelessly in love with your husband. so when brendon keeps hovering around you, everyone's convinced you're having an affair.
pairing: brendon park + attending!pregnant!reader
word count: 2.4k
warnings/tags: mentions of pregnancy, workplace misunderstanding
notes: based on this ask from anon, tysm for requesting!
reblogs, likes, and comments are so so appreciated! if you want to read more from me, kindly submit in my inbox !!! xoxo
The first rumor started because of a protein bar.
Not because of anything dramatic. Not because someone saw you sneaking around hospital corridors or caught you pressed against a wall with Brendon Park's hand around your waist.
No.
It started because at two in the afternoon, during a brutally understaffed Friday day shift in the ER, you looked up from charting and said with exhausted fondness:
"My husband is going to kill me if he finds out I skipped lunch again."
And Dana, who had worked enough years in emergency medicine to survive on caffeine and spite alone, snorted.
"Husbands," she said. "They worry too much."
You smiled to yourself while typing. "Mine's worse now that I'm pregnant. Yesterday he tried to meal prep for me."
"Oh?" Santos asked from the next computer. "How'd that go?"
"He labeled every container by protein count."
"Sounds intense," Santos muttered.
"He is intense," you agreed easily. "But he means well."
Nobody thought much about it then. Because everybody in the ER about your husband.
Well, sort of. They knew he existed. They knew he packed your lunches sometimes. That he texted reminders for vitamins. That he apparently folded laundry with terrifying precision. That he hated when you worked overtime but still stayed awake until you got home anyway.
They knew he rubbed your swollen feet after shifts. They knew he was "ridiculously overprotective." They knew he called you "doctor" sarcastically whenever you forgot to take care of yourself.
They knew you adored him, but they didn't know his name.
And somehow, over months of working together, nobody ever asked. Or maybe they had once and gotten distracted by a trauma alert halfway through.
That was the thing about the ER. Conversations happened infragments.
So your husbands became this faceless mythical man everyone pieced together from tiny details.
And because you were basically sunshine in human form (You were the warmest, most patient, endlessly kind person), everyone imagined your husband accordingly.
Probably some sweet elementary school teacher. Or a soft-spoken accountant. Or maybe a stay-at-home husband who baked sourdough and wore cardigans.
Definitely not Brendon Park. Absolutely not him.
The first time most of the ER really met Brendon was during a motorcycle trauma.
The ortho pager had gone off twenty minutes earlier and everyone was already stressed. The patient had multiple fractures, a discolated shoulder, and enough road rash to make the interns pale.
Then he walked in. Tall, broad-shouldered. No greeting, no wasted movement, just immediate assessment,
"X-rays," his voice cut through the chaos.
Someone handed them over. Brendon studied them for maybe three seconds.
"We'll prep OR two. I want vascular on standby."
Ogilvie beside him started talking. "So we were thinking—"
"No," Brendon interrupted without even looking at him. "You were guessing."
Silence. Ogilvie visibly shrank.
"Comminuted tib-fib fracture with displacement. If you'd waited another hour, he'd lose perfusion."
The room went still. Not because he was wrong, but because he was terrifying.
Then his eyes shifted toward you. And the entire atmosphere changed so subtly that nobody noticed it except maybe Santos.
Your shoulders relaxed just slightly. Brendon's expression remained unreadable, but his gaze lingered on you for half a second too long.
"You've been here since morning," he said flatly.
"Hello to you too."
"Did you eat?"
The room paused.
You looked midly defensive. "Yes."
"You're lying."
"I had crackers."
"That's not food."
Ogilvie who'd just been verbally executed stared between you both in confusion. The Shark did not do conversation, yet here he was arguing with you about crackers.
You rolled your eyes. "I'm busy."
"You're pregnant."
"And?"
"And you require actual nutrition."
Santos coughed to hide a laugh. Brendon ignored everybody. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and placed a protein bar beside your keyboard without saying anything else.
Then he turned and walked away. No goodbye or no explaination. He just left.
The ER collectively stared at the protein bar. Then at you. Then back at the protein bar.
Santos finally broke the silence. "...What the hell was that?"
You unwrapped the bar casually. "He gets grumpy when I forget to eat."
"You know Park the Shark?" Santos asked slowly.
You looked confused. "Brendon?"
The entire station froze at the first-name basis.
"What do you mean, Brendon?" Santos asked.
"That's his name."
"No one calls him Brendon."
"Oh," you took a bite of the protein bar. "I do."
After that, people started noticing things. Little things.
Like how Brendon only ever lingered in the ER when you were there. How he answered everyone else with clipped professionalism but always gave you full sentences.
How you somehow never seemed intimidated by him. Everyone else treated Brendon like a shark circling bloody water, you treated him like an annoyed housecat.
One afternoon, during a particularly miserable shift, you were sitting at the station rubbing your lower back.
"God," you muttered. "My husband bought six different pregnancy pillows."
Dana laughed. "Six?"
"He said the first five didn't have the right feeling."
"What does that even mean?"
"I don't even want to know."
Then Santos frowned. "Wait. Wasn't Park carrying a giant package into the parking lot yesterday?"
You didn't look up from your charting. "Probably."
"And didn't he get irritated at at someone who bumped into him because it caused him to drop it all?"
"Oh, that was ours."
Silence.
You blinked up. "What?"
Santos stared at you carefully. "You and Park live in the same building?"
"Oh." You smiled absentmindedly. "Yeah."
Another silence. Santos looked deeply concerned now.
"You're... close with him?"
You laughed. "I mean, I would hope so."
Nobody knew what to say to that. Because there was no way. No way.
You were married, pregnant even. Completely in love with your husband, whoever he was.
And Brendon Park looked at most human interaction like it personally offended him.
Yet somehow he kept appearing around you like a shadow, like it was gravity.
The rumors exploded after an incident at the cafeteria. You had been off your shift for exactly eleven minutes when Brendon walked into the cafeteria still in his scrubs.
And everyone noticed that. Because Brendon never went to the cafeteria (He barely seemed to consume food). He scanned the room once and found you immediately. THen walked over carrying a tray.
Without asking, he switched your coffee with a different one.
"You can't have that much caffeine."
You looked offended. "It was half-caf."
"It was basically battery acid."
"You tasted it?"
"You left it on the counter this morning."
Brendon sat across from you naturally, like this happened every day.
You pointed at his tray. "You got fries?"
"You wanted fries."
"I mentioned fries once."
"You cried about it."
"I was emotional that time."
"You threatened divorce."
The tables surrounding you stared. The conversation sounded disgustingly domestic.
Brendon pushed the fries toward you first before touching his own food. You stole half of them and he didn't complain.
Actually, he watched you eat with this faintly distracted expression that nobody had ever seen on his face before. Like he was making sure you were really eating.
Then your phone buzzed. You checked it and groaned.
"The husband says I forgot my appointment tomorrow."
Brendon immediately said, "Ten-thirty."
You looked at him. "I know."
"You forgot."
"I remembered eventually."
"You remembered because I reminded you."
The silence at the table became defeaning, like somehow everyone was staring at you. Brendon glanced around once, clearly unimpressed by the collective lack of intelligence.
Then his pager went off. And before leaving, he reached down and adjusted you chair closer to the table because you'd been sitting awkwardly with your belly.
The movement was instinctive, like he'd done this a million times. And it was weirdly intimate.
The second he disappeared, Langdon sat on the seat that Brendon just occupied.
"Oh my God."
You frowned. "What?"
He leaned forward carefully. "Are you having an affair with Brendon Park?"
You nearly choked on a fry. "What?"
"That man practically tucked you in!"
"He's just—"
"You literally just talked about threatening him with divorce!"
"My husband!"
"Exactly!"
You stared at him in disbelief before realization dawned.
"Oh my god."
"So, you are!"
"No I'm not, Frank."
"Then why does The Shark know your OB schedule?"
"Because he made it."
Silence. "...Made it?" Langdon repeated weakly."
"He color-coded the whole calendar."
He didn't speak. Then you laughed, actually laughed. Because suddenly the misunderstanding was hysterical. But before you could explain, a trauma alert blared overhead and the conversation died instantly.
Unfortunately for you, the rumor did not.
Within a week, the entire ER thought you were secretly involved with Brendon.
Not openly. Nobody confronted you directly again because you seemed so genuinely confused by the accusation.
But people whispered. The evidence kept piling up. Brendon carrying your bag without asking, appearing whenever you mentioned cravings, glaring at anyone who stressed you out, standing suspiciously close during procedures if you looked tired.
And worst of all? The way he looked at you when you weren't paying attention.
That's what really convinced people. Because Brendon looked at everyone else like they personally wronged him. He looekd at you like you were something precious.
Then one night, the ER was hell. Every bed was full, three ambulanced inbound, a drunk patient screaming in triage.
You were exhausted, hormonal, and dangerously close to crying. Then one of the newer interns snapped at you.
"Can we get another attending to handle this? Dr. L/N clearly isn't keeping up."
The station went silent. Your exhaustion sharpened into humiliation. And before you could answer, a voice cut through the room.
"No."
Everyone turned. Brendon stood near the doors, having apparently arrived seconds earlier. The intern straighted nervously.
"Repeat what you said."
The poor intern paled. "I didn't mean—"
"You questioned an attending physician with ten years of emergency medicine experience while you can barely place an IV."
The room became deathly still. Brendon's voice never rose which somehow made it scarier.
"You will either assist competently or get out of her department."
Her department. The possessiveness in those words hit everybody like a truck.
The intern muttered an apology. Brendon didn't even look at him again. Instead, he turned to you.
"You're shaking."
"I'm fine."
Brendon's hand briefly touched the underside of your belly as he adjusted your position from the station edge.
It was gentle. So different from the cold surgeon everyone knew.
And suddenly Santos understood. Not the affair, but something else. Something much bigger.
"Oh my god," she whispered.
Dennis looked at her. "What?"
But she was staring at Brendon. At the wedding band hidden beneath his gloves as he reached for the chart. At the identical band you wore on a chain around your neck because pregnancy swelling made your fingers ache.
At the way you entire body relaxed when he was near. At the way he knew every tiny thing about you.
Not like a lover, like a husband.
"Oh my god," Santos repeated louder.
You looked up. Brendon looked annoyed already, like he sensed where this was going.
Santos pointed between the two of you. "You're married."
You blinked. "Yeah?"
Brendon closed his eyes briefly like this was exhausting.
You looked genuinely baffled. "Who else would we be married to?"
Chaos. Absolute chaos.
"You let us think she was cheating on her husband?!" Santos yelled at Brendon.
Brendon looked unimpressed. "That sounds like a you problem."
"You never said—"
"Well, nobody asked."
"You literally acted like you hated each other!"
You burst out laughing. "What? No we don't."
Brendon looked down at you. And for the first time ever, in front of the entire ER, his expression softened completely.
Not subtly or barely there, but fully. Warm eyes. Affection. Something that was gentle.
Park the Shark was apparently somebody's husband. Somebody's incredibly devoted husband. And somehow that was more shocking than if he'd announced he killed people.
And somehow, from that day on, things became infinitely worse. Because now everyone noticed everything.
The quiet touches. The instinctive teamwork. The fact that Brendon always knew where you were in the hospital. The way he softened only for you.
The way you could make the scariest surgeon in the building carry your snacks and hold your coffee and rub circles into your back between traumas.
And worst of all?
Now the ER knew that every horrifyingly domestic story you told about your husband had been all about Brendon Park all along.
Which completely destroyed their ability to fear him properly anymore. Especially after they heard him answer your phone one day with:
"Baby, why are you calling me from upstairs?"
thank you for reaching until the end! i'd love to know what you thought about this story anddddd if you'd like to see more ;)
Summary: Supernatural Crossover AU! Salacia is the illegitimate daughter of John Winchester, raised primarily by Bobby Singer. After making a deathbed promise to her father to stay out of the hunting life she follows through with it. Finding a life she could only dream of with a very surprising man.
In this chapter: Dinner goes bad and Salacia is left questioning if she should even try to reconcile with Sam and Dean.
Trigger/Content Warning(s): Sam and Dean being assholes, angst
Word Count: 2248
A/N: that last bit with Tig and Sal is a common thing between my irl bf and I. “I try” “you succeed more often than not.”
Salacia smiled as Sam and Dean sat at the table with the family she had found on her own. Typically she sat with Tig on one side and Juice the other, the two people she was closest to,but she had Dean beside her tonight. Sam across from her. She figured this was the smartest way to keep the peace.
The food was amazing as always. Gemma was one hell of a cook. And knew how to cook to feed an army. Or an entire MC of hungry bikers.
Jax was telling a story about him and Opie from when they were stupid teenagers. She laughed along with everyone else, she knew she’d have gotten along with them.
Eventually he looked at her, “But we all know I was a fuck up, what were you like back then?” Jax asked.
“You know yesterday, when you were still in high school?” Gemma added with a laugh.
Salacia rolled her eyes, being the one of youngest at this table and dating someone almost twice her age, earned those kinds of comments, “I was a loner.” She admitted, “Didn’t have a lot of friends. Kept to myself, my best friend at the time was some college kid who helped Bobby out at the junkyard.”
Sam and Dean shared a look, they’d never seen anyone working there.
“I mean I still managed to end up with rumors spreading about me...and him.” She rolled her eyes.
“How?” Juice asked.
“He took me to the movies for my sixteenth birthday. It was just as friends, since the girl I had been seeing was grounded. So rumors started spreading that I was cheating on her with some weird older boy. And because of how damn skinny that kid was, this was a small town in Kansas, they spread rumors he was a junkie too.” She rolled her eyes, “He wasn’t, just a total spaz, whose friendship I wouldn’t have given up.”
Sam finally broke and said he never remembered anyone that fit her description helping Bobby out.
“It was when you were in college, Sammy.” Dean said, he had an idea who it was and it was not some junkyard employee.
“Has Sam met Garth?” Salacia asked her eldest brother, making Sam nearly choke on a drink.
“Recently when we went to visit Bobby...he was your best friend in school?!” He stared at Salacia.
“Yeah, I mean...when that same girlfriend dumped me before my senior prom, I managed to convince him to take me.” She laughed, “I had already bought two tickets, I was going.”
“The fact that you actually know a dude named Garth is the fucking funniest shit.” Juice laughed.
Salacia shrugged giggling. She’d invited him as well and made sure to tell Gemma to not let him have any alcohol. He never took well to it, but she lied about why, saying he was a few years sober. She knew if the guys knew it only took a single beer for Garth to get drunk, they would want to see it for themselves. And she didn’t want that at her wedding.
“”I honestly wanna see a picture of Garth in whatever kind of suit you had him wear.” Dean joked, “He probably looked ridiculous.”
She bit back a comment that he could have seen it sooner had he been in her life at all. She took a breath and took a sip of her spiced rum and cream soda to calm her nerves. Tig held her hand on top of the table and she smiled at him.
“You’ve been together for five years, right?” Sam asked.
“Yeah,” Salacia said with a smile, “I’ve never been so happy.”
“That’s kind of a long time to just date if you aren’t in college or anything.” Sam said.
Salacia rolled her eyes but smiled as Tig replied, “Well, we knew we were heading this way two years ago, just waiting for the right time.”
“I wasn’t in any rush, I knew he was mine and that I was his. Everybody did.” Salacia said, “Besides I have something better than a ring to show who my Old Man is.”
“What?” Sam and Dean asked at the same time.
Everyone else at the table seemed to snicker to themselves. Salacia had told Gemma if they asked she was going to explain Tig’s crow. The guys at the table who weren’t her siblings each had a smirk as they looked on amused. Tara was looking down at her plate, but sneaking glances every other second.
Salacia scooted her chair back and pointed to the tattoo under the sheer cut out of her dress, “His crow.” She said with a smile.
She could swear she felt the souls leaving the two young men who had just up and decided to reappear in her life at realizing she had marked herself permanently for a man. And she was just smiling away about it too.
“What the fuck?” Dean was the one to speak.
“What?” She asked all too innocently.
She was nervous though, this was the big make or break thing about her relationship with Tig. If they couldn’t handle his crow, they couldn’t be in her life. She knew that.
“You tattooed yourself for a guy?!” Sam exclaimed.
“Not just a guy, Sam, my Old Man.” She said, “And it’s more than just a tattoo...it symbolizes that I’m his Old Lady official.”
“So what, it symbolizes that you belong to him or some shit?” Dean spat.
She rolled her eyes. The tension at the table was now more palpable than ever. She took a deep breath. Tig gripped her thigh tightly to keep himself under control.
“Dean! Sam!” She said, doing her best to stay calm, “I wanted it. Do you two not see how fucking big a deal it is for a Son to give you his crow? This tattoo means more than this ring to me.” She held up her hand, “This is just a symbol that everyone else understands, and putting our relationship on paper is for the legal shit. If he gets hurt or whatever I will be able to be with him.”
She left out the whole if he went to prison part to wanting things to be locked down legally. Tig smiled at her, seeing how viciously she was willing to defend their relationship. He rubbed her thigh and told her to breathe.
“I'm okay.” She assured him and leaned over kissing his cheek.
Gemma was proud of her as well, watching her speak. She fit right into the club life as an Old Lady perfectly. It was scary to Salacia how easy it was for her to fall into her role. But she still liked it.
“I don’t care what you say, it looks like ownership over a relationship to me.” Sam scowled, “Are you stupid?”
Her jaw dropped at that. She had to grab Tig’s arm to try and keep him seated. But it didn’t work.
“You don’t talk to her that way.” He said, his anger evidently, “You don’t ever fucking talk to her like that. She was freaking out about having to deal with all of your shit again. I have seen her more stressed this week than I have in five years together.”
“You fucking convinced her to mark herself for you!” Dean stood up and shouted back.
“I asked her. I told her I wanted to make things official with the club. I wanted her to have my crow and she said yes.” Tig said, “I didn’t tie her down and force the needle into her skin.”
“I really thought you had more sense than this.” Sam said standing as well, “It’s so damn big you will never be able to hide it with how you dress.”
“Why should she want to hide it?” Juice was the one to ask that, his brown eyes dark with how irritated he was.
Salacia was his best friend, he hated to see her so upset. He knew how happy Tig made her. He had been her first call after her Old Man told her he wanted her to get that tattoo. Even before Gemma.
“You haven’t been here, you haven’t seen how disgustingly lovesick she looks at him. She’s happy, are you stupid to not see that?” The Puerto Rican snapped.
Salacia smiled at her friend’s quick defense. Tig seemed proud too. He knew Jax and Clay...and especially Gemma wanted to jump in too. But they were letting the family hash it out.
“I cried when he told me he wanted me to have his crow. I was so happy I cried.” Salacia said, coolly, “He picked the location. I actually wanted it this big.” She splayed her hand over it, “And, besides, If this is his ownership of me, then the giant ass ‘S’ on his chest is my ownership of him!”
Tig smirked, “I marked myself for her too.” He said, his voice taking on a dangerously calm town, “Now apologize for insulting my woman, your sister.”
The threat in his voice was clear and Salacia grabbed his wrist. She did not want him to catch a charge before their wedding. And especially over Sam and Dean.
“They aren’t worth it, baby.” She murmured.
“We aren’t worth it? We’re your brothers, your family, Salacia!” Dean snarled.
“No, you may be my brothers but don’t you dare say you’re my family.” She leveled them with a glare as she stood as well, “Blood doesn’t make you family. My family is at this table, but it certainly isn’t you. Juice has been a better brother to me than you two ever have. And I only met him six years ago.”
“Fine, you wanna play house with some random old guy, be our guest. You’re gonna get hurt.” Sam snapped, “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
“Fuck you.” She said, eyes dark as storm clouds.
“If you are gonna keep insulting my family,” Gemma said, her voice holding an edge that scared even Happy, “You can get the fuck out of my house.”
Her brothers left, throwing glares back at Salacia and Tig as they did so. Salacia was shaking, she was so upset. She leaned against Tig when he put an arm around her to steady her.
“Do you want to get some fresh air?” He asked.
She nodded and apologized to everyone for how those idiots had acted and let Tig lead her to the back patio so she could calm down. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. She gripped his shirt and did her best to fight back the tears threatening to spill.
“I’m sorry, baby.” He murmured, “They don’t deserve to know you if that is what they think about you.”
She nodded, “I know, but it still hurts. I promised our dad I would live. I would find the life he never had. They’re following in his footsteps…” she whispered, “He made them promise to look out for me. To be there. And they did. They promised our father on his deathbed to be there for me. And then...they just abandoned me again.”
Tig held her tightly, not wanting to let her go. When they met he hadn’t expected things to go this way. He just saw a young waitress that caught his eye. He had only planned to hook up with her. But she had a sense of humor and a smart mouth that made him laugh.
After that he only planned to take her on a date, maybe two. It wasn’t supposed to be more than a quick fling.
But that late night ride. Her holding onto him and her giddy laughter when he sped up. The way she squeezed him tightly. How she looked in the moonlight when they stopped just outside of Charming to watch the stars. The way she felt in his arms as the chilled desert air made her cuddle closer.
When she kissed him first that night. When she pressed her body close. They didn’t end up out of all of their clothes, but the ground felt soft as the most expensive mattress as he took what she was readily offering that night.
The kiss they shared when he dropped her off solidified that he wanted her for more than a night. But her showing up at that party with Juice, the way she smiled at him, she was trouble, his favorite kind of trouble. And he knew he had to have her for as long as he wanted her.
And he just never lost his desire for her. One year turned into two and two into three and his crow graced her skin and her initial got inked onto his. Three to four and now five and his ring was about to be on her finger.
She loved him with all she was.
And he loved her just as much.
He never expected to love her like this, but he did and he wasn’t about to let her go. Or let her brothers who were just reappearing in her life make her feel bad.
“I love you, Salacia.” He murmured and kissed the top of her head.
“I love you so much, Alex.” She said wrapping her arms around his waist, “You have made me the happiest woman in the world.”
Tig smiled, “I try.”
“You succeed more often than not.” She smiled up at him.
"Dad, can you—" Suddenly, and with quiet alarm, you go entirely still.
With shoulders now drawn together, you blink suddenly dewy eyes in silent panic.
"What do you need, sweetheart?" Robby asks quietly while leaning back on his heel. Standing across the room the two of you are currently gathering supplies from, he tries to glimpse your face, but you're turned too far away.
"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I didn't mean to. It just came out." Swiping away tears, you shake your head, then continue on.
Robby slowly rounds a gurney and takes calm, measured steps toward you. "It's alright," he reassures soothingly. "I didn't mind."
He's just trying to minimize your mortification. Somehow, it makes you want to call him as much again all the more. "Is that how you think of me sometimes?" Robby asks while sliding a hand down your back.
You shrug.
"Talk to me, sweetheart," he insists.
"Around here," you begin while swallowing down the lump in your throat. "Everybody does, I think. And... I can't imagine how much that must weigh on you. How heavy it is to carry all of us; this hospital. So I don't mean to make it worse—"
"You didn't," he interjects with a shake of his head. "It means something to me that you see me as that: a father figure. Someone to be trusted in that capacity."
You can't keep talking about this. "It won't happen again," you assure while gathering sterile gauze.
Robby's hand retreats into a pocket. "I'm not saying that you can't. At least when we're alone."
Your brows knit together. "What?"
Robby's head tilts to the side and he studies you with a fond smile. "I haven't always done the best job at hiding my favoritism of you." He runs the back of his index finger along your cheek. "Means you get preferential treatment."
He shrugs casually. "So, if calling me that puts you more at ease when you're here, you can."
You huff in irritation before settling on flat feet again. Glancing around for something to knock it down with, you come up empty-handed. Just when you're eyeing a chair, Robby swings inside the employee lounge. "Somethin' you need, sweetheart?"
"One of the plastic cups so I can have some water." You frown. "Someone stuck them on the top shelf."
With ease, he moves them down, and hands you one.
"Thank you, daddy," you supply quietly before wandering over to the sink.
He grants you a swift kiss on the top of your head. "Welcome."
Kneeling down beside you, Robby rests a forearm atop the counter you're seated at charting. "You got much left to do?"
You shake your head and pluck the dictation device from your lap again. "Just the rest of this chart."
He slides a palm over your knee. "I'll wait 'til you're done, then."
You look at him. "You don't have to. If you'd rather just head home—"
Robby stands with a grimace, then settles into a computer chair next to yours. "Prefer to walk you out. I don't like you being in the parking garage alone when it's dark."
Watching as he leans back before fishing his phone out of his pocket, you nod with a grateful smile. "Ok, daddy."
Slipping his glasses onto his nose, Robby slides his legs under yours.
"There's something I've been thinking about," Robby states while holding the passenger side door of your car open so you can drop your things inside. "Which I thought worth talking about to see if you'd be interested."
Once you've slid your tumbler into a cupholder, you turn around and grant him your undivided attention. "Yes?"
His hand flops loosely from where his wrist is settled atop the open door. "I worry about you and burnout. Some days I can tell are better than others, but..." He scrubs a hand down his beard. "This is the one place where I feel like I have use; purpose. I go home to a silent, empty house where the only person I have to look after is myself."
Your eyes flit curiously between his.
"I wouldn't mind having someone to take care of there. I mean, do you like living alone? Having everything resting squarely on your shoulders?" Robby questions while stroking your arm.
"Are you...asking me to—"
"Move in, at least temporarily to see how it works out." Robby grins and shrugs while watching a sedan pull out. "I always assumed I'd have a wife one day. Kids. Maybe one of which would be a daughter." He looks at you again. "Seems those things found me." He chuckles. "Two for one, apparently."
"I thought it would bother you eventually. Me...calling you what I have been."
He shakes his head. "It was my idea. I wanted you to."
Robby slips a hand around the back of your head and tilts it back until you're gazing up at him. "Call me it," he mutters while leaning down.
"Daddy," you whisper with a heart fluttering as quickly as a hummingbird's rapid wings.
He clicks his tongue while brushing the pad of his thumb over the soft apple of your cheek. "Other one."
You fist the plush fleece of his zip-up jacket in your hand. "Dad."
He pressing his lips to yours and moans against the spreading of your lips while easing his tongue inside to taste you. "When we're at home," he whispers. "That's the only name I wanna hear."
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"Dad, can you—" Suddenly, and with quiet alarm, you go entirely still.
With shoulders now drawn together, you blink suddenly dewy eyes in silent panic.
"What do you need, sweetheart?" Robby asks quietly while leaning back on his heel. Standing across the room the two of you are currently gathering supplies from, he tries to glimpse your face, but you're turned too far away.
"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I didn't mean to. It just came out." Swiping away tears, you shake your head, then continue on.
Robby slowly rounds a gurney and takes calm, measured steps toward you. "It's alright," he reassures soothingly. "I didn't mind."
He's just trying to minimize your mortification. Somehow, it makes you want to call him as much again all the more. "Is that how you think of me sometimes?" Robby asks while sliding a hand down your back.
You shrug.
"Talk to me, sweetheart," he insists.
"Around here," you begin while swallowing down the lump in your throat. "Everybody does, I think. And... I can't imagine how much that must weigh on you. How heavy it is to carry all of us; this hospital. So I don't mean to make it worse—"
"You didn't," he interjects with a shake of his head. "It means something to me that you see me as that: a father figure. Someone to be trusted in that capacity."
You can't keep talking about this. "It won't happen again," you assure while gathering sterile gauze.
Robby's hand retreats into a pocket. "I'm not saying that you can't. At least when we're alone."
Your brows knit together. "What?"
Robby's head tilts to the side and he studies you with a fond smile. "I haven't always done the best job at hiding my favoritism of you." He runs the back of his index finger along your cheek. "Means you get preferential treatment."
He shrugs casually. "So, if calling me that puts you more at ease when you're here, you can."
You huff in irritation before settling on flat feet again. Glancing around for something to knock it down with, you come up empty-handed. Just when you're eyeing a chair, Robby swings inside the employee lounge. "Somethin' you need, sweetheart?"
"One of the plastic cups so I can have some water." You frown. "Someone stuck them on the top shelf."
With ease, he moves them down, and hands you one.
"Thank you, daddy," you supply quietly before wandering over to the sink.
He grants you a swift kiss on the top of your head. "Welcome."
Kneeling down beside you, Robby rests a forearm atop the counter you're seated at charting. "You got much left to do?"
You shake your head and pluck the dictation device from your lap again. "Just the rest of this chart."
He slides a palm over your knee. "I'll wait 'til you're done, then."
You look at him. "You don't have to. If you'd rather just head home—"
Robby stands with a grimace, then settles into a computer chair next to yours. "Prefer to walk you out. I don't like you being in the parking garage alone when it's dark."
Watching as he leans back before fishing his phone out of his pocket, you nod with a grateful smile. "Ok, daddy."
Slipping his glasses onto his nose, Robby slides his legs under yours.
"There's something I've been thinking about," Robby states while holding the passenger side door of your car open so you can drop your things inside. "Which I thought worth talking about to see if you'd be interested."
Once you've slid your tumbler into a cupholder, you turn around and grant him your undivided attention. "Yes?"
His hand flops loosely from where his wrist is settled atop the open door. "I worry about you and burnout. Some days I can tell are better than others, but..." He scrubs a hand down his beard. "This is the one place where I feel like I have use; purpose. I go home to a silent, empty house where the only person I have to look after is myself."
Your eyes flit curiously between his.
"I wouldn't mind having someone to take care of there. I mean, do you like living alone? Having everything resting squarely on your shoulders?" Robby questions while stroking your arm.
"Are you...asking me to—"
"Move in, at least temporarily to see how it works out." Robby grins and shrugs while watching a sedan pull out. "I always assumed I'd have a wife one day. Kids. Maybe one of which would be a daughter." He looks at you again. "Seems those things found me." He chuckles. "Two for one, apparently."
"I thought it would bother you eventually. Me...calling you what I have been."
He shakes his head. "It was my idea. I wanted you to."
Robby slips a hand around the back of your head and tilts it back until you're gazing up at him. "Call me it," he mutters while leaning down.
"Daddy," you whisper with a heart fluttering as quickly as a hummingbird's rapid wings.
He clicks his tongue while brushing the pad of his thumb over the soft apple of your cheek. "Other one."
You fist the plush fleece of his zip-up jacket in your hand. "Dad."
He pressing his lips to yours and moans against the spreading of your lips while easing his tongue inside to taste you. "When we're at home," he whispers. "That's the only name I wanna hear."
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