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plasticflowersinahistorycemetery · 2 months ago

Text

exhibitionism

part V

Pairing: SugarDaddy!Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: You weren’t just taken out—you were put on display. Ben let them look, let them want, but he never let them touch. He made sure you felt it. The weight of their stares, the slow burn of humiliation mixing with something darker, deeper. You are starting to realise how much that drink really cost.

Warnings: 18+!, Ben once again being his own warning, age gap, language, misogyny, drug consumption, smut (kissing, biting, marking, slapping, dirty talk, clitoral stimulation, overstim, forced orgasms, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus/oral, p in v, cum on face, throttling, rough sex, semi-public sex, somnophilia, sexsomnia, dub-con, orgasm control/denial), mind games, manipulation, degradation, power imbalance, I may have missed some. (There's a bunch in this one, agh!)

Word Count: 6,239

A/N: AHHHH!! I'm not sure I've proofread this properly because my brain feels like it's full of bees. I've had too much caffeine today and after doing so many tattoos at work, I genuinely think the vibration of my machine has done something to my body. Lmao. More of The Boys characters making an appearance, lmk what you thought of that, please. I lowkey (highkey, always highkey) loves writing John. The smarmy piece of shit. We are starting to see what really gets Ben going... and it's a lil bit dangerous, besties. <3 As always, please let me know what ya'll thought, I loved the desperation in this one. I felt it so bad while I was writing it so I hope that's translated across to y'all. You know what's up: if the warnings listed above aren't evident yet? They will be. Until the next one, bbys. All the love.

Without further ado: EXHIBITIONISM

Power is not taken. It is given.

A glance across the bar. A drink set down without a word. A hand at the small of your back, guiding you somewhere you don’t belong.

It starts small—a single indulgence, a breathless yes.

Then, suddenly, you are on display. Draped over his lap, diamonds at your throat, whiskey on your lips. A possession. A prize. A thing to be seen.

Because men like him do not love. They own.

Butcher barely threw the car into park before he jerked his chin toward the door.

"Go on, then. He said to send you straight up." He waved a hand, settling into his seat like he had no intention of moving. "Keepin' the car warm 'til you're ready."

You blinked. "We're leaving as soon as I'm ready?"

"That’s what I just said, innit?"

Your stomach flipped. Of course, Ben had a plan. Of course, he hadn’t told you what it was.

"Thanks again," you murmured before stepping out. Butcher just let out a gruff exhale, shaking his head like you were something both amusing and mildly exhausting.

The building loomed above you, sleek and modern, towering over the street like it owned the entire city. You swallowed, adjusting your bag on your shoulder before stepping inside, the quiet hum of wealth pressing down on you the second you crossed the threshold. The elevator ride was smooth, too smooth, and before you knew it, you were knocking on his penthouse door.

It swung open a second later, and there he was.

Ben.

Looking like every single one of your worst fucking weaknesses wrapped up in dark dress pants and an off-white button-down.

He was mid-motion, rolling his shoulders, adjusting the cuffs, thick forearms flexing as he straightened the fabric over his arms. The way he stood, the way he filled the doorway, exuding heat and control, had your stomach plummeting and your brain short-circuiting all at once.

You didn’t even try to hide the way you gawped. Couldn’t.

His smirk stretched slow, knowing. "Gonna stand there makin’ heart-eyes all night, or are you comin’ in?"

Heat flooded up your neck. You scowled, stepping inside, and Ben huffed a low, indulgent laugh.

"Got your dress ready," he added, shutting the door behind you, towering close as he reached past you to lock it.

You glanced up. "Oh? We’re going out-out?"

His response was a hand on your throat, fingers curling firm against your pulse as he yanked you in, crashing his mouth over yours.

It was messy, all heat and possession, your back hitting the door as he crowded into you, swallowing the tiny noise you made. He kissed you like he was making a fucking point, like he wanted to leave his taste in your mouth, his fingerprints against your skin. By the time he pulled back, his breath was ragged against your lips, and yours was completely fucking wrecked.

Then he grinned. "Yeah, that’s what I thought."

You scowled, breathless, and he laughed, mocking. "Fuckin’ look at you," he murmured, thumb dragging over your jaw. "Gettin’ all shy again. Jesus."

You glared, shoving weakly at his chest, but he only caught your wrist, pressing it flat against the solid heat of him before finally letting go.

"Go shower," he said, still smirking. "Get cleaned up."

You didn’t argue. Just turned on your heel and disappeared into the bathroom, heart still slamming against your ribs.

By the time you emerged, showered, dried, and painted into the deep green dress he’d picked for you, you barely recognised yourself.

The satin draped smooth over your curves, the cowl neckline dipping just enough to tease, the slinky hem skimming high over your thighs. Strappy black heels clicked softly against the floor as you turned in front of the mirror, taking yourself in.

You looked—

Like a fucking fraud. Like someone playing dress-up in a world they didn’t belong to, wrapped in luxury that wasn’t meant for them.

A thick swallow worked down your throat. You curled your hands into fists at your sides, blinking at your own reflection like you could force yourself to believe it.

And then he stepped into the room. You felt it before you saw it—the shift in the air, the weight of his presence sinking deep into your spine. When you turned, he was in the doorway, leaning, watching.

His lips parted slightly, his head tilting, slow and predatory as his gaze dragged over every inch of you.

The heat in his eyes, the slow curl of his lip, the sharp clench of his jaw—

Fuck.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, almost to himself, teeth sinking into his bottom lip like he was already picturing the ways he was gonna ruin you later.

Your breath caught. His stare was unapologetic. Unfiltered. Fucking lethal. Then he pushed off the doorframe, stepping toward you, big hands curling around your waist as he came to stand behind you in the mirror.

"You look good," he murmured, voice low against your ear, grip tightening. "Really fuckin’ good."

A shiver rolled through you. You met his eyes in the reflection, stomach flipping violently. "You think so?"

"Mhm." He hummed, dragging his thumbs over your hipbones before pressing something into your palm.

You blinked. Looked down.

A tiny, ridiculously expensive gift bag.

Your brows furrowed as you peered up at him. "What’s this?"

Ben smirked, reaching into the bag to pull out a velvet case, flipping it open with a casual flick of his wrist. A diamond necklace glittered inside.

Small, delicate, but obviously stupidly fucking expensive.

Your breath hitched, chest tightening as you stared.

"Ben, I—"

"Uh-uh," he cut in, already reaching to take it from the case. "I don’t wanna hear it."

You blinked up at him, lips parting, head shaking slightly. "I can’t—"

He laughed. Actually laughed. Then reached down, gripped your chin, and forced you to look him in the eye.

"You can," he murmured, tone all slow, deep amusement, "and you will."

Your stomach flipped violently. Your pulse slammed.

He stepped behind you again, dragging the delicate chain around your throat, fingers brushing the sides of your neck as he clasped it shut.

When he was done, he met your gaze in the mirror again.

"There," he murmured, hands settling firm on your waist, lips ghosting over your ear. "Now you look like you belong to me."

You couldn't stop staring.

The two of you in the mirror—towering and tiny, dark and delicate, predator and prize.

Ben stood behind you, impossibly broad, impeccably dressed, the stark stretch of white against dark, muscles taut beneath expensive fabric. He filled the frame, wrapped around you, making you look even smaller in comparison. His hands on your waist, large and heavy, branding through the satin of your dress.

You were perfectly put together. Painted, dressed, adorned—

His pretty little doll.

And as if he could hear the exact thought crawling through your head, he hummed, low and knowing, dipping his lips to your ear.

"Look at you." His voice was deep, indulgent, fingers flexing against your ribs. "Look at how well you fit right here."

A shiver rolled through you, sharp and unavoidable, your breathing uneven as he brushed his lips down the side of your throat, slow, teasing. The mirror trapped you in the image, forced you to watch—the way his mouth brushed your skin, the way his teeth grazed, nipped, soothed with heat.

Your pulse stuttered, but you couldn’t look away.

Ben smirked against your jaw. "You like that, huh?" His lips ghosted over your throat, warm, deliberate, possessive. "Like seein' what’s yours?"

Yours. The word shouldn’t have made your stomach flip the way it did.

You swallowed, nails curling into your palms, struggling to catch your breath. Ben didn’t let up. He pressed closer, a slow, consuming thing, his hand splaying flat over your stomach as he let his teeth sink into the side of your neck.

A quiet gasp escaped you. He dragged his tongue over the mark, holding your gaze through the mirror, daring you to break it.

"If we don’t leave now," he murmured, low and dangerous, "we never will." His fingers curled against your hip, slow and threatening. "’Cause I’m gonna rip this pretty fuckin' dress off you."

Your pulse hammered. You nodded. Just once.

His smirk stretched. "Smart girl."

The elevator ride was silent, save for the heavy press of his hand against your back, the occasional flex of his fingers against your waist like he was reminding himself to behave.

By the time you stepped outside, the car was still idling at the curb. Butcher barely looked up as you climbed in, but Ben pulled you in tight the second you hit the seat. One arm curled around your waist, yanking you flush against him, his grip unshakable.

You barely had time to process it before the city started moving past you in a blur of neon and darkness.

Ben was calm, comfortable. One hand on your thigh, the other resting on the door, completely at ease like he was taking you out for a casual drink. Like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes devouring your throat in the mirror.

Your breathing was still uneven, your body too hot, skin too aware of him. He knew it, too. You could feel the way his thumb stroked over your bare thigh, lazy, amused.

You turned your head to look at him, brow furrowing slightly. "Where are we going?"

Ben’s lips quirked. "You’ll see."

You swallowed. Something about the way he said it—something about the anticipation dripping from his voice—made your stomach twist.

You knew the place was exclusive before the car even rolled to a stop.

It loomed ahead of you—dark, sleek, pulsing with bass even from the outside. The kind of place that didn’t have a name on the front, didn’t need one. People at the entrance weren’t waiting. They were being let in, personally.

And as Butcher pulled up, the staff was already waiting.

Ben let out a quiet hum, lips twitching as he nodded toward the door. "Showtime."

The second you stepped out, the world shifted.

The inside was low-lit, throbbing with music, heady with smoke and perfume and expensive liquor. Lush, velvet booths lined the perimeter, sleek gold-lined tables filled with whiskey and cigars, women draped across men like fucking ornaments.

Everything was rich. Everything was power. And the second Ben stepped inside, people noticed. Men, women, staff, patrons—eyes followed. Not just him. You.

Your skin prickled. The barely-there dress suddenly felt like nothing at all, every inch of your exposed skin hypersensitive, aware of the stares, the weight of being seen.

Ben’s grip on your waist tightened.

Your pulse slammed. You swallowed, gaze darting through the dim glow of chandeliers, the soft flicker of candlelight illuminating powerful men surrounded by pretty things.

Ben was one of them.

And you—

Were you one of them too?

Your breath stuttered.

Ben’s fingers flexed against your ribs, warm, grounding. When you looked up at him, he was already watching, already smirking.

Smug. So fucking smug.

His brow ticked up in something almost playful, like he was reading your exact fucking thoughts and confirming them without a word.

Yeah. They’re looking at us.

A slow curl of something hot and unfamiliar twisted deep in your stomach.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a trapped bird trying desperately to escape its confinement within your chest.

The booth Ben led you to was different. Bigger. Elevated. The kind of place that overlooked everything, but just as easily put everything on display.

And as he tugged you forward, your stomach twisted, because this wasn’t just a seat. It was a stage. The men already inside barely reacted to Ben’s arrival. They didn’t have to.

The first was blonde, striking, arrogant as fuck. He lounged back with two stunning girls draped over him, one curled against his side, the other on her knees beside him, stroking a hand over his thigh. He barely looked at them. The second was quieter, confident, composed. He sat with a woman across his lap, her body soft and relaxed against him, eyes half-lidded like she was lost somewhere far away.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them had to.

Ben wasted no time in pleasantries. Instead, he pulled you forward—hard, fast, claiming. Your breath hitched, a startled squeal slipping out as you landed in his lap, gripping the hem of your dress in some desperate attempt at modesty.

Your cheeks burned. The other men watched.

Ben didn’t care. His hand curled firm over your thigh, fingers pressing into the satin, securing you in place.

"John. Earving," Ben said smoothly, nodding once. "This is—"

"It's about time you showed up," the blonde—John—cut in. But his eyes weren’t really on Ben.

They were on you. Flicking, darting, lingering in a way that made your skin crawl. Not subtle. Not polite.

Ben just smirked. Pulled you in closer, like he was reminding John exactly who you belonged to. The pressure of his grip made your pulse stutter, breath catching as he let his fingers flex against your skin. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. Didn’t know where to put your hands, your legs, your fucking eyes.

John leaned back, exhaling slowly through his nose, still watching. Still smirking.

Earving remained silent, only nodding once in your direction—not dismissive, not interested, just acknowledging.

Ben? Ben was comfortable. Completely fucking at ease. "Got caught up," he said casually, voice smug, heavy with knowing.

John’s lips twitched. "Yeah?" His gaze flicked to you, then back to Ben. "Looks like it."

Ben hummed, dragging his palm higher on your thigh, lazy, deliberate.

The conversation flowed from there��smooth, rich with arrogance, an unspoken pissing contest that Ben won without even trying. John had this restless energy, the kind that made him lean in when he spoke, like he was always in the middle of some game, some unspoken chess-match, some performance.

But Ben just fucking was. Effortless. Smirking. Sitting like a king with you draped over him, completely unmoved by John’s little one-upmanship.

Earving only spoke when necessary, his voice low, even, unbothered. He didn’t need to prove anything.

John, however, thrived on it. The back-and-forth between him and Ben was sharp, competitive, smug as hell.

You weren’t really listening. Not properly. Because even though Ben was talking, his hand hadn’t left your thigh. Even though his attention was elsewhere, he was still holding you down, still keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

And the worst part?

You were hyper-aware of it.

Of the way the fabric of your dress rode higher. Of the way his fingers curled, flexed, pressed deep into muscle.

It was too much. Too tight, too possessive, too on display.

John murmured something low, something you didn’t catch, but it made Ben chuckle. He smoothed his palm over your leg, let it linger.

"Not this one," Ben said.

John raised a brow, sending a quick glance toward the dance floor before looking back. "Shame."

You blinked, stomach flipping in something sharp, unfamiliar. John had sent his girls away. Earving had, too. But Ben hadn’t let you go.

John’s smirk deepened. He leaned back, exhaling slow. "You always were possessive, Benny."

Ben just laughed. Not a real one. Not a full one. Just a low, indulgent exhale as he squeezed your thigh, pulling you even closer.

And all you could do was sit there—stuck, displayed, knowing you were being fucking ogled and not sure if you hated it, liked it, or couldn’t even tell the difference anymore.

You barely heard the conversation.

Ben’s grip on your thigh hadn’t loosened, hadn’t eased—not even when the conversation between him and John turned easy, almost entertaining. It was a game between them, an unspoken back-and-forth, a competition Ben didn’t even have to try to win.

But he wasn’t just talking.

His free hand, the one that wasn’t still curled possessively around your thigh, drifted up, slow and absent, fingers ghosting over your shoulder. Tugging. Adjusting. Moving your hair aside until the side of your neck was bare, open, exposed.

And then—

His lips. They brushed, barely there, over the curve of your throat. A slow, deliberate pressure, not really a kiss, not really not.

You inhaled sharply.

Ben exhaled warm against your skin, humming low in acknowledgment to something John said, like this was nothing, like he wasn’t doing anything at all.

Like he wasn’t dragging you under, deeper, deeper.

His mouth brushed again, then pressed firmer, lingering. Then—teeth. A slow graze, a teasing nip, just enough to make your breath falter, to send a sharp twist of heat straight to your stomach.

Like you weren’t even there. Like this was just a habit, a mindless touch, something he didn’t even have to think about.

You swallowed hard, body tight, tense, curling in on itself even as your thighs pressed together.

He wasn’t listening to you. He wasn’t even acknowledging you. But at the same time, he was. A kiss, a nip, the briefest scrape of teeth before he soothed the mark with his tongue. Your fingers curled into your lap. You could barely sit still.

And then John spoke, and you realised he was actually talking to you.

"Lucky girl."

You blinked, awareness snapping back into sharp focus, stomach twisting when you found John watching you.

The way he was watching you.

Ben’s mouth didn’t stop. Another slow, open-mouthed drag against your neck, the faintest scrape of teeth before his tongue flicked soft against the spot he’d just nipped.

You cleared your throat, or tried to, heat pressing up, up, up.

"I—" You swallowed, steadied yourself. "I do consider myself lucky."

John hummed, slow and mocking. His gaze dragged over you in a way that made your skin prickle, crawl, burn.

Overt. Obvious.

Like he was peeling you apart, layer by layer, undressing you right there.

Your stomach lurched.

"And what is it you do, sweetheart?" He asked, voice all faux charm.

You hesitated. Ben squeezed your thigh.

"College student," you murmured.

The second the words left your mouth, John’s entire expression shifted. His eyes flicked to Ben, grinning wide, mockingly delighted, as he clapped his hands together in faux celebration.

"Ohhh, Benjamin’s got himself a little college pet!" He cooed, voice dripping with amusement.

Your stomach dropped.

Ben’s mouth stilled against your neck. His fingers flexed tight into your thigh. Then he bit. Sharp, sudden, full teeth sinking in just enough to make you jolt, make you gasp.

John just laughed. "Ah, come on. Don’t give me that look! You’re the one parading her around like this."

Ben lifted his head just slightly, lazily, unbothered. He exhaled slow against your neck, then smirked as he turned to John. "She’s not my pet," he muttered against your skin, lips warm, hands tightening against your thigh.

John just laughed, leaning back into the booth, shaking his head. "Oh, you could’ve fooled me, Ben. You’re about ready to fuck into her right here in front of everyone, aren’t you?"

The breath in your lungs turned sharp.

Ben laughed. Loud. "Yeah," he admitted easily, almost shamelessly, before grinning against your throat.

Your breath caught. Heat roiled deep in your gut.

"But it’s her fault," Ben continued, voice low, indulgent. His fingers curled against your hip, gripping tight. "Such a perfect little doll."

Your pulse faltered.

John hummed, taking another slow sip of his drink, waiting, watching.

Ben pressed his mouth against your neck one last time, lips trailing up to your jaw, barely ghosting against your skin as he spoke.

"I mean, fuckin’ look at her," he muttered, almost to himself, almost like he forgot anyone else was in the room.

His grip on you tightened. His voice turned ragged, something low and heated and uncontrollable slipping through the cracks.

"Goddamn it," he exhaled. "Of course I’m ready to fuck into her right now."

Your stomach twisted. Mortified. Objectified. Completely on display. And yet—the way Ben held you, the way he spoke about you like you were something he owned, something he could barely control himself around—

Your thighs clenched involuntarily, heat pooling deep, unbearable. You hated it. You loved it.

And Ben? Ben knew.

John scoffed, shaking his head, his smirk curling sharp, cruel, his gaze sliding over you like something oily, invasive, lingering too long in places he had no business looking. "You’re really not gonna share?"

The words slithered between you like something sickly, decadent, wrong. A test. A provocation. A taunt that was only half a joke.

Ben’s body went rigid.

He growled.

Low, guttural, animalistic. It rumbled through his chest, vibrated beneath your spine where you sat curled against him, the sound dragging over your skin like a brand, like a warning. Primal. Possessive. Final.

Your breath caught.

John’s eyes lit up, going wide and gleeful, something almost manic in the way he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, watching Ben like he’d just discovered a new favourite toy. Delighted. Dangerous. Unhinged.

"Jesus, Benny," he laughed, his smirk stretching, voice laced with a sick sort of amusement. Hungry. "Did you just fucking growl at me?"

Ben didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His fingers flexed against your thigh, his grip going tight, unyielding, and then his voice dropped, rough and rasped at the edges, a single word.

"Mine."

Your stomach flipped. A slow, dizzying spiral, plunging straight down.

John exhaled hard through his nose, shaking his head, laughing, his tongue running along his teeth before he leaned back again, stretching lazily. "Christ, you’re no fun anymore," he tsked, waving a dismissive hand. "Didn’t think you got this territorial."

Your head spun. Your breath hitched.

Ben had always been possessive, yes, but this? This was different. This was dangerous. A claim being laid with teeth and hands and the weight of his body caging you in, forcing you to feel the gravity of it. Of him.

And before you could fully process it, before your lungs could catch up with your racing pulse, his fingers drifted higher.

Your entire body went stiff, your breath choking short in your throat, your hands flying to his wrist, weak and useless, a pitiful attempt to stop him.

Ben barely reacted. Just gripped you harder.

"Be a fuckin’ good girl," he murmured, voice silken, razor-edged, dragging the words through your skin, through your bones, making them settle low, thick, intoxicating.

Your pulse pounded. Your legs clenched. Your vision swam.

Ben hummed low in his throat, pleased, his thumb pressing, dragging, toying.

John watched. All amusement, all smirk, all entertained indulgence.

"That’s the Benjamin I remember," he muttered, shaking his head. "Fucking insatiable."

Heat crawled up your throat, something searing and unbearable pressing against your ribcage, tangling into something hot and needy at the pit of your stomach. Shame and want warring, devouring each other in real time.

"Not gettin’ her cunt out," Ben muttered, his thumb circling slow, lazy, menacing. "Just touchin’ what’s mine."

Your stomach plummeted.

John chuckled, his fingers tapping against his knee, entirely unbothered, entirely too fucking entertained.

Ben’s voice dipped even lower, his grip tightening, his lips ghosting against the shell of your ear.

"Don’t give a fuck who’s watchin’."

Your world tilted. Your body was hot and tight and drowning, sinking, suffocating under the weight of it all.

And Ben was dragging you under.

The pressure built too fast.

Ben’s fingers moved slow, measured, knowing exactly where to press, exactly how much pressure to give, exactly how to unravel you in the palm of his hand. Casual and cruel all at once.

Your breath stuttered, hips shifting involuntarily, the sensation too much, too tight, too overwhelming. It hit you like a storm breaking open over your skin, rolling over you in thick, suffocating waves.

And Ben knew. Of course he knew.

His smirk stretched against the shell of your ear, pleased, smug, like he could feel the way you were starting to tremble, like he could hear every sharp inhale, every hitched breath, every tiny, humiliating little sound your body made for him.

You felt the exact moment he figured it out—the second his thumb pressed just right, just deep enough, and your stomach clenched, your pulse hammering, your body tightening as you neared the edge too fast.

Then he stopped. Completely. Pulled his hand away like he was done, like he was fucking bored.

You nearly whined. Nearly.

A rush of relief and frustration collided in your chest, mortified at how close you’d been, how he’d wound you up and let you dangle, hanging in that unbearable space between ruin and relief.

Your thighs squeezed together instinctively, an attempt to hold onto something, to chase what he’d taken away.

Ben just chuckled under his breath. Like he knew exactly what you were doing. His hand stayed on you, just resting against your thigh now, possessive in a way that said you don’t get to move unless I tell you to.

Then, like nothing had happened, he raised a lazy hand to flag down a passing staff member.

"Whiskey," he muttered, a single flick of his fingers. "Two bottles."

The server nodded, quick and efficient, disappearing back into the dark.

Your chest heaved, the absence of his touch almost worse than its presence, your nerves still alight, still aching.

Ben said nothing at first, just let the silence stretch, let you sit in it, simmer in it.

Then the server was back, placing two deep amber bottles onto the low table beside you. Ben grabbed one, popped the top, and poured you a glass first, an ice cube clinking softly against the crystal.

He held it out, fingers wrapped around the rim, eyes heavy-lidded, watching you. Waiting.

"Drink up," he murmured.

You took it without thinking, lifting the glass to your lips, letting the burn hit your tongue, your throat, trailing heat all the way down to the pit of your stomach.

And fuck—

Your entire body sighed. The tension inside you loosened, just slightly, enough for you to exhale, to let your head drop back against his shoulder in something blissful, unguarded.

Ben let out a low groan. His hand slid up, fingers threading into your hair, his breath fanning hot over your temple as he inhaled, deep and slow.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, his voice thick, gritted with something molten. "It’s so fuckin’ hot that you drink whiskey like that."

A slow ripple of something dangerous rolled down your spine.

He smirked, dragging his nose against your hair before reaching for his own glass, knocking back his whiskey in one smooth motion. No hesitation. No reaction. Just heat and control and power.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he poured another for himself, and another for you.

You took it without a word. Let the burn settle deep in your stomach. Let the moment wrap around you like a second skin, thick and golden and suffocating.

John exhaled a laugh, breaking the silence. "You are..." he started, smirking, tongue flicking out over his lower lip, head tilting slightly as he watched you. "Very interesting."

Your pulse skipped.

Ben’s fingers flexed against your hip. Hard.

John grinned, leaning forward slightly, tipping his glass in your direction before knocking it back. "Don’t see Benny like this with his girls."

Ben went still.

Then—

"Shut the fuck up, John."

The words were low, sharp, dangerous.

John just laughed, shaking his head, waving a dismissive hand, but his eyes were still locked on you, still watching. Still pushing.

"Oh, come on," he drawled, smirking. "What, am I not allowed to be a little curious?"

Ben’s fingers dug in harder.

John leaned in, his eyes flashing, something electric dancing beneath his smirk. "She’s different."

Your breath hitched. Ben’s hand tightened at your waist, keeping you anchored, grounded, owned.

John grinned. "You don’t like that I noticed, huh?"

Ben’s jaw flexed, something dark flickering through his expression.

John only laughed again, shaking his head. Still pushing.

"Didn’t peg you for the sentimental type, Benjamin. Thought you kept them at arm’s length. You know, fuck them, leave them, let them float away."

Ben smirked, slow and dangerous. Teeth bared, but not a hint of humour in his eyes.

"Not this one."

Your stomach flipped.

John hummed, tilting his head. "Oh? And what makes her so special?"

Ben didn’t answer right away. Just knocked back his whiskey. Then leaned in, lips ghosting against your ear.

"You feel it, don’t you?" He murmured, voice low, private, meant for you and you alone. "What we are."

Your pulse slammed.

John kept smirking. Waiting. Watching.

And you? You just sat there, head spinning, whiskey burning in your stomach, Ben’s hands branding you into his lap, knowing, without a doubt, that something had shifted.

Something irreversible. And there was no coming back from it now.

Time blurred.

John needled at Ben a little longer, smug and relentless, but eventually, the dynamic shifted. The girls came back, slipping into their places, curling against laps, draping over broad shoulders like living adornments. Earving’s remained quiet, content, while John’s giggled and whispered, feeding his ego as they sank back into his orbit.

Ben kept one bottle of whiskey for the two of you and lazily slid the other across the table to the other men. A wordless gesture. A statement.

He let you drink two more glasses—two more slow burns down your throat, spreading warmth in your stomach, making you soft, languid.

Then, just as you reached for a third, his hand caught yours, steady, firm.

"That’s enough," he muttered, voice low against your ear.

You blinked up at him, lips parting, a protest forming—but he was already shaking his head, smirking.

"I know you can handle your liquor, sweetheart," he murmured, thumb stroking the inside of your wrist, deliberate, knowing. "But I got plans for you when we get home."

You shivered. Not just at his touch, not just at his voice, but at the way he said it.

Home.

Like his penthouse was yours, too. Your stomach dipped.

Ben felt it. Of course he did. His smirk stretched just slightly before he let your wrist go, returning to his drink like nothing had happened.

And then he started on his earlier torture again. His hand drifted under the table, casual, absent, curling around your thigh, stroking smooth against the satin. A tease. A promise.

And then he pushed higher. Pressed. Moved.

A sharp inhale caught in your throat as he touched you exactly where you needed him, exactly how you needed him. Heat bloomed, sharp and unbearable, and your hips shifted, desperate for more.

Ben felt it. And then, just when you were about to shatter—he stopped. Again.

Your breath stuttered, frustration burning hot in your chest, a humiliating twist of need curling low in your stomach.

Ben just smirked. He kept you like that. On edge, wanting, hovering at the precipice but never letting you fall. Again and again, he built you up—featherlight strokes, pressure in all the right places, letting you drown in the sensation until you were trembling.

And then? Gone. Every time, just before the crest, just before relief, he ripped it away, left you raw, left you aching.

Your head was spinning. Your breath came uneven, your hands gripping his thigh, your entire body coiled so tight you thought you might snap.

Then, finally—finally—he leaned in, lips ghosting against your ear, his voice low, guttural, wicked.

"Gotta get you home," he muttered, gravel and heat, dragging slow against your skin. "Need you fuckin' stuffed. Startin' to hurt over here."

Your stomach plummeted.

You barely registered the moment he called it a night, barely lifted your head to nod your farewell to John, Earving, and their companions before Ben was pulling you up, dragging you out of the booth, guiding you through the club with a hand firm on your waist.

The second the door shut behind you, the second you were outside, his grip tightened.

You barely had time to breathe before he hauled you straight into the backseat of his car, hands groping, gripping, pulling you into his lap like he didn’t give a single fuck about anything else.

"Ben—" you started, shifting, squirming, embarrassed.

"Stop bein' a fuckin’ pussy," he muttered, low and sharp, before shoving his tongue into your mouth.

You gasped, but the sound was swallowed immediately, overtaken by the press of his lips, the dominance of his grip, the heat radiating off of him in waves.

His hands were everywhere—gripping your ass, fisting your dress, dragging you forward until there was nothing between you, just friction and heat and the thick, hard line of his cock against your thigh.

Your body reacted before your brain could keep up. A slow, shattering surrender. Butcher cleared his throat from the driver’s seat. Ben barely acknowledged him.

Butcher exhaled a gruff, amused huff. "Get a room, would ya?"

Ben broke the kiss only long enough to glare over your shoulder. "Shut the fuck up and do your job."

Butcher chuckled. "Real fuckin’ romantic, mate."

Ben growled, his grip tightening at your waist. "Keep talkin’, see what fuckin' happens."

Butcher just laughed again, shaking his head as he pulled into the city, weaving through traffic like this was the most normal night in the world.

Your mind was a blur. Ben didn’t stop touching you. Didn’t stop gripping, squeezing, dragging his hands over you like he was barely holding himself back.

And then the car slowed. The building loomed. Before you could register it, Ben had the door open, lifting you with ease, hoisting you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

"Ben—!" You gasped, squirming as he clamped a hand on the back of your thigh, keeping you still.

"Shut up," he muttered, completely unbothered, completely in control.

Butcher rolled his eyes, shouting out the window, as he threw the car into park. "I ain’t comin' up there to help if you fuck her unconscious, mate. Just so we’re clear."

Ben smirked, stepping inside the building, heading straight for the elevator. "Don’t worry, pal. I fuckin' got her."

Your stomach twisted, heat pooling thick and unbearable, nerves coiling tight.

Because you knew. You knew. You weren’t walking out of that penthouse in the same condition you came in.

The elevator doors had barely started to slide open before Ben was moving. A force of nature, a storm breaking open, hands and heat and unrelenting hunger. He stumbled out backwards, dragging you with him, his grip unyielding, his mouth already back on your throat, biting, licking, sucking, marking.

And then—

He shoved you into the wall. Hard. The impact sent a shockwave through your bones, a sharp gasp tearing from your lips as your spine hit the cold surface, your head tilting back—

And something crashed to the floor beside you.

Art. Priceless. Elegant.

Shattered.

Ben didn’t even fucking notice. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t care.

His mouth was everywhere—jaw, throat, collarbone, sinking in, taking, devouring. His teeth broke skin, sharp and unrelenting, and you whimpered, body arching into him, head spinning, your nails digging into the fabric at his shoulders, the scent of whiskey, musk, sweat, desire thick between you.

You barely had time to process the pain before he was gripping your hair, yanking your head to the side, tugging at your dress, your panties, his fingers tearing, dragging, ruining everything in his path.

Another impact. Another thud. Another piece of art sent crashing to the ground.

The hallway was just that—a hallway, leading only to his penthouse suite. No neighbours. No audience. Just you and him and the destruction in his wake.

And then the door. Ben barely got it open before he was stumbling inside, dragging you with him, the door slamming shut so hard it rattled in its frame.

You barely caught a glimpse of the dim lighting, the scattered remnants of whatever chaos he’d left behind earlier before he tripped. An empty bottle. A careless misstep. His body tilted, his grip tightened, and suddenly the world flipped.

You landed on top of him, his back hitting the ground with a solid, air-knocking thud, his hands still gripping your waist, his chest rising hard and fast beneath you.

"Ben—" you gasped, immediately bracing your hands on his chest. Worried. "Are you—"

He cut you off with a sharp tug to your hair, yanking you down until your lips crashed over his, swallowing whatever concern you might have had.

"Not a fuckin’ pussy," he muttered against your mouth, before sucking your tongue into his own, biting it, tasting it, claiming it.

You whimpered, hips shifting over him, needing, desperate, gone.

His hands were already moving. A rough yank—seam tearing, fabric giving, your panties ruined in his grip. Another shift—his belt unbuckling, his pants shoved down just enough, all harsh movement, all impatience, all fucking need.

And then—

He rutted up against you, hard, frantic, desperate, panting.

Not inside. Not yet. Just dragging against you, pressing against where you were already soaked, already aching.

You moaned. Loud. Unfiltered. Gone.

He growled, gripping your hips, dragging you against him, fucking up into you with no rhythm, no thought, no control.

Just desperation.

Ben didn’t waste a single second. Didn’t pause, didn’t give you time to adjust—just grabbed your hips, slammed you down onto him, and fucked up into you so hard it made your vision white out.

You were already too far gone, too strung out, too desperate. Hours—hours—of build-up, denial, his hands on you, keeping you teetering on the edge just to shove you back down.

Now? He wasn’t stopping.

His pace was blistering, brutal, relentless. Each thrust punching sharp little noises from your throat, your hands splaying against his chest, your nails digging deep, useless at slowing him down.

"Fuckin’ liked showin' you off," he growled, voice raw, shredded at the edges. Possessive. Mean.

Your breath caught.

Ben’s grip tightened, his fingers branding, his rhythm punishing.

"Made those cocksuckers jealous. Lookin’ at you. Wantin' you."

Your head spun, your stomach twisting at his words, at the way he said them—gritted, wrecked, adoring. You gasped, clenching around him, and Ben felt it.

His teeth flashed, baring, snarling. "Yeah. You like that, huh? Like knowin' they fuckin' wanted you?"

His thumb dragged down, pressed against your clit, started circling, teasing.

You screamed.

Ben groaned, wrecked and hungry and full of need. "Fuckin’ perfect," he muttered, almost to himself, his eyes glued to your face, watching you, devouring you.

Then, his lips curled—sharp, filthy, taunting.

"So fuckin’ good for me. Lettin' me show you off. Lettin' me own you in front of them." His thumb pressed harder, his pace somehow rougher, deeper, faster. "Good fuckin’ girl."

Your nails scraped, raked, dug in. Your body trembled, locking up, curling in on itself.

"That’s it," he murmured, voice thick, sinful, reverent. "That’s my fuckin’ girl. Look at you. Fuck. So good. So wet. So fuckin’ perfect."

It was too much.

The tension snapped. Your orgasm hit fast, overwhelming, shattering, tearing a raw sob from your throat as you came apart around him.

Ben groaned, deep and guttural, his hands dragging you down, holding you there, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"That’s it, doll," he murmured through gritted teeth, his jaw tight, his pupils blown wide, ravenous.

And then—

"Shit—fuck—can’t hold out, sorry, baby—"

A rough yank. A sharp thrust. Ben dragged you down, buried himself deep, and spilled inside you with a growl that rattled the fucking floor.

His body shook, his hands gripping you so tight you knew you’d have bruises. He was panting, wrecked, shaking, staring up at you like you were the only fucking thing that existed. And then his lips curled into a sneer, his voice dropping, wrecked and ruined and filthy.

"Fuck. Made for me. So fuckin’ tight." He exhaled sharp through his nose, eyes still locked onto yours. "Jesus Christ, baby, I think I just saw God."

You barely had time to breathe before he grabbed your jaw, pulled you down, and crashed his lips over yours again.

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah. @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @kayleighwinchester @lyarr24 @imtheworst123 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @ohgodimgoungtodie @cevansbaby-dove @paristheonewhoreads <3

#pfiahc writes #my writing #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy smut #soldier boy x you #the boys #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy au #soldier boy fic #the boys fanfiction #the boys smut #the boys au #the boys x you #the boys fanfic #the boys x female reader

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bunny-jpeg · 2 months ago

Note

hi i love ur fics!

can i please have toto Wolff with Tim Bits and French toast with the sides of Tea, Sangria, Dark hot chocolate and tonic water?!

Thankyou! 💞💓

bakery menu

thank you for submitting to the bakery! i hope you enjoy your order! it was a pleasure to write it. i love getting toto prompts, they're always so much fun and ya'll love reading them! so thank you! i'm slowly getting through all the prompts a bit at a time.

tim bits: "stupid little thing." + french toast: "you're trying to make me jealous!" + tea: semi-public/public sex + sangria: drunk sex + dark hot chocolate: sub!reader + tonic water: age gap served by toto wolff (formula one)!!

tags: smut/pwp, drinking/alcohol, bathroom counter sex, drunk sex, jealousy, dirty talk, age gap (20s/50s), dom/sub dynamics

even over the sound of thumping bass, he could still hear the siren's laughter of yours. and it made the blood rush south in toto. it was supposed to be an amazing weekend.

not only did george get first place, but kimi got second. it was time to celebrate, but somewhere during the evening toto wolff lost his precious little dear. which was normally not a good sign. you plus alcohol meant a world of trouble, so toto had to navigate through the club to find you.

so imagine his shock when he saw you giggling close to the bar with none other than toto's former employee, lewis hamilton gently tucking hair behind your ear. fuck.

you yelped when you felt an arm wrap around your waist. you tried to push away, but when your nose collided with the solid mass of the person's chest, you instantly knew who it was. toto. his name was meant to be written with hearts around it.

when you looked up at him, he looked down at you and raised an eyebrow at you. you made an 'o' shape with your mouth before you turned back to lewis, "lewis... you know toto."

lewis laughed, "yes, i know toto. quite well." he looked at the other man, "how are things?"

"good, good." toto said, "thank you for taking care of my dear, lewis. but i think she has had enough fun for tonight." he held onto you a little tighter and gave that professional smile he kept in his back pocket.

lewis knew toto well enough, he knew the older man was stewing in his anger. he wished you the best for the night, he knew you'd be going to the track next week with a slight wobble in your step. he watched toto shepherded you away from the bar before he took a sip of his (non-alcoholic) drink.

toto held you close as he guided you further into the bar in the direction of the washrooms. you stumbled over yourself as you went in with toto close behind you. you watched him roll up the sleeves of his white button up, and you backed up against the sink counter.

he licked his lips and stared down at you. in that moment the age and the size differences between you two were apparent. you were a skittering little deer. youthful and soft. into the jaws of the older, strong, scarier wolf.

you swallowed, "hi honey."

he exhaled as he grasped his cock through his slacks, "stupid little thing. you shouldn't have left my side tonight. gotten yourself into trouble. you are a good girl, that means you have to listen. and behave. not get drunk and act like a slut." his words were pointed and they made you aroused.

you got up onto the counter of the sink slowly and spread your legs. toto could see up the short skirt of your dress and you watched him tense up for a moment. you licked your lips, "i'm sorry. i thought lewis would have been the safest." you pouted a little.

"little liar." he said as he approached you on the counter and hiked your skirt up further, "you're trying to make me jealous. bad girl." he said the last part lowly in your ear.

"i wasn't trying to, toto." you whined as he pushed the panties down off of you. there was a banging at the bathroom door and you tensed up. toto put a hand over your mouth.

"occupied!" he said loudly before he turned back to you. he said lowly to you, "i know it's loud out there, but if you're too loud the entire place will know that you're a good for nothing slut. maybe when i'm done with you, i'll leave the door open with a sign since you want to climb all over every driver on the grid."

you swallowed, "please, no. i only want you." you were drunk, painfully drunk. but his large hands on you only fueled a fire in your belly. with shaky hands you undid that expensive leather belt of his. the belt that you had a feeling would be slapped across your ass when you got back to the hotel.

"that's what i like to hear." he purred. he got his cock out of his slacks and admired your exposed pussy. he licked his lips and eyed you for a moment before he took you by the hip and inched his cock into you.

"please, toto."

he pressed into you further. the sound of the club could be heard outside of the bathroom. he was quick against you, his fucked up into you and let you cling onto him as the pleasure rushed through both of you. the feeling was undeniable. even with how jealous toto felt, it was eased by the tightness of your cunt around his cock. he was left hungry for you, you felt like heaven.

and you belonged to him. all of you. you were younger, smaller, more delicate in his eyes. you needed to be guided and protected, that was where he came in. but it was hard to do that when you were such a flirt. even if rationally he knew you weren't flirting with lewis, he still deep down felt his envious urge. he needed to stake claim in you and with your soft clothed breasts pressed against his clothed chest. he knew he had you only thinking about him.

"you feel so good, angel." he said softly, "you feel so good for me. you have no idea. see, this is what it feels like when you behave for me. when you're a good girl. not a dumb little slut." his voice was low and hot in your ear. you were certain at that moment that his accent was making your stomach flip. your cunt fluttered around his heavy cock and you felt heat grow in your body.

you whimpered, but just loud enough that toto had to cover your mouth with his hand. you looked at him with pleading eyes as he fucked you quickly. he gave you a pointed glance in return.

"i don't want your cunt to be making front page news tomorrow. take away from our drivers' victories. now quiet." he said a little forceful as he continued to fuck you. the feeling was immense and you couldn't help but hold onto him tighter. he could feel the biting pain in his shoulders from your nails digging into the skin.

you whimpered, unable to form words as he continued to fuck you. you could feel the heat of him through how he fucked you. you squeezed your eyes shut and let him use your body for his liking. it felt intense, heated in a certain way that made you excited all over. you ran hot for him, you ran needy for his cock inside of you.

maybe you were a stupid slut. but you were toto's stupid slut.

toto continued his forceful pace. he fucked you up against the mirror behind you. he wished he fucked you over the counter so you could see how you took him so well. you were made for him. only for him. but he knew, deep down, that you were content with that. you were fine with being toto's.

he pulled his hand away to kiss you deeply on the lips, your noises got marginally louder as he continued to fuck you up against the mirror. he used everything he could to keep you pinned while he felt your cunt squeeze around his cock. he licked your lips before he pulled away and looked you deep in the eyes.

you knew to keep your noises low as he moved against you. he held onto your hips and shifted them up a little to better meet his pace. he licked his lips at the sight of you. especially when orgasm gripped you and your toes curled in your heels as you felt so close to climax.

he could read it across your expression. he knew you were close. he said lowly, "cum for me, cum for the only cock that could ever make you feel this good." his words struck a nerve and soon you were holding onto the edge of the counter as you tensed up in climax.

your eyes rolled back a little and you leaned further against the mirror as he continued to thrust into you. your breathing got hotter and the pleasure felt good in your liquored up blood. it was a cocktail of chemicals in your brain that made you feel pretty good.

toto continued to move against you. his thrusts became less steady and he pressed a hand against the glass of the mirror to get better leverage as he felt his own climax reach its peak. he cursed in german under his breath was he gave it a few more strong thrusts before he finished inside of you. you made a sweet noise as he did so which made him finish a little harder.

"toto." you said breathless."

he felt the sweat down his back as if he wasn't overheated prior. he kissed you deeply on the lips and heard you moan sweetly against him.

"mine." he said firmly.

"yours." you replied sweetly.

he got his cock back into his slacks and eyed you as you remained flustered on the counter top. your back against the mirror and your eyes partially lidded. he reached for your panties and slipped them off your ankle and into his back pocket.

"hey!" you said weakly.

"good girls get their panties, bad girls have to learn how to have modesty. if anyone gets a peek of what is mine under there, you'll be gagged and collared at the next race."

you swallowed and nodded. it aroused you even after your orgasm. you reached for him and he took you in his arms to help you off the counter. you clung to him and gave his collarbone soft kisses. you'd be his good girl, even while the alcohol still pumped in your blood.

toto noticed this and tomorrow he'd give you advil and some water for the hangover. but tonight, you'll still be his beautiful slut <3

#bunny writes #the bakery #reader insert #formula 1 #f1 smut #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #formula one smut #formula one #f1 x reader #torger toto wolff #toto wolff smut #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff fanfiction #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff #torger wolff

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bluelavendre · 4 months ago

Text

Title: In His Shadow Sequel

Yandere Idol Jungkook X idol reader

All Fictional Ya'll!! hihi

You should read the first part first here

Enjoy!

-Bluellexoxo

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The warm aroma of coffee wafted through the cozy café, mingling with the soft hum of chatter and occasional bursts of laughter. The setting was picturesque—a bright morning with sunlight streaming through the large windows, illuminating the table where Y/N sat. But despite the seemingly cheerful scene, she felt a weight pressing down on her chest.

At her side sat Jungkook, his hand resting possessively on her thigh beneath the table. His smile was radiant as he engaged in animated conversation with his parents, who sat across from them. His mother’s soft laughter filled the air as she recounted old stories, and his father’s deep chuckles followed closely.

Across from Y/N sat Jennie, her best friend and unwavering support. Jennie’s eyes sparkled as she sipped her latte, occasionally chiming in with playful comments. She had been the one constant in Y/N’s life through every high and low, the anchor Y/N clung to when everything felt like it was spinning out of control.

Y/N smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. Her lips curved upward as if on autopilot, a trained expression she had perfected over years of public appearances. She nodded and chimed in with polite affirmations whenever the conversation steered toward wedding details. But inside, her mind was elsewhere.

“Y/N-ah,” Jungkook’s mother said, drawing her attention back to the table. “Have you thought about what kind of flowers you’d like for the bouquet? I was thinking peonies—they’re so elegant, and they’d suit you beautifully!”

“Oh, yes,” Y/N replied, her voice soft, “peonies sound perfect.” She gave a slight nod, her fingers curling tightly around the handle of her coffee cup.

Jennie noticed the subtle tension in Y/N’s posture, the way her smile wavered for a fraction of a second. She reached across the table and gave Y/N’s hand a reassuring squeeze, her thumb brushing lightly over Y/N’s knuckles.

“Peonies would look amazing,” Jennie said with her trademark enthusiasm, stepping in to ease the pressure. “And with the venue you’ve chosen, they’ll add a nice pop of color!”

Y/N threw her a grateful glance, but it was fleeting. The weight of the discussion loomed over her like a dark cloud, and her mind drifted again, back to the lingering pain of her past.

Her parents’ voices echoed in her memory—harsh words and disappointed glares. They had been so proud of her once, envisioning a future where she’d follow a “respectable” path, perhaps becoming a doctor or a lawyer. But when she dropped out of school to chase her dream of becoming a performer, their pride turned to anger.

“You’ll regret this,” her mother had said coldly the day Y/N packed her bags and walked out. “Don’t expect us to pick up the pieces when this falls apart.”

Jennie had been there that night, standing outside in the rain, waiting for her. “Come on,” Jennie had said with a soft smile, holding out her umbrella. “You’ve got me. Let’s figure this out together.”

“Bub?” Jungkook’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. His brow furrowed slightly as he looked at her, concern flickering in his eyes. “You okay? You’ve been quiet.”

Y/N blinked, her focus snapping back to the table. “Oh, sorry,” she said quickly, forcing a brighter smile. “I was just thinking about all the planning we still have to do.”

Jungkook grinned, clearly reassured. “Don’t worry, bub. We’ll handle it together. You don’t have to do this alone.”

The irony of his words wasn’t lost on her. For someone who claimed to want to share everything, Jungkook had a way of making every decision feel like it wasn’t entirely hers to make.

His mother clapped her hands together, her excitement palpable. “This wedding is going to be the event of the year!” she declared. “We’re so proud to welcome you into our family, Y/N.”

Jennie caught the fleeting flicker of sadness in Y/N’s eyes, the way her shoulders stiffened at the mention of “family.”

“Yes, family,” Jennie chimed in, her voice light but with an edge of protectiveness. “And Y/N’s lucky to have such wonderful in-laws.” She smiled at Jungkook’s parents, but her hand brushed against Y/N’s knee under the table—a silent message that said, I see you. I’ve got you.

As the conversation carried on, Y/N sat in silence, her mind a swirling storm of emotions. She was grateful for Jennie’s presence, for the way her friend shielded her from questions that felt too invasive. But the pressure was mounting, and with each passing moment, Y/N felt herself slipping further into the role everyone expected her to play.

The perfect fiancée. The dutiful soon-to-be wife. The woman who had it all.

And yet, deep down, all she wanted was to breathe, to escape the walls closing in around her.

“When will the wedding be?” Jennie asked, her tone light but curious as she took a sip of her coffee.

Jungkook’s mom’s eyes lit up, clearly thrilled by the question. “Yes! We need to pick the perfect date,” she chimed in eagerly. “And don’t worry about timing. We can always send a request to give our Kookie a few months’ leave for the—”

“I—I think it’ll be best after Gguk’s enlistment,” Y/N blurted out, cutting off the older woman mid-sentence.

Her voice trembled slightly, but she masked it with a nervous smile, squeezing Jungkook’s hand for support. Her heart raced as the table went quiet for a beat, the sudden change in tone catching everyone off guard.

“R-right, bub?” Y/N added, glancing at Jungkook with an expression that begged him to back her up.

Jungkook’s gaze softened as he looked at her. He tilted his head slightly, his long hair framing his face, and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “If that’s what you want, bub,” he said gently, though there was a hint of curiosity in his tone, as if he were trying to read between the lines.

Jennie watched the exchange closely, her brow furrowing slightly, though she quickly hid her concern with a bright smile. “That sounds like a good idea,” she chimed in, breaking the brief silence. “You’ll have plenty of time to plan everything exactly how you want it, Y/N.”

Jungkook’s mom, however, seemed slightly disheartened. “Oh, but wouldn’t it be better to do it before? That way, you could start your married life together right away.”

Y/N’s fingers twitched slightly in Jungkook’s grasp, and she forced herself to keep smiling. “I just think it’ll be less stressful this way,” she explained quickly. “We don’t want to rush something so important.”

Jungkook’s dad nodded in agreement. “That’s fair. It’s better to wait and do it properly than to feel like you’re cramming it in.”

Jungkook’s mom reluctantly sighed but smiled. “If that’s what you both want, then of course, we’ll support it.”

Y/N let out a quiet breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her fingers remained intertwined with Jungkook’s, though her palms felt clammy. She hated how her decision felt like an excuse, but deep down, the thought of planning a wedding while juggling the weight of their strained relationship felt unbearable.

Jungkook leaned closer to her, his lips brushing against her temple as he whispered, “You sure about this, bub? We can talk about it later if you’re feeling unsure.”

His voice was soft, but there was a lingering note of concern. Y/N nodded quickly, plastering on another smile. “I’m sure,” she whispered back, though the turmoil inside her said otherwise.

Jennie, ever perceptive, caught the faint tension in Y/N’s voice. She reached across the table and nudged Y/N’s arm playfully. “Don’t stress too much, Y/N. It’s your wedding—it’s supposed to be fun!”

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, her voice quieter than she intended. “Fun.”

The rest of the conversation shifted to lighter topics, but Y/N found herself zoning out, her thoughts spiraling. She was grateful for Jennie’s subtle attempts to steer the focus away from the wedding, throwing in jokes and stories that had everyone laughing.

When the lunch ended, and everyone began to leave the café, Jennie pulled Y/N aside. “Hey,” Jennie said softly, her tone laced with concern. “Are you okay?”

Y/N hesitated, looking over at Jungkook, who was busy saying goodbye to his parents. She forced a smile and nodded. “I’m fine, Jen.”

Jennie frowned but didn’t press further. “Just… if you ever need to talk, you know I’m here, right?”

“I know,” Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

As Jungkook came over, Jennie stepped back, giving them space. “Ready to go, bub?” he asked, his hand slipping around her waist.

Y/N nodded, leaning into him despite the unease twisting in her stomach.

The ride back to their shared penthouse was mostly silent. Jungkook hummed quietly to himself, his hand resting comfortably on Y/N’s thigh as he drove.

“You’ve been quiet,” he finally said, glancing at her. “What’s on your mind?”

“Just tired,” Y/N lied, looking out the window to avoid his gaze.

Jungkook frowned but didn’t push her. Instead, he brought her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles. “I’ll take care of you, bub. You don’t have to worry about anything, okay?”

Y/N nodded, her chest tightening. She wanted to believe him—wanted to believe that they could fix the cracks in their relationship. But as the city lights blurred past, she couldn’t shake the growing doubt in her heart.

When they arrived at Jungkook’s penthouse, the familiar space welcomed them with its modern, minimalist charm. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a stunning view of the city skyline, glowing with the soft hues of twilight. Jungkook kicked off his shoes at the door and took a slow, deliberate look around the expansive living room, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.

“We need a bigger fortress,” he said suddenly, a sly smile playing on his lips as he glanced back at Y/N.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by his comment. She tilted her head slightly, a mix of confusion and curiosity in her expression. “A bigger… fortress?” she repeated, her tone unsure.

Jungkook walked over to her, slipping his arms around her waist. “Yeah, bub. Bigger. Better. Somewhere even more private, where it’s just you and me. No distractions, no interruptions.”

He said it so casually, as though he were talking about a simple weekend getaway, but the intensity in his eyes made Y/N’s stomach flip. His grip on her waist was firm, almost possessive, yet his smile was warm and loving.

She forced a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “This place is already massive, Gguk. What more could we possibly need?”

Jungkook leaned down, brushing his nose against hers. “It’s not about space, bub. It’s about security. I want to make sure you’re safe, that no one can get to us.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine. Sometimes, Y/N struggled to understand the extremes of his emotions. One moment, he was furious and jealous, his temper flaring at the smallest of things. The next, he was soft and tender, showering her with love and affection.

“You’re confusing sometimes, you know that?” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook’s smile faltered for a brief second before he cupped her face gently. “How so?”

Y/N hesitated, unsure if she should voice her thoughts. “You… You’re so unpredictable, Gguk. One moment, you’re mad and jealous, and the next, you’re like this—sweet and loving. It’s hard to keep up sometimes.”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed slightly as he listened. He sighed, pulling her closer so their foreheads touched. “I know I’m not easy, bub. I know I can be… intense. But it’s because I love you so damn much. I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

His voice was low, almost a whisper, but the raw emotion in it was unmistakable. Y/N felt her heart clench. She knew he loved her—he made that abundantly clear every single day—but sometimes, his love felt overwhelming, like it was smothering her instead of lifting her up.

“I’m not going anywhere, Jungkook,” she said softly, placing her hands on his chest. “But you have to trust me. You have to let me breathe.”

Jungkook’s jaw tensed, and for a moment, Y/N thought he might argue. But instead, he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I’ll try, bub. For you, I’ll try.”

The sincerity in his voice made her chest ache. She wanted to believe him, to believe that things would get better. But deep down, she couldn’t ignore the nagging doubt that had taken root in her heart.

“Come on,” Jungkook said suddenly, his tone lighter as he pulled back slightly. “Let’s order some food. You’ve had a long day.”

Y/N nodded, grateful for the change in topic. As Jungkook busied himself with their dinner plans, she sat on the couch, her thoughts swirling.

A week later, the day had finally arrived. Jungkook stood in front of the mirror in his penthouse bedroom, running a hand over his freshly buzzed head. The soft, short bristles felt foreign to him after years of long hair flowing freely down his neck. He turned his head slightly, studying his reflection. Despite the haircut symbolizing discipline and transformation, there was something in his eyes that remained wild—untamed.

Y/N stood by the door, leaning against the frame as she silently watched him. He looked so different, so… formal. The lack of his usual hair, coupled with the sleek military uniform he’d already started wearing for familiarization, gave him an aura of authority and distance that she wasn’t accustomed to.

“You look…” she began, searching for the right words, “different.”

Jungkook turned to her with a small, lopsided grin. “Good different or bad different?”

She walked closer, her eyes softening as she reached out to touch his head. “Good different,” she said with a small smile, her fingers brushing over the buzzed cut. “Just… new.”

He chuckled, grabbing her wrist gently and pulling her into his arms. “It’s still me, bub. Don’t worry. I might look like a soldier now, but I’m still your Gguk.”

Her heart clenched at his words. There was an ache deep inside her chest, one that had been growing ever since the reality of his enlistment began to set in. He’d be gone for two years, and though he promised to visit and stay in touch, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that things would never be the same.

“When do you leave?” she asked quietly, her voice barely audible against his chest.

“In an hour,” he murmured, his arms tightening around her. “I’ll drop you off at Jennie’s before I go.”

Y/N pulled back slightly, looking up at him. “I can come with you to the base.”

Jungkook shook his head, a soft but firm smile on his lips. “No, bub. I don’t want you to see me leave. I want your last memory of me to be here, like this, okay?”

Her throat tightened, and she nodded reluctantly. “Okay.”

The drive to Jennie’s house was quiet, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Y/N stared out the window, watching the city blur past, while Jungkook occasionally glanced at her, his hand resting on her thigh. When they arrived, Jennie was already waiting outside, her usual bubbly energy subdued as she saw the somber expressions on their faces.

“I’ll take care of her,” Jennie assured Jungkook as he helped Y/N out of the car.

He nodded, pulling Y/N into one last hug. “Take care of yourself, bub,” he whispered into her hair. “I’ll write to you every chance I get.”

Y/N clung to him, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Be safe, Gguk. Don’t overdo it, okay?”

He pulled back just enough to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

And with that, he got back into the car, giving her one last wave before driving off. Y/N stood there, watching until his car disappeared down the street, her chest feeling hollow.

Back at the base, Jungkook stepped out of the car, greeted by the buzz of activity as other recruits arrived. He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. This was a new chapter, a chance to prove himself in a different way.

But as he walked through the gates, his mind was already drifting back to Y/N—her scent, her touch, the sound of her laugh.

He clenched his jaw. No matter how far away he was, she would always be his.

Y/N was lounging on the couch, wearing an oversized hoodie, a steaming cup of coffee in hand, when her phone buzzed on the table. She lazily reached for it, expecting a message from Jennie or her manager. Instead, it was a call.

“Hello?” she answered, her voice soft and casual.

“Good morning, Y/N-shi!” her manager’s cheerful voice greeted her. “I’ve got some exciting news for you. Calvin Klein has reached out—they want you to sign as their global ambassador.”

Her eyes widened, and she nearly spilled her coffee. “Wait, what? Calvin Klein?”

“Yes! They’ve been following your career, and they believe you perfectly fit their new campaign. Isn’t that incredible?”

A wave of pride and excitement rushed over her. “Of course, I’ll do it! Tell them I’m in!”

Her manager laughed. “I knew you’d say yes. They’ll set up the contract and photoshoot schedule soon. Also, expect more calls—ever since your tour ended, brands have been lining up for you. Vacation or not, you’re the hottest name right now.”

True to her manager’s words, Y/N’s phone didn’t stop buzzing. Over the next few weeks, she found herself swamped with offers. Luxury brands wanted her face on their campaigns, magazines requested interviews, and talk shows begged for her appearance. Parties and events flooded her calendar, and Jennie was by her side through most of them.

One evening, as Y/N and Jennie sat in a chic lounge after an event, sipping on champagne, Y/N’s phone buzzed again. She glanced at the screen. It was her manager.

“What’s up?” she asked after answering the call.

“You’re going to love this,” her manager said, excitement clear in their voice. “You’ve been asked to co-produce a song with a male artist. It’s a big name, Y/N. Huge.”

Her eyes lit up. “Who is it?”

“Lee Minjae. He’s just released two chart-topping albums and is looking to collaborate with someone as dynamic as you.”

Y/N felt a thrill run through her. “Oh my gosh, that’s amazing! Let’s do it!”

The project with Minjae turned out to be one of the most exciting things Y/N had worked on. They spent long hours in the studio, brainstorming, writing, and producing. As they collaborated, rumors started swirling online. Fans began speculating about their chemistry, and shippers quickly emerged, piecing together photos from studio sessions and public events.

Since her engagement with Jungkook was kept discreet, many believed her rumored relationship with Jungkook had been false, adding fuel to the gossip about her and Minjae. Articles speculated about a budding romance, and hashtags trended overnight.

Late one evening, Y/N was lounging at home when her phone rang. She didn’t even need to check the caller ID to know who it was.

“Bub,” Jungkook’s voice was cold, tinged with frustration, “what the hell is going on?”

Y/N sighed, already knowing where this was going. “What are you talking about, Kook?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Minjae. The photos. The rumors.”

“It’s just work, Jungkook! We’re co-producing a song. That’s it.”

“Doesn’t look like ‘just work’ to me,” he snapped. “Have you seen what people are saying? They think you’re with him.”

“Why do you care so much about what they’re saying? You know the truth,” she retorted, her voice rising in frustration.

“I care because it’s my fiancée they’re talking about!” he shouted. “Do you know how it feels to see those headlines while I’m stuck here, miles away, unable to do anything?”

Y/N’s chest tightened. She hated fighting with him, but his possessiveness was starting to suffocate her. “Jungkook, you need to trust me. This is my career. I can’t control what people say, but I can’t stop living my life because of rumors.”

His silence on the other end of the line was deafening.

“Fine,” he finally said, his voice icy. “But don’t forget who you belong to.”

A week after their heated argument, another photo of Y/N and Jungkook from years ago was leaked online. It was an intimate picture of the two of them at a private gathering, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist as they laughed together.

The internet exploded with renewed speculation about their relationship. Fans began connecting dots, some claiming the photo proved they had been secretly dating for years.

Jungkook called her again, but this time, his tone was softer. “Bub, it’s everywhere now. Everyone knows.”

Y/N sighed, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety. “What do we do, Gguk?”

“We let them talk,” he said firmly. “Because at the end of the day, you’re mine, and I’m yours. Let them say whatever they want.”

Months passed in a blur for Y/N, her schedule packed with photoshoots, interviews, songwriting, and collaborations. The added responsibility of planning her wedding made her life even busier. Yet, she welcomed the distraction. It kept her grounded and gave her a sense of normalcy amid the chaos.

Jungkook, on the other hand, kept his distance. He wanted to stay focused on his duties in the military, ensuring he was in his best shape—mentally and physically—for his fiancée. He’d been working harder than ever, driven by his love for her and his desire to be a better man. Every time a new photo of Y/N surfaced on social media, he’d save it immediately. Even in the midst of military drills, he’d steal glances at his phone just to see her face.

Back at their shared penthouse, Jungkook’s parents often dropped by to check on Y/N. They treated her like family already, making sure she wasn’t overwhelmed by everything on her plate.

One afternoon, as Y/N was having tea with Jungkook’s mother in the living room, her soon-to-be father-in-law entered the room with a grin.

“Y/N-ah,” he started, sitting down across from her, “have you heard about Jungkook’s latest project?”

She tilted her head, curious. “Project?”

His mother chuckled, shaking her head. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

Her father-in-law leaned forward, his smile widening. “He’s been investing his savings in a new house for the two of you. He says it’ll be your dream home.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. “A new house?”

His mother nodded. “He wanted it to be a surprise. He’s been so excited about it.”

Y/N felt a pang in her chest. She should’ve been touched, but the weight of everything—their strained relationship, the upcoming wedding, the unresolved pain—made her feel conflicted.

A few weeks later, Y/N found herself in Paris for Fashion Week, joined by Jennie. Their shared suite overlooked the sparkling Eiffel Tower, the city buzzing with energy and glamour. After a long day of events and runway shows, they retired to their room with a bottle of wine in hand.

Y/N poured herself another glass, the alcohol loosening her tongue. Jennie watched her with concern as she began to ramble.

“Jen,” Y/N slurred slightly, her cheeks flushed, “you know, sometimes I feel like I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.”

Jennie raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean? You’re doing amazing, Y/N. Look at you—everyone’s obsessed with you.”

Y/N shook her head, her eyes glistening. “It’s not about the career. It’s about… everything else. The wedding, Jungkook, the baby we didn’t have…” Her voice cracked, and Jennie’s heart sank.

“Wait, what baby?” Jennie asked, sitting up straighter.

Y/N sighed, tears spilling over. “It happened months ago. I didn’t even know I was pregnant until I wasn’t anymore. And Jungkook… we fought about it. He blamed me, Jen. He said I didn’t take care of myself.”

Jennie’s eyes burned with fury. “He what?”

Y/N wiped her face with her hands. “I know he didn’t mean it, but it hurt. It still hurts. And now we’re planning this wedding, and I’m just… I’m scared, Jennie. I don’t know if I can do this.”

Jennie pulled her into a tight hug, whispering soothing words as Y/N cried into her shoulder.

The next morning, Jennie wasted no time. She stepped out onto the hotel balcony with her phone, dialing Jungkook’s number.

“Noona?” he answered groggily, his voice laced with sleep.

“You idiot,” she snapped, not bothering with pleasantries. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What?” Jungkook was instantly alert, sitting up in his bed. “What’s going on?”

“Do you have any idea what Y/N’s been going through? She told me everything—about the baby, the fight, how you made her feel like it was her fault!”

Jungkook’s heart sank. He hadn’t realized how deeply his words had hurt her. “Jennie, I—”

“No, Jungkook. You don’t get to ‘Jennie’ me. She’s your fiancée, and she’s terrified of this wedding because of you. She’s putting on a brave face, but deep down, she’s breaking, and you’re too blind to see it.”

Jennie’s words hit him like a truck, and guilt washed over him. He had been so focused on himself—on the military, on the house, on his plans—that he hadn’t stopped to consider how Y/N was feeling.

“Where is she?” he asked, his voice low but firm.

“She’s sleeping. She was a mess last night, Jungkook. Fix this. I mean it.”

Jennie’s scolding only fueled Jungkook’s fury—not at her, but at himself. He hung up the call and sat on the edge of his bed, his hands in his hair.

He thought about the baby they had lost, the pain he had buried instead of confronting. He thought about Y/N, working herself to the bone while pretending to be okay. And he thought about their wedding, the dream he was so focused on that he had forgotten to ask if it was what she wanted, too.

Jungkook’s anger boiled under the surface after Jennie’s call ended. He wasn’t mad at her; he was furious at himself for failing Y/N, for being blind to her struggles, for saying things he could never take back. But his emotions, raw and volatile, had nowhere to go. His hands trembled as he sat on the edge of his bed in the barracks, the weight of guilt pressing down on his chest.

Without thinking, he grabbed his phone and dialed Y/N. The phone rang a few times before going to voicemail. He clenched his jaw, his mind racing. “Fine,” he muttered under his breath.

Jungkook stormed out of the barracks, ignoring the curious glances of his fellow soldiers. His heart pounded as he made his way to the commanding officer’s office, the fire inside him driving every step.

Meanwhile in Paris…

Y/N woke up groggy, her head pounding from the wine the night before. She groaned, shielding her eyes from the sunlight streaming through the window. Jennie sat by the vanity, scrolling through her phone.

“Morning, sunshine,” Jennie said softly, her tone cautious.

Y/N sat up slowly, rubbing her temples. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon. You’ve got some events later today, but I told them you might be late.”

Y/N sighed, her mind still clouded with the memories of her breakdown the night before. “Thanks, Jen.”

Before Jennie could respond, Y/N’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. She reached for it, her stomach twisting when she saw Jungkook’s name.

“Are you going to answer that?” Jennie asked, her tone sharp.

Y/N hesitated before shaking her head. “I… I can’t. Not right now.”

Jennie nodded, but there was an edge to her expression. “He needs to hear from you eventually, Y/N. You can’t avoid him forever.”

“I know,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible.

Back at the military base…

Jungkook’s commanding officer stared at him in disbelief. “You want a leave of absence? Effective immediately?”

“Yes, sir,” Jungkook said firmly, standing at attention.

“Jeon, you’ve been doing well here, but you know the rules. We can’t just grant leave without a valid reason.”

Jungkook took a deep breath. “It’s personal, sir. I need to fix something important. If I don’t, I might lose it forever.”

The officer studied him for a moment before sighing. “Fine. You’ve got three days, Jeon. Don’t waste them.”

Jungkook saluted, his jaw set. “Thank you, sir.”

Later that evening…

Y/N and Jennie were at a rooftop party in Paris, the glittering city stretching out beneath them. Y/N tried to enjoy herself, but her mind kept wandering. She hadn’t responded to Jungkook’s calls or texts all day, and the guilt was eating at her.

She was sipping a glass of champagne when she felt a strange sensation, like someone was watching her. She turned, her breath catching in her throat.

There he was.

Jungkook stood at the edge of the crowd, his military buzz cut making him look sharper, more intense. His dark eyes locked on hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop.

“Is that…?” Jennie whispered beside her, following her gaze.

Y/N set her glass down, her heart racing as Jungkook walked toward her with purposeful strides. The crowd parted for him, sensing his presence like a storm rolling in.

When he reached her, he didn’t say a word. Instead, he grabbed her wrist gently but firmly and led her away from the crowd, ignoring Jennie’s protests.

“Jungkook, what are you doing here?” Y/N asked, her voice trembling.

He stopped in a quiet corner, turning to face her. His jaw was tight, his eyes filled with a mix of anger, hurt, and determination.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he said, his voice low but intense. “I needed to see you, to fix this.”

“Fix what?” Y/N said, her own anger bubbling to the surface. “You can’t just show up like this and expect everything to be okay.”

“I know,” Jungkook admitted, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I know I’ve screwed up, Y/N. But I can’t stand the thought of you going through this alone. I can’t lose you.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears. “You hurt me, Jungkook. You made me feel like I wasn’t enough, like I was to blame for everything.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I was angry, scared… I didn’t know how to handle it. But I’m here now, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

She looked at him, torn between love and frustration. “You can’t just fix everything with words, Jungkook.”

“I know,” he said, stepping closer. “But I’ll prove it to you. Every single day, I’ll prove it.”

Y/N’s walls began to crack, the raw emotion in his voice cutting through her defenses. “You have a lot to prove,” she said quietly.

“I will,” he promised, pulling her into his arms. “I’ll never let you feel like that again.”

As she rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, she wondered if they could truly move past the pain. But for now, she let herself believe in his promise, holding onto the hope that they could find their way back to each other.

Jungkook stayed in Paris for a few weeks with Y/N, giving them both time to reconnect and breathe. The chaotic nature of their lives had always kept them apart, but in the quiet, romantic setting of Paris, it was as though time had slowed down. The city, with its art, its beauty, and its timeless charm, seemed to wrap them in a cocoon where the outside world couldn’t reach them.

Jennie had left them alone, sensing that they needed space to work through their emotions, away from the constant buzz of their high-profile lives. It was during this time that Y/N began to see a side of Jungkook that she hadn’t noticed before—a side that wasn’t driven by anger or jealousy, but one that was vulnerable, open, and truly sorry.

They walked hand in hand along the Seine, the city’s lights reflecting in the water, casting a soft glow over them. The night felt magical, the air crisp and cool, a perfect setting for the conversations that needed to happen. They found a quiet park bench and sat down, just the two of them, watching the world go by.

“Do you remember the first time we came here?” Jungkook asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N smiled at the memory. “I remember. It was chaotic, full of press, and we barely had time to enjoy it. But even then, it was special.”

He nodded, his gaze distant as if he was lost in the past. “We were so young, so naive. But I promised you then, and I promise you now, that I’ll always be here for you. I’ll always fight for us.”

Y/N looked at him, studying his face, trying to understand the depths of his emotions. “You always fight, Jungkook. But sometimes, I don’t know if it’s for me, or for the idea of us that you’ve created in your head.”

He turned his head to meet her eyes, his expression a mix of regret and vulnerability. “I know. And that’s something I need to work on. I’ve always been afraid of losing you, Y/N. You’re everything to me. But sometimes, I take that fear and turn it into something toxic. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Her heart softened at his words, and she reached out, gently placing her hand on his. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. But you did, Jungkook. And I don’t know how to just move past that.”

Jungkook sighed, the weight of the words hanging between them. “I know. I understand. It’s just... I’ve always been afraid of losing people. I think that’s why I act the way I do. I saw my parents fight growing up, saw the instability in relationships, and I promised myself I wouldn’t let that happen to us. But I let my fear control me.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened around his. “I get that, I do. But love... love isn’t about control. It’s about trust. You have to trust me, Jungkook. I’m not going anywhere. But when you act the way you do, it makes me feel trapped, like I’m not allowed to breathe or live my own life.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to control you. I just... I get jealous. I get scared when other people are around you, when I see you so independent and successful. It makes me feel like I’m not enough, like I’m going to lose you to someone else.”

Y/N squeezed his hand, her heart aching for him. She could see the honesty in his eyes, the deep-rooted insecurities that he had never fully expressed before. “Jungkook, I’m not going anywhere. I love you. But you have to trust me. You have to trust that I choose you, that no matter how successful I get, you’re the one I want to be with. It’s not about being perfect, it’s about us choosing each other every day.”

He looked at her, his eyes softening, and nodded slowly. “I want that. I want to be the man you deserve, not the man who keeps pushing you away because of his own fears.”

Y/N leaned in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “We’re not perfect, Jungkook. But we’re perfect for each other.”

As they sat together, talking for hours into the night, Y/N realized just how much Jungkook had changed. He wasn’t the same person he had been a few months ago, the one consumed by jealousy and control. He was growing, learning, and trying to be better—for her, for himself, and for the future they both dreamed of.

The conversation shifted to other things—lighter topics, like the future they wanted to build together. They talked about Bam, their dog, and how they both envisioned a life with him and maybe, someday, children of their own. They dreamed of a house, not just any house, but a home where they could raise a family, a place that would always feel like a sanctuary for them both.

“I want to build something real with you, Y/N,” Jungkook said, his voice sincere. “A family. A home. I want to be the man you can depend on, no matter what.”

Y/N smiled, feeling the weight of his words settle in her heart. “And I want that with you, Jungkook. I want us to be happy, to build something solid and strong.”

They stayed like that for hours, wrapped up in each other’s company, talking about their future. For the first time in a long while, Y/N felt like the love between them wasn’t just about passion or jealousy—it was about trust, vulnerability, and a shared vision for the future.

As they walked back to their hotel hand in hand, Paris lights twinkling around them, Y/N knew that they still had a long road ahead of them, but for the first time, she felt hopeful about what that future could look like. She didn’t have all the answers, but with Jungkook by her side, she was willing to find them together.

Jungkook's departure to continue his military service felt like a bittersweet farewell, but it was also a relief for Y/N. The weight of their previous emotional turmoil had been lifted after their heartfelt conversation in Paris. As he left, his words echoed in her mind: "I’ll be back for you. We’ll make this work." She clung to those words, knowing that he was truly trying to be better, not just for himself, but for their future.

Though the fans in Paris had leaked countless photos of them, capturing their intimate moments, Y/N didn’t let it affect her anymore. The scandal and public judgment had once plagued her, but now she was more focused on what was to come. The love she had with Jungkook wasn’t something to be hidden or ashamed of. It was real, and that was all that mattered. She could breathe again, free from the constraints of other people’s opinions.

As the months passed, the anticipation for the new house grew. The idea of finally having a space that was truly their own, a place where they could build a life together, filled her with excitement. She, along with Bam and Jungkook’s parents, was there to see it for the first time. Jennie, of course, was also by her side, always her rock through everything.

When they arrived at the house, it was even more breathtaking than Y/N had imagined. The spacious rooms, the modern yet cozy atmosphere, and the incredible view—it was perfect. But there was one room that stopped her in her tracks: the baby room.

It was beautiful, with soft pastel colors, a crib, and shelves filled with toys and baby clothes. The room was a clear sign of Jungkook’s hope for their future together. His parents looked thrilled, talking excitedly about the grandchildren they’d one day have. But Y/N didn’t know how to feel. The room, filled with all the promise of a family, felt like a weight on her chest. She had always dreamed of having a family, of having children with Jungkook, but the idea of becoming a mother in the midst of everything they had been through—the tension, the jealousy, the misunderstandings—felt overwhelming.

Her emotions were all over the place. She was happy, yes, but she also felt the sting of uncertainty. Was she ready? Was Jungkook ready? Would they really be able to give their child the kind of love and stability they both needed?

But the warmth in Jungkook’s mother’s eyes as she lovingly touched the crib eased some of her worries. Her future mother-in-law seemed so hopeful, so sure of the future. That brought Y/N a sense of comfort. She wasn’t alone in this journey. They were in this together, and whatever uncertainties she had, they would work through them as a family.

----------------------------

As weeks passed and Jungkook neared the end of his service, everything seemed to fall into place. The wedding plans were finalized. The venue, the guest list, the flowers—it was all coming together perfectly. Y/N could hardly believe that after everything, they were finally here, about to take the next step in their relationship.

There was still a lingering feeling of doubt in her heart, but that was only natural. The idea of marriage and children, of truly committing to a lifetime with someone, was a big deal. But deep down, she knew that she had made the right choice. Despite everything that had happened between them—despite the struggles, the pain, and the obstacles—they were still standing side by side, stronger than before. And that was what mattered.

Jungkook had grown, and Y/N had grown with him. They had learned, perhaps the hard way, how to communicate, to love, and to trust each other. Their love wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And that was all they needed.

The day Jungkook was set to return was fast approaching, and with it came a flood of emotions. Y/N was excited, nervous, and hopeful all at once. She knew that this was the beginning of a new chapter—one that would involve not only their love, but their future, their family, and the life they would build together.

And as she stood in front of the baby room once more, a small smile crept onto her face. She didn’t know exactly what the future held, but she knew that as long as they had each other, they could face whatever came their way. And that thought, as simple as it was, gave her the peace she needed to move forward.

-----------------------------

The day of the wedding arrived, and it was everything Y/N and Jungkook had hoped for—intimate, quiet, and filled with nothing but love. No public statements, no press, and no fans. It was a sacred moment, one meant only for the two of them and their closest loved ones. The air was heavy with emotion as they exchanged vows under a canopy of white flowers, surrounded by those who truly mattered.

Y/N’s heart raced as she gazed into Jungkook's eyes, his expression filled with sincerity and affection. Their promises to each other were heartfelt, words exchanged that signified the bond they had nurtured over the years—despite all the obstacles they had faced. It was a testament to their growth as individuals and as a couple.

The moment felt surreal, and for a brief moment, everything seemed perfect. As they sealed their vows with a kiss, the cheers of their family and friends echoed around them, but Y/N felt like time had slowed. She held onto the sensation of peace, the joy of finally finding her way to this point.

But as they walked down the aisle, hand in hand, something about the atmosphere shifted. There was a slight unease, something unspoken hanging in the air. It wasn’t anything anyone else noticed, but Y/N felt it deep in her chest.

Later that evening, as the reception unfolded, Y/N and Jungkook shared private moments, their connection undeniable, their love shining brightly. But just as they were about to cut the cake, Jungkook’s phone buzzed on the table. He hesitated for a moment before glancing at the screen. His expression immediately changed.

As the night went on, the wedding celebrations were in full swing. Y/N and Jungkook danced, laughed, and shared tender moments together, basking in the love of their closest friends and family. Everything seemed perfect—too perfect, in fact. The kind of perfection that made Y/N’s heart race, yet she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was off.

The night progressed, and Jungkook’s smile never wavered, but there was a certain tension in the air, a weight in his eyes that Y/N couldn’t ignore. The last song played, and as they stepped away from the dance floor, Jungkook excused himself for a moment.

Y/N, still lost in the glow of the evening, smiled to herself. She had always wanted this kind of love, this kind of commitment. But as she turned to find him, she saw him stepping into a quiet corner, his phone pressed to his ear, his back turned to her.

She watched him for a moment, intrigued. His tone was low and calm, but there was something in his voice that sent a chill down her spine. She couldn’t hear the words, but the energy in the room seemed to shift as she waited, her heart starting to race for reasons she couldn’t explain.

After a few moments, Jungkook hung up and turned around, his usual charming smile back in place, but there was something different in the way he looked at her—something dark, almost possessive.

Y/N’s curiosity gnawed at her. She approached him, but before she could say anything, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, planting a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Are you okay, bub?” he whispered.

She nodded, unsure. "You seemed... different just now."

Jungkook gave a small, reassuring chuckle. “Nothing to worry about, love. Just some business stuff. Everything’s perfect.”

But as she gazed up at him, she knew there was something more beneath his calm demeanor.

Hours later, as the guests began to leave and the penthouse grew quiet, Jungkook sat in a dimly lit corner, his fingers tapping against his phone screen. Y/N was preparing to call it a night, feeling the weight of the day catching up to her, when she overheard Jungkook talking again.

This time, his voice was much sharper, filled with a cold, calculated edge.

"Yes, everything is perfect," he said, his voice barely above a whisper but cutting through the silence. "Leak everything. Let them see. Let her know she won’t be able to leave me. Except for the thing I told you... And you know what to do with them. They’ve been hurting her long enough. Let me be the karma."

Y/N’s heart stopped as she heard his words, her stomach sinking into her chest. It was as if the world around her came to a crashing halt.

Jungkook wasn’t the man she thought he was—not the man she had fallen in love with. She could hear the coldness in his voice, the hint of manipulation and control.

Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to process what she had just heard. The realization that something much darker was at play sent a shiver down her spine.

And as Jungkook ended the call, he turned to her with a smile, but it wasn’t the smile she knew. It was something far more unsettling.

"Everything’s just fine, love. Let’s enjoy our night," he said, his voice smooth, almost too smooth.

Y/N stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest, a flood of questions and fears crashing through her mind. What was he planning? And what had he just promised to do?

The truth was closer than she thought, and she was only beginning to see the dangerous game he was playing.

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athenamikaelson · 2 years ago

Text

Complaints and Harriet Styles

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Summary- The reader likes to complain a lot, everyone in Mystic Falls knows this. Klaus Mikealson finds it quite entertaining though.

Word Count- 2.2k

Warnings- Swearing, biting, one innuendo from Santa Klaus

Note from Author- Might do a part 2 to this is ya'll want it, let me know.

“Listen, Damon. This whole, “I’m the scary brother” act you got going on it’s such a cliche man. Why not try something different, switch it up. It has got to be hella boring to have been playing the same role for over like 1,000 years, or however old you are. I wasn’t listening when Stefan was telling me the story of you two.” I try explaining to Damon as he stares blankly at me while holding a bourbon in his hand.

“Y/N, who let you into my house?” Damon asks me as he throws back the rest of his drink and then starts to pour himself another one. I just shrug my shoulders.

“You left the door unlocked and I thought, why not? Elena and Bonnie are off somewhere and Caroline is planning some dance for Ms. Lockwood. So I had no one else to talk to.”

“You mean to complain to?” He asks with a roll of his eyes. Which in turn makes me roll my eyes.

“I don’t complain a lot.” I defend myself, which only gets me an annoyed look.

_____

“This is too heavy!” I yell to Caroline as she hands me a box of party supplies that she roped me into to decorate her house with for some stupid party. I look into the box and pick out a long hot pink boa scarf.

“The hell is this for?” Caroline looks at me holding the scarf and rolls her eyes.

“To wear obviously. And stop complaining, that box is like less than five pounds.” She tells me as she takes a balloon from his pile of decorations and starts to blow it up.

“Ok 1. You’d have to hold me down and knock me out if you ever wanted to put that thing on me. And 2. I’m not complaining, you just have inhuman strength so you can’t tell when something is heavy to frail humans like myself.” Caroline just rolls her eyes at me placing the balloon back onto the table by her. She walks over to me and grabs the box from my hands, “You complain too much.”

______

“Ok, listen up, fellow soon to be seniors! If I get superglue stuck on my fingers one more time I’m throwing in the towel and going on home, it’s past my bedtime anyways.” I say walking into the classroom that holds Elena, Caroline, Matt, Tyler and Bonnie. They all turn to me, I hear a giggle come from Elena as she looks at the clock on the wall.

“Y/N, it’s only 8 p.m.” I look at her in confusion then glance at my watch, “Oh.”

Tyler walks over to me and grabs the super glue from my hand.

“If you have such a hard time with the super glue then Caroline and I will go and do it.” He glances at Caroline who just shakes her head and laughs, “And you say you don't complain a lot.” She says to me as she passes me and squeezes my shoulder.

“I do not complain a lot!” I yell to her as she walks out of the classroom. Elena walks up behind me and wraps her hand around my shoulder.

“Come on, you can help me superglue Ric’s desk, but don’t worry I’ll handle the superglue.” She giggles to herself as she leads me out of the classroom and into the hallway. I’m about to start talking about how hot the hallway is but Elena halts us as a man walks in front of us.

“Yo dude! Didn’t you see us walking here? Move!,” I look at him as he slowly takes his eyes off of Elena and onto me. He stares silently at me, a crease in between his eyebrows as if he’s debating something in his mind. The hallway is dark so I can’t quite see his features as well as I would, but the features I do see are very nice to look at.

“Dude you deaf or something? Usually when someone tells you to move you’re supposed to move,” I frown to myself and then turn to Elena, “Wait, was that offensive?” Elena just looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. A look of fear in her eyes. I look back at the man in front of us.

“Sorry if that offended you man. Sometimes I just say things, but also like to move out of my way now please, thank you.” I go to walk around him bringing Elena with me but I feel the man grab me by the elbow pulling me into the opposite direction.

“Hey! What the actual fuck man!,” I see that he also has Elena by the elbow as he says something to her, but I’m too busy trying to break myself free from his grip.

“Dude literally let me go, also your cologne literally smells like the pre teen-boy section of an Aeropostle.” We halt. I see the man turn towards me with a dark look in his eyes.

“What did you just say to me?” Oh. He’s british. God that’s hot.

“Um, the let go of me part or the shitty perfume thing?” I watch as he looks at me also like I’ve grown a second head. I really need to find a mirror because I’m starting to wonder if I actually have.

“Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?” He asks me with a hard tone.

I tap my chin with my finger in a thoughtful manner and shrug one shoulder, “The sixth member of one direction?” I look up to him with a sarcastic smile and then laugh at the incredulous look on his face, a very nice looking face.

He begins to open his mouth to speak before he shuts it and shakes his head in frustration. And starts dragging Elena and I again.

“Dude-,” “If you open that mouth of yours one more time the next thing to come out of it will be your tongue.” Mr. British cuts me off without giving me a glance. Ok then.

_______

Ok, so Mr. British guy’s name is actually named Klaus. The same Klaus who killed Elena, or he thought he killed her then she came back to life or something. I keep on getting bored with all these stories people keep talking about. Klaus is here though I think to not kill Elena again, or to kill Elena? Once again no clue. But he made me sit on the bleachers and just watch as he snapped Tyler’s neck and told Bonnie to contact some witch or something. There was also a pretty blonde girl, but she left with Tyler’s body and Caroline. I sit on the bleacher for another moment then stand up, screw you British guy.

I step off the bleacher and walk over to Elena who is shaking in fear. I pull her into a hug since I think she might need one. I feel a hand pull me away from her after a moment though and come face to face with the brit.

“Oh, great. It’s you.” I say sarcastically.

“Did you not hear me when I told you to stay seated on the bleacher?” He asks me angrily. His hand was tightening on my shoulder.

“Obviously I heard you man. You like to talk loudly and a fucking lot. You must love to hear your own voice huh? And besides, my ass started to hurt. And also, who died and made you the boss! Just because you’re all strong and have a hot accent doesn’t mean you can just go bossing people around, asshat.”

“Y/N! Stop!” Elena yells to me desperately. I just turn to her and shrug my shoulders, then look back to wannabe Harry Styles. Harriet is looking at me with a dark look, but the grip on my shoulder has lessened.

“Have you always had no self-preservation skills? Or are you just stupid?” He asks me.

I stare at him in disbelief, “You know what dickwad? Just because I don’t want to deal with whatever mid-life crisis you’re currently having doesn’t mean I’m stupid. To actually let you know I have straight A’s,” I stop my rant and then roll my eyes, “Ok, mostly straight A’s, I have one D in art but that’s because my art teacher is like you,” I point to him, “A jackass, and he thinks that only his tastes and thoughts are correct. So it actually isn’t my fault. I personally think my art is much better than his.” I look back up to Klaus and he’s looking at me with an almost contemplative look.

“Has anyone ever told you, you stare a lot?” I ask him with a sarcastic tone.

“Has anyone ever told you, you complain a lot?” He says with the same tone of voice that I used. The corner of his lip starts to move as if he wanted to smirk.

I look up in thought at his question and tap my chin, “You know what, I actually have heard that before. I personally don’t think of it as complaining though. More of, sharing my annoyance with the world.”

The smirk on his lips is very present now and for a second I could’ve sworn it started to turn into a smile.

“To answer your question, I only tend to stare at people who gain my attention.” He tells me, making me stare at him for a second too long.

Ya. Ok. Whatever that means. I go to give him a snarky remark but Stefan runs in looking more brutish than usual.

“Oh look! Stefan’s back!” I say, smiling at him. Which doesn’t even get me a glance in my direction as he keeps his eyes on Klaus who I now notice is standing a little too close to me. Weirdo.

Stefan goes on to say something about something but once again I don’t quite care to listen. So I go and lean against the wall until Blondey from earlier comes in and bites Elena for some reason. I quickly lean up and start walking over to her.

“Hey bitch! Hasn’t anyone ever told you to keep your hands to yourself!” The blonde, who as she looks at me I now notice is very attractive. I have to stop my ogling though because after Klaus rips her from Elena she starts to storm her way over to me. Before she can get to me though my vision is blocked off by Klaus’ back.

“Not her.” He tells blondey rather sternly.

“Whatever.” She says as she storms off out of the gym. Klaus turns back to me and looks at me, eyes moving over my face oddly.

“You need to go home.” He tells me then turns around dismissively. I walk in front of him, stopping him from confronting Stefan.

“You are not the boss of me, and besides why the hell would I ever leave Elena, who is my friend, alone with vampires?” I yell at him, which makes him just roll his eyes.

“Y/N, I’m not going to ask you again, you need to go home.” He tells me.

“Bitch what? You didn’t even ask me shit! You demanded me.” I want to start ripping him a new one but Elena places her hand on my shoulder

“Y/N, I’m going to be ok. Please go home, I need to know at least you’re going to be ok.” She says to me with a dreary smile. I go to argue but she interrupts me again begging me to leave quickly. What the heck is up with people interrupting me.

“Fine,” I turn to Klaus, “But, if anything happens to her, I’m going to rip your dick off.” That makes him give a slight flinch. I give one more look to Elena and Stefan, who gives me a small nod and then head to the door.

When I grab the handle of the door I hear Klaus call my name from behind me, I turn around and jump when I find Klaus standing right behind me.

“Jesus man, warn a woman.”

“Next time we see each other Y/N, I’d like to see that artwork of yours that you believe deserved better than a D.” Klaus says as he looks down to me. I go to speak but nothing seems to want to come out. Klaus must’ve noticed this because a smirk forms onto his face.

“Is this the first time you’ve ever not had a response?” He has the audacity to gain a bigger smirk, “What a shame, I was growing fond of that mouth of yours.”

“Um, ya. Um,” I start to feel my face heat up under his gaze, “I’m leaving now, oddball.” I say as I book it out of the gym. As i make it to the end of the hall I glance over my shoulder and make eye contact with Klaus who’s still standing in the same spot with the same stupid smirk on his face.

“I’ll make sure to wear different cologne next time we meet Y/N.” Klaus says as he walks back into the gym leaving me alone.

“What the actual fuck?”

PART 2- HERE

#author #athenamikaelson #klaus mikaleson imagine #klaus x reader #klaus mikaelson #thecwshows #thevampirediaries #the vampire diaries #the originals #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson #stefan x elena #elena gilbert #the vampire diares imagine #x reader #rebekah mikaelson

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callme-holly · 1 year ago

Note

hey! i love your johnny cade fics <3 if you’re still taking requests and you like the idea could you write one where reader is part of the group but is sneaking around with johnny, keeping their new relationship from the gang, but there’s really cute secret smiles/touches/hand holding 🥹 and then maybe one of them is just like, you two really are not subtle, we know about it (i feel like this would be dally😅) thank you 🫶🏼 ps sorry if too specific

𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐌𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐌𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐍𝐨 𝐎𝐧𝐞’𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 [𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐝]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - I'm so sorry for how long this took me to write I had a huge drama exam and things were crazy but I'm back now!! This was super fun to write so I hope ya'll enjoy this and, as always, my asks are still open for requests!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 2.5k words

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - mild swearing !!

0.1 - ‘hey, was that Johnny?’

It’s early evening by the time the gang reach The Nightly Double, with the sun sinking low over the horizon and casting long shadows onto the sidewalk. It’s the first time in a while they've all been able to do something together, something outside of work, or school, or fighting, and most are glad for it. So glad in fact that they hardly noticed they’re two members short.

—

“You want me to get you somethin’?” Johnny mumbles, squeezing your hand gently as you both wander past the concession stand, searching for some seats tucked a little further back and away from prying eyes.

You hum and glance over to the stand. The line for snacks and drinks isn’t too long; there are only a few people waiting ahead, but you have no doubt that it will be much longer a little later on when the cars of socs start to roll in.

“Sure, if you don’t mind…” You murmur, turning your attention back to Johnny as he leads you through the small crowd of people, pausing once you both reach the end of the queue. He shoots you a soft, crooked grin before dropping his head a little to press a quick kiss to your lips.

“What’d you want?” He asks after he pulls back, and you can’t help but smile warmly, leaning a little into his side as you get closer to the counter.

“Just a pepsi will do me.” You reply lightly, and he gives a short nod, reaching into his pocket to scrape together enough cash for the drink.

Noticing this, you frown just a bit, and grab at his forearm to try and stop him.

“Johnny, I didn't think you meant you'd pay–”

He turns those beautiful, dark eyes back to yours and shakes his head, giving a small shrug. “It's no big deal.”

“But–”

“No, really,” He insists quietly as you both reach the counter. “I’ve got it.”

There’s really no arguing with him, and so, with one last lingering look, you release his arm and watch with a sigh as he orders your drinks and slides the change across the counter. You purse your lips for a moment, leaning forward to rest your head on his shoulder.

“You didn’t have to do that. I’ve got the money, you know.”

Johnny only hums in response, pressing a quick kiss to your hair. “It’s fine. I wanted to.”

He hands you your pepsi, taking your hand in his as you both turn, about to return to your hunt for seats once more, when you notice an all-too-familiar group of greasers standing in line.

You frown briefly before glancing up at Johnny, who follows your gaze, his eyes widening.

“Shit…” He’s quick to drop your hand, turning so that his back is to the gang. You follow suit, tucking yourself into Johnny’s side as you both try to blend in with the passing wave of teens around you.

The two of you keep your heads down, keeping your pace as even as possible as you move past the group of boys, their laughter ringing out as they make small jabs at each other. They seem so caught up in whatever is going on around them that you and Johnny manage to slip away without being noticed. Or, at least, you think you do.

—

“Hey, Ponyboy, what the hell are you lookin’ at?”

Two-bit slams a hand down on the boy’s shoulder, effectively drawing his attention away from the passing crowd and back to the rowdiness of the gang. By now, they have all stopped with their teasing, their eyes not-so-subtly scanning the swarms of people around them.

Pony shakes his head, scuffing the toe of his shoe into the ground and shrugging. “Ain’t nothin’... Just thought I saw Johnny.”

Dallas snorts. “Johnny?” He laughs a little incredulously. “The kid swore he ain't comin' out tonight. Said he was busy, man.”

“Well, maybe he lied.”

Steve raises a brow. “Why would he lie? If he wanted to catch a movie, he would've tagged along with us.”

Pony’s face twists, and he glances back once more before shaking his head. “Nah, you're right. Guess I'm just seeing stuff, huh?”

Darry places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “It’s all that smoke gettin' to your head.” He teases, and the boy rolls his eyes, shrugging off his brother.

“Whatever.”

0.2 - ‘you guys are here alone?’

The diner is packed full; groups of teens are huddled around tables and scattered throughout various booths, most either talking amongst themselves or causing nothing but trouble.

You and Johnny are tucked away in a booth you had claimed at the very back, the two of you hunched over the tabletop, a plate of fries and two milkshakes sitting between you. Your hands are entwined, and Johnny’s thumb is stroking absently over your knuckles as he watches you talk. His dark eyes shine with nothing but affection, and he can't help but lean in to press a quick kiss to your lips.

You pause, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you meet his eyes again.

“What was that for?”

Johnny shrugs, growing sheepish, as he takes a sip of his milkshake.

“Just because.” He mumbles softly, looking away again; however, as he does so, he catches sight of something, or rather someone, out the window. “Uh oh…”

You turn to follow his gaze and sigh inwardly as you see Soda and Steve coming through the doors to the diner, both boys sporting their DX uniforms as they scan the crowds for an empty table. You and Johnny sink low in your seats, doing your best to hide behind your discarded menus, but it's too late.

“Johnnycake! Y/n!” Soda calls out with a grin and a wave, sauntering up to you and Johnny’s booth, Steve hot on his heels. They both sit themselves down, Steve stealing a couple of fries and shovelling them into his mouth as he does so, before shooting you a bright grin.

“Fancy seeing ya’ll here, huh?” He comments, reaching out to take a sip from your milkshake too, scowling as you slap his hand away.

“Get your own shake.” You snap irritably, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Don’t you like the company we bring?” Soda grins good-naturedly, and Johnny meets your gaze across the table, offering a small apologetic smile.

You let out a long breath, feeling annoyance and a little exasperation course through your veins, but you knew better than to send the two greasers on their way. It will only raise suspicion, and that’s the last thing you need right now. You and Johnny are keeping your relationship a secret for a reason, and knowing Steve and his big mouth, you can bet half the town would know by morning.

You’re broken from your thoughts when Soda leans forward, resting one elbow atop the table, propping up his chin with his free hand.

“Say, where's Dallas? Ain't he with you?”

Johnny shakes his head. “Nah, he’s still sleepin’ off a hangover.”

Soda blinks and then frowns. He tilts his head. “Two-bit?”

“He ain’t here either.” Johnny replies simply, glancing at you again just as Steve pipes up.

“So, what, you’re both here alone?”

The question catches you off guard, and you find yourself flushing a little beneath their scrutiny.

What are they getting at?

“Well, yeah.”

Soda and Steve stare at you for a moment, their gazes moving towards Johnny before returning to you once more. They share a knowing glance, and for one fleeting moment, you're afraid they've caught on—that they've finally put two and two together and realised exactly what has been going on between you and Johnny. But then, after another brief moment passes, both boys just shrug, and Steve goes to take another handful of fries, the conversation seemingly forgotten.

You meet Johnny's gaze from across the table once more, offering him a small smile as you both reach for your milkshakes, your fingers brushing lightly.

Looks like you'll have to wait a little longer for some time alone.

0.3 - unwanted company… again

You and Johnny wander aimlessly, your arms linked loosely together as you both pass slowly through the streets.

It’s quiet out and relatively deserted, only the occasional car trundling past in the opposite direction, headlights flickering against the pair of you as it goes. You cast a sidelong glance at Johnny as he continues to lead the way, his steps leisurely and relaxed.

There's a light flush to his cheeks from the excessive summer air, his dark bangs falling in front of his eyes and sticking to his forehead. You want nothing more than to stop, to push back the strands, and you just can’t help yourself as you pause and tug him back, your lips brushing softly against his cheek.

His eyes widen at your action, shooting you a shy smile as your fingers card through his hair, tucking it behind his ears as best you can.

“That's better,” you concede after a moment, pulling back to admire your handy work and smiling fondly when one stray strand falls back into his eyes.

“Much better,” Johnny nods, linking your fingers together and leading you on once more. “C’mon, we got places to be.”

That, of course, is a lie. You two aren't doing anything except wasting time, trying to make up for all the moments lost since the incident at the diner. The two of you have managed to avoid any questions from the gang, keeping your interactions limited to quick kisses when nobody is looking and soft smiles from across the room. That is, until today, of course.

Your fingers lace in a loose hold with Johnny’s, your hand fitting neatly into his, as the two of you walk along in silence. It had been tough getting away from the others, even if it was only for a few minutes, and it seemed that, no matter where you went, someone was always there to interrupt the two of you. You'd tried to sneak away to get some privacy, but each time you did, at least one of the guys seemed determined to tag along.

But this time you were lucky. It seemed as though you had managed to get away without anyone finding out and, for once, it was just you and Johnny.

Or so you thought…

“Hey!” Someone shouts from behind you and, almost instinctively, you and Johnny jump apart, trying not to let your panic show as you turn around to see not only Two-bit, but Ponyboy too, running across the street to meet you guys. Johnny’s face drops and you let out a huff as Two slings an arm over your shoulders, a wide grin plastered on his face.

"Say, Y/N, whatcha doing hanging out with someone like Johnnycake, huh?” He teases, causing the boy’s cheeks to flush red.

“Shut up…” He mutters softly, stuffing his hands in his pockets as Pony comes to stand beside him. “What do ya’ll want?”

Two-bit cocks his brow, a devious smirk spreading across his lips. “Aw, c'mon, is our presence really that unappealing to you?”

Johnny narrows his eyes at his friend, glancing back at you to gauge your reaction. You shrug helplessly, unable to hide your slightly annoyed expression, as the two greasers begin to walk alongside you.

Another date crashed spectacularly before it had even started… again… and another close call.

0.4 - a ‘not-so-secret’ secret

The gang is all gathered in the living room of the Curtis House, scattered about in various states of entertainment, talking amongst one another or watching whatever is playing on the TV. You're perched on the arm of the couch, trying your best to listen to whatever it is the pony is telling you; however, your gaze keeps occasionally drifting to the front door as you wait anxiously for Johnny to show up.

It's almost seven thirty now, and already a million different thoughts are racing through your mind, ranging from ‘what if’s’ to 'maybe...', but eventually, your curiosity wins out and you can't help but ask.

“Where’s Johnny?”

Pony pauses mid-story, turning slightly to look at you before casting you a confused glance.

“Huh?”

“I mean…” You wrack your brain for something else to say, a faint blush dusted across your cheeks and making your skin feel clammy. “He hasn't shown up yet, and normally he's one of the first to arrive. I just wondered where he was.”

There's a small silence, and Ponyboy shrugs, glancing at the door himself, and then back at you. “Dunno. Maybe he couldn't make it. You know how tough things are for him.”

You sigh softly, biting your bottom lip. A sudden fear grows within you as your mind fills with images of Johnny in various states of hurt or distress. You know, if he wasn't going to come tonight, he would have called at least to let you know. His absence doesn’t bode well.

“Yeah,” You say quietly, shaking your head as you try to dispel the unpleasant thoughts, glancing around briefly as you realise that everyone has gone quiet at your mention of Johnny. “Yeah, maybe.”

Pony nods, giving you a reassuring smile, and slowly everyone goes back to their previous tasks, but, despite yourself, the anxiety remains in the pit of your stomach. You keep glancing towards the hallway every few seconds, your heart beating rapidly in your chest and your palms beginning to sweat slightly.

Your breath hitches at the sound of the screen door opening, your attention snapping to the doorway to find Johnny, his hair dishevelled and clothes rumpled, but otherwise appearing fine. He meets your gaze, and, in a flash, you are up, rushing to greet him.

The gang all share knowing looks, exchanging amused glances between one another.

Things are really starting to add up…

“Say, how come I didn’t get no greetin’ like that?” Two-bit feigns offence, placing his hand over his heart as you and Johnny part awkwardly.

“Well,” You start, clearing your throat, before glancing at Johnny once more. “Um…” You trail off, realising that there's only one way to go with this.

So, taking a deep, steady breath, you step forward and grasp Johnny's hand in your own, squeezing tightly. He returns the gesture with equal intensity, his thumb caressing your knuckles gently.

“We're dating…” You mumble, barely loud enough for anybody else to hear, although you could swear that the entire group freezes for a beat.

A beat that seems to last forever.

And then:

“We know.”

You turn to look at Dallas, who is lounging across the couch, his legs stretched out before him, a cigarette held loosely between his lips as he regards you calmly and nonchalantly.

“What do you mean you knew?” Johnny asks incredulously. The greaser waves his hand dismissively.

“Ya’ll aren’t as subtle as you think.” He grins lazily, “Besides, I figured it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

You roll your eyes at Dallas, and instead of voicing a reply, you pull Johnny closer by the hand and lean up for a kiss, ignoring the cheers and shouts that erupt from around you.

𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬!!

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inkedinfusions · 5 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐲 | eren jaeger chapter 9

⊱𖣂⊰ | In which you fall into a fictional world with the key to Pandora's box.

── ★ ˙ ̟ . 🗝 .ᐟ.ᐟ masterlist

⊰– prev next–⊱

𝟎𝟗 | 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬

chapter word count: 3.5 k

content warnings: blanket warnings

a/n: Hi everyone, its been a whilee. The hell that is exam week is over, so I finally had time to sit down and write. I had a lot of fun writing the main cast's reactions, and I swear by now I've seen the episode 'Brave Volunteers' like fifty times. Every line of dialogue in that episode is branded onto my brain. Anyway, I hope ya'll like the chapter and characterization! Another thing, I don't know if it was clear or not but last chapter Yelena did NOT tell them all of Zeke's fifty year plan. In 'Brave Volunteers' its stated in the government scene that they should accept Yelena's offer so they can hear the plan So that's that lol. Like always, a big shout out to my beta reader, who not only proof read this chapter but was also the reason I understood calculus. Everyone say thanks P. Also title mention!

Thanks for reading!

𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 they don’t use your name. The girl is not the worst thing you’ve been called –no, that honor went to unnamed Marleyan guards– but your name is one of the few things you have left from your home.

Your name, your face, your old clothes. Your name and your face are always with you. The first is always implicit, a faucet and a pillar of your identity, a reminder of who gave you the title. The latter is a statement of who came before you, and even if they were nonexistent in this universe, you still bear the likeness of their figures.

On the other hand, your clothes are the only thing that you can be physically separated from. The risk from bringing strange garments to the island far outweighed the small comfort they would bring you, and so you were outvoted in your request to bring them with you. Zeke kept them, somewhere under the floorboards, or wrapped in darkness at the end of an old closet, or in between the house’s foundations.

Eventually moths would eat away at them, your face would change into something your family has never seen. But your name would remain constant, a brilliant flare for those that knew you in the before.

So yes, being called the girl miffs you a little bit.

“I’m afraid we can't do that,” Yelena says, keeping up the pretense that being separated from you is detrimental to the volunteers.

“No, no, we insist!” Hange says with a smile, and you’re not the only one that notices a slight edge to their voice. “I can only imagine her merit, given it was you who insisted on waiting for her at the beach.”

With their cheery smile, Hange manages to bring attention to the fact that you were important to the volunteers, while also indirectly stating your status as a perceived pawn. Levi is less discreet with his facial expressions. He has been glaring at Yelena ever since she started singing praises about Zeke. It's cold, quiet, and could be easily passed off as being part of Levi’s general distrust of strangers, even his resting annoyed face, but it stems from something much more personal, given her ties to Zeke.

“As her guardian, it would be unbecoming of me to abandon her so soon after our journey,” Yelena says.

“Guardian?” Hange asks, turning to you. “Were your parents victims of Marley too?”

“They’re… not around,” you say. “Anymore.”

You don’t confirm nor deny the causes of your family’s absence. In a way, it was you that was taken by Marley, not the other way around. It felt as if the universe was playing a big joke on you, stripping you of your family, bringing you to an unfamiliar territory, loading your back with the burden of knowing. You are well on the road to becoming a shonen protagonist, and hopefully one who got what they wanted in the end.

“So you see,” Yelena says, “I couldn’t possibly leave her to fend for herself.”

“What they were trying to say,” Levi says, toeing the line between interrupting and being patient, “is that she would be much more comfortable were she to comply.”

The unspoken threat and implied future whereabouts of the Volunteers hangs in the air. You know Yelena is letting it simmer for a moment, before she inevitably agrees. She and Onyankopon share glances, discussing something that has already been decided.

The plays that are now being created in the chess board have been scrutinized already, chances and paths to the end have already been calculated, and most if not all valuable players have already been scouted. Both Yelena and Onyankopon have very different ideas of what the endgame entails, but the road to getting there is similar in both iterations.

“You can’t fault my faction for being cautious. We trust your people to take our plans and transform them for the betterment of the island, but Y/n is a special case. I trust you understand, given your own young charges.”

Yelena places her teacup on the table, reveling in the unobstructed march of the circumstances she has weaved. This woman knows the strands and how to thread them, and her strengths lie there and in her almost complete view of the full tapestry.

“I would like to request that she is free to seek us out, should she wish to.”

“She’ll be escorted,” Levi counters. “One on one rendezvous will not be permitted.”

“I expect nothing less. We look forward to working with you, for the betterment of the nation of Paradis. Please make sure to opt in sooner rather than later, as it would be a shame to not share the plans we carefully designed before arriving.”

Yelena smiles that unsettling grin of hers and a deal is struck. She and Onyankopon rise from their seats, and you, Hange and Levi accompany them just outside the tent flaps. Onyankopon turns to you, putting a hand on your shoulder and squeezing in a comforting fashion.

“It won't be long, okay?” he says. You've only known him properly for a day, which most of it was spent separately, him on the deck as a soldier, you hidden away with the cargo. But you assume he must feel some sort of responsibility towards you, someone young whom he must leave with strangers in order to ensure the help they are offering is accepted. You nod as he retreats, giving Yelena space to approach you.

And you understand his worries and his concerns, and you know they are well founded even if they aren't exactly accurate. If what Eren told you and if Hange’s and Levi’s reaction is of any indication, then you have some sort of tentative immunity in the eyes of Paradis.

The question is, what does the island’s government expect in return? How far does Eren’s knowledge of you extend? How much has he shared?

You are taken by surprise when Yelena pulls you into a hug, dwarfing your figure with her thin frame. You hesitantly return the gesture, and put your arms around her. If Zeke’s hug felt secure and grounded, hers feels suffocating and cold.

Your head starts to hurt again, and you squeeze your eyes shut so your brain has one less sense to process. It helps somewhat, and only adds onto your guardian–charge charade with Yelena.

“Stay focused,” she murmurs in your ear, before pulling away. “I’ll see you soon” is her final farewell, and she and Onyankopon are taken away by other Scouts, about to be reunited with the other Volunteers and unfortunate soldiers.

You look at their retreating figures when Levi’s gruff voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Get inside,” he says. “It's almost dawn, and you need to report to us before the brats arrive.”

You mouth brats? while you follow them inside, grunting when Hange decides to tackle you gently, putting their arm around your shoulders.

“I'm sorry we didn’t ask you directly,” Hange starts chirping, their voice moving faster than their mouth. “We didn’t know you would arrive so soon, and less so with people from the other side of the sea…”

Their voice trails off as they stare at you expectantly, making you squirm. Their half hug is nice though. Comforting and full of energy you seem to be quickly depleting from.

“Get off the kid, Four eyes,” Levi says, taking a seat and bringing his cup, holding it by the rim. “We need her report.”

“Oh!” Hange exclaims. “Of course! Come on, come on, take a seat–”

They lead you to the middle chair, and you sit down in front of the pair, not quite knowing what to expect. You need to report to us versus we need your report. Something you are required to do versus something they are looking for. Choices in spoken words often talk louder than the voices expressing them, so you hope this is a spark of future mutual trust.

They ask you to confirm Yelena’s plan and you recite back the small spiel in its entirety. Specific questions are posed and you answer them to the best of your ability, still carefully abiding only by the limited information brought forward by Yelena. You purposely stutter on some, if only to keep your cards close to your chest. Nonetheless, sometimes you trip over your words truly just because you’re nervous.

“And what's in it for you?” Levi asks. Hange makes a move to scold him for his lack of tact, but you wave off their concerns.

“I want the same as you,” you say. “The island’s safety.”

“And why you?” he presses.

That throws you in for a loop. Their questions made it seem like they knew something was up with you, but now you don't know if they’re referring to why you, as in why you a teenager, or why you as in what tools you have at your disposal that made you the ideal asset.

“Didn’t Eren already tell you?” you ask, because it's better to fall short of the question than to reveal extra information that will surely make its way to their higher ups.

Levi narrows his eyes. “So you know.”

“I met him at the beach, just when I got off the ship,” you confirm. “We didn't talk for long, but he told me to tell you my name. I assume that's because you already know about me?”

“Right on!” Hange says. “Eren hasn’t spilled a whole lot, but it was enough to convince us that you were someone who wanted to do right by Paradis.” They finish off their explanation with a grin, and you revel in the way it calms you down. Even Levi, who plays the bad cop in the interrogation, is surprisingly not as antagonistic as you expected him to be.

“I do,” you say. “I know you have no basis to trust me but a few words, but I really do just want to help. And i understand if you want to keep me at arms length–”

“Don’t be silly,” Hange says. “You’re our ally now! And you didn’t hear it from me but there's no reason to be worried for your guardians–”

“Hange,” Levi says, warning in his tone.

“Anyway! I’m sure it would be better for you to stick close to Levi’s squad while we figure out where to place you.”

“Levi’s squad?” you ask.

You whip your head towards the front of the tent when chatter is heard from outside, growing louder and louder, footsteps accompanying them as they approach the entrance. You distinguish teenage voices overlapping the others, seemingly discussing, constantly one upping the others’ contributions. Your heart leaps out of your chest as a hand reaches under the entrance flap and opens it, letting in the soft light of the early morning.

Six teenagers dressed in Scout uniforms come inside the tent, some more apprehensive than others. Jean Kirstein and Connie Springer –if they’re anything like their animated counterparts– decidedly don’t trust you, but their distrust for Yelena is bigger. Sasha Braus looks like she'd rather be snoring on a cot than gawking at you and Mikasa Ackerman is doing her best to prevent her from falling asleep, even if the girl is starting to look more awake.

Mikasa is also pointedly standing in front of Armin and Eren, shielding them as much from your line of sight as she can. You don't take it personally; you know they're her family and you're someone who could pose a threat to them. Still, it is kinda funny. Those two, being the only titan shifters on the island, are probably the ones who should be doing the protecting. But instead, Mikasa takes on that role, and you can't help but admire her for it.

Armin Artlet is looking at you half in awe, half analyzing you. You remember he always advocated for peace, for hearing out the unexpected allies they encountered, and for trying to find a middle ground in the midst of bloodshed and uncertainty. For someone with the tallest and most disastrous titan, he sure does look smaller in real life. His blond hair is still styled into that bob though, and you marvel at how the trio's hairstyles are somewhat similar at this point in time.

Finally, Eren is the last person to set foot inside the tent. Technically, you've already met him, even if you only exchanged ten stilled sentences at the beach. He is the only one that is not the least bit apprehensive of you. Now though, with the light of the day and the lantern combined, you can distinguish bags under his eyes and a strange tension on his shoulders. If you looked in a mirror, you think then maybe you’d see similar attributes in yourself.

“Who’s this?” Jean asks when the group approaches you.

“Y/n,” you say, extending your hand. “Nice to meet you…?”

“Jean Kirstein,” he says, shaking it. “No last name?”

“Oh, it’s…” you trail off.

Many times you have dealt with slow wifi in your world, where computers suddenly forgot they were supposed to be fast and innovative technology, and instead took ages to process or retrieve information. Your brain seems similarly frozen, and you start to panic when you can’t reach the information you seek. You'd have better luck digging a hole in shifting sands with only your hands as tools, than remember it.

It feels like when you are running in a dream, where you sprint as fast as you can, and yet there are invisible ropes holding you back, tying your wrists, your torso, and the air around you feels like jelly, preventing your every move.

The panic and hesitation must show in your vacant gaze when you are too preoccupied with remembering, because Jean awkwardly clears his throat and looks at Levi.

“Where do we take her, sir?” Jean asks.

“I don’t know, show her around. Show her the facilities and don’t cause a commotion or you can expect extra drills extra early. Looking at you, Braus.”

The girl in question splutters, flailing her arms around in defense. Connie snorts and punches her lightly on the arm as they exit the tent. Armin flanks you as you follow the duo outside, eager to know more information on the outside world. Mikasa lags behind for a moment as Levi tells her something, but she joins the group soon enough.

“You said your name was Y/n, right?” Armin asks and you nod. “Do you really come from the other side of the sea? What’s it like?”

“Uh, I dunno? There’s people, buildings, cars…”

“Cars? Do you mean carts?” Connie asks.

“Kinda, but with no horses to pull them. I think it has something to do with pistons and ignition?”

Armin’s eyes get impossibly bigger, impossibly brighter. His face is pulled into an awed expression, and it makes you want to sit down with him and explain everything the new world has to offer. Besides the –you know– animosity towards their race.

“Do you know about the fields of ice? Or the fiery waters?” Armin continues.

“Not personally,” you say. “I’ve never gone to a volcano or frozen plains, but I’ve seen them in photographs.”

“Like Eren’s dad’s picture,” Mikasa says when Sasha pulls a confused expression.

You find yourself nodding. “Yeah, that one.”

Jean narrows his eyes. “You know about that?”

“Uh–”

You messed up. The trouble you have remembering your last name (what the hell, what the hell, what the hell), and the unexpected introduction with the main cast, as well as the lack of proper sleep hits you over the head. You hastily catch Eren’s eye, wordlessly asking him what you should answer. What you’re allowed to answer.

He simply shrugs. “I told you guys she knew things.”

“Oh! Are you also a shifter?” Sasha asks. “Do you get those memory thingies too?”

“I can’t– I’m not,” you quickly amend, “a titan.”

“Bummer.”

“Sasha!” Connie whispers.

“What?”

You chuckle awkwardly trying to diffuse the tension as you walk. They point out various structures, most of them tents. There's the field canteen, the lavatories, the grounds and the tent barracks. “It's fine,” you say after a moment. “It would be easier to explain if I were a shifter.”

“What are you then?” Connie asks.

I’m just someone who likes stories is what you want to say, but you know that will only serve to confuse them further. You quickly go through a list of possibilities that include lying about having royal blood, lying about your parents being shifters, or lying about being part of experiments. The first one can be easily disproved by anyone with eyes, the second is not something that makes a lot of sense, and the third one is just plain reaching.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Eren says, not missing a beat while you’re weaving a lie. “She’s the key to whatever locked up memories I have. I don’t think it's a coincidence I remembered one yesterday, just before the ship arrived.”

“I don’t understand it myself fully yet,” you say, falling into a rhythm with Eren’s explanation. “I just know things I shouldn’t. That's how I knew to find Zeke, and to come to the island.”

The mention of Zeke’s name brings forward a slight tension in everyone’s shoulders, and they exchange glances, as if only just remembering you were someone who was allied with an old enemy.

“You’re with the tall woman then?” Jean asks.

“Officially yeah,” you say. “But Yelena’s always creeped me out.”

“But you’re on their side, is what I'm saying.”

You shrug, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. “My… future memories, if you can call them that, have shown me primarily what has happened here. You’re welcome to believe me or not, but I do feel a sense of duty to you all.” If they notice how you changed the island for you all they do not mention it.

“I trust her,” Eren says, breaking the silence.

“We know,” Jean says, rolling his eyes. “You’ve made that very clear.”

Eren shrugs, and you all stop walking on the edge of the tent barracks. Everyone but Mikasa is on cleaning duty for the morning, given she was the one to win some kind of training game the day before. So they send you off with her to the barracks, where you are promised a cot and time to digest everything. You wave at them, and they promise to come back to escort you to the canteen when you wake up.

Mikasa starts walking to the far left, checking behind her once to ensure you are following her. You jog after her until you reach her, and you fall into an uneasy step next to the girl. Birds fill the early morning air with their chirps, occasionally flying from tree to tree when you get too close to one in your path.

“I don’t know if I should trust you,” she says after a while, and you flinch, expecting her sentiments all the same.

“But I trust Eren,” she continues, “and he trusts you. Armin thinks you are allies that will help the island, but not all of us are as optimistic.”

“I get it,” you say, giving her a small smile. “I know what happened, so I get it, really. I don't expect you all to trust me so quickly either.”

“Don’t let him down.”

“I won’t,” you promise. “Nor will I let you down, if you'll let me.”

She stops in front of a small tent sandwiched between others. You see two cots when you walk in, parallel to each other. There are a few personal items on the one directly to your left, while the right is bare with the only exception of thin sheets and a thin blanket.

“That one’s yours,” Mikasa says, pointing to the one on the right. “I’ll be back in a while to check in on you. Don’t leave without someone from the squad.”

“Okay. See you later?”

Mikasa nods and leaves, leaving behind a slight breeze from where she opened the tent. You step closer to your cot, dropping your satchel at one of its legs. You only had water and a little bit of rations left on it, so you were allowed to keep it. It rattles as it hits the floor, but you’re too preoccupied with finally laying down to properly care.

You groan in satisfaction when your tense back hits the fabric of the cot. It's not the most comfortable place you’ve slept on recently, but it is a welcome luxury after spending more that twenty four hours on the cold floor of a ship’s cargo hold, so it's really no surprise when your eyes close the moment your head touches the pillow.

The first part of your plan, arriving to Paradis, is completed. The second, earning everyone's trust, is going better than expected, thanks to the curveball that was Eren’s knowledge of you. So you let your consciousness rest for a moment, going to sleep in between flashes of stars.

taglist:

@dressycobra7 @xngelsau @bloodchapell @i-think-im-adorable13 @luna4mnoon

@yuuuumii @kermittears @binluvsu

ask or comment to be added!

#the key #ann writes #aot #snk #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #eren yaeger x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren #eren x reader #eren yeager #eren jaeger

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sulumuns-dootah · 11 months ago

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What WHB characters would wear in the human world: Abyssos

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

At first wasn't exactly sure what this chaotic king would wear

But then it struck me, that this snacc would deff embrace that bisexual underboob he's got going on in his selfie card

Also a lot of funny and ironic prints (so relatable - I have a whole pinboard on pinterest of them)

༺☆༻

Even in human world, Bael can't help himself but to try and keep up with Beel's fashion

But you'd never see him in as much revealing outfits

Also the funny prints are less unhinged

༺☆༻

Dead Poets Society coded

Carpe Diem; O Captain! My captain! and all that

The epitome of Dark Academia right here

I mean, he's literally called The Class President

Lots of dog symbolism and long coats

༺☆༻

Ah, our little edgy man

The embodiment of everyone's teenage angst

Ripped jeans, band tees, maybe even a leather jacket bc he's tough?

(Oh boy, this description just reminded me of puppycat ^^)

༺☆༻

Some of ya'll are gonna hate me for this, but Amon to me looks like he'd enjoy e-boy clothes

The whole 'I'm edgy but actually really sweet and sensitive inside' aesthetic

I've also read some fic on ao3 where he was a guitarist in a band and I absolutely agree with that, so I'm making it part of this hc too

#what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad?#whb beelzebub #whb bael #whb naberius #whb stolas #whb amon

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applejuicebegood · 1 year ago

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Hi babes! It’s Naz (from @midnightorchids, I just realized you can’t send messages from side blogs unfortunately), I hope you're doing well!! I thought that since you're always sending me fun little scenarios, it's only fair if I send something back! Someone requested this prompt earlier this week and it’s quite rushed, but I thought you'd enjoy reading this as well. Let me know your thoughts!

Jason's hand grazes the soft surface of your skin, his fingers delicately tracing the thin lines of the new tattoo adorning your neck.

The tattoo was an homage to your love for him and he's touched. No one's ever made him feel this way before.

Jason's spent a lot time in the dark, closed off from the rest of world, feeling unlovable, but you made him feel otherwise. When he was with you, he no longer saw the horrid man he once thought he was. With you, he felt loved, he felt enough.

Jason bites back a smile and his fingers continue to dance around your skin, it tickles, but you let him continue.

The tattoo was more for you than it was for Jason, it was a constant reminder of his presence. A reminder for when he left for long missions, for when you were afraid he might not make it back. You now always had a piece of him with you.

You had it planned out for months and had finally got the courage to go through with it. Now, on the back side of your neck, sits a small bat, Jason's bat, his symbol.

Jason's fingers lace around your jaw, making you face him. He cradles your face gently into his palms and you find yourself snuggling into his touch.

"You did this for me," he questions softly, voice barely above a whisper.

"Just for you Jay," you reply and he smiles, hard, teeth and all.

"It's so fucking pretty, you're so pretty," and he places a soft kiss on your lips. "Can't believe you did this for me babe," and he kisses you again. With every kiss, you can feel him smirking harder against your lips, he's excited, he's happy.

He pulls back and laughs, rubbing his face with hands. His laugh is deep and contagious, you find yourself giggling with him.

"Holy shit dude, you really got a tattoo for me," he exclaims. "No one's ever done that for me before."

"No one better have Jay," you say furrowing your eyebrows, trying to get serious, but there's a huge smile plastered on your face. Jason reciprocates with a cheesy lopsided grin.

He pulls you in close again, this time embracing you with his large frame, you hug back tighter and he kisses the crown of your head, with a loud 'muah' sound.

"I love you," he says.

"And I love you Red," you reply and he takes that as a sign to continue smothering you with kisses.

NO CUZ I DON'T THINK YOU GET IT. Was literally having the worst time studying for English finals and then you part the clouds and grace me with this!!!! Like are you kidding???!!!!! And you best believe Jason has tattoos on his body specifically about you. In some of the comics and fanart he's got these detailed sleeves or back pieces, I personally think he's got a more patchwork kinda style. He would get your birth flower or the date of your anniversary tattooed on the inside of his wrist or his chest (over the heart). You would smile and hide your face in your own giddy puppy love as you lay across his naked chest, the tattoo just under your cheek. He think's it's incredibly funny and sweet. If you ever decide to get more tattoos yourself, he's coming with you to every session. It's more to help with the pain of it- offering his hand for you to squeeze or his arms to lean onto if ur feeling woozy and need a break. I think ya'll would get really small/subtle matching tattoos. Like a small sun and moon- or a the first letter of your names tattooed on the other. It's something easily hidden that only the both of you get to blush and giggle over. HAND TATTOOED JASON DEAR LORD ALMIGHTY- you would kiss over the lettering or the curved lined patters over the tops of his hands and across every knuckle. He melts as you bring his palm up to your cold cheek, now holding your face so gently.

- Man dude- like I said, was having a really rough go of it and this literally turned my day entirely around. Like I was able to get the rest of my review stuff done cuz I was feeling so much better after reading this. Your such a gift babe - thank you thank you thank you thank you!!!!! Masterlist

#jason todd #batfam #batfamily #red hood #robin jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #jason todd imagine

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letmedixonyou · 4 months ago

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i’m not yours - part 6

summary: Daryl and you are (were?) friends. He's dating Leah. You told him you loved him and things fell apart. Will it ever go back to normal?; Y/N's journal page, drunken thoughts about her encounter with Leah from the previous chapter.

words: 764 - short but super necessary for the story

warnings: swearing, mentions of abuse, mentions of sex

A/N: I am thrilled that so many people like this story. Honestly, I wasn't going to make chapters for this, but here we are! Love ya'll! Thank you for reading! 🖤

If this chapter seems a bit cringey, is because it supposed to be as the character is quite drunk and just writes what she's thinking at the time!

Read previous part here!

Page from Y/N journal

SHE DOESN'T KNOW!!!

Leah has no fucking clue!

She has no idea who he is. That some bullshit! She must know something, right? He wouldn't keep her in the dark like this? Maybe he would... He hasn't told her? Why? Isn't that what people in a relationship do? Share? Like, actually share their fears, dreams and things about their past? Leah has so idea who the fuck Daryl is? Like why he's sometimes so broody and quiet, or why he has days when he needs to be alone.

He told me. I know. Everything. Well, probably not everything but most things, especially the important ones. Doesn't that mean something? But what? What does it mean? Why do I know him better than his partner!? How is that even possible... Leah dates a stranger. A ghost even. She goes home to him every night and sleeps with him in the same bed. She probably fucks him every day. I know I would've... Yet she has no idea who she's giving herself to and who he is for real. What the fuck?!

I remember so clearly the first time I saw his scars I was mortified. It was back in Atlanta, we were looking for some deer, squirrels or any food in general. He somehow miscalculated how far away we were from a hill that was overgrown with vines and bushes, and he slipped all the way down. Dumbass... When I got to him, running all the way (or more like stumbling because you couldn't classify the fast crab walking down the hill through the flora as a run), his top was torn apart by the branches and whatever else he smashed into.

My eyes widened, looking at his slumped shoulders and broad back, when he scrambled to stand up, clearly embarrassed. The scars looked painful, even though they were healed. They're long and thin, running vertically down and across his back. The crosses they made on his back, and how deep the scars were, I was sure he could probably feel them sometimes when he moves. He tried to hide it, frantically pulling the pieces of the fabric around him, saying that I should stop looking at them or I'll get a punch. I turned my gaze away quickly, not wanting for his fist to ruin my pretty face. Not that I think he'd punch me for real. But still. Oh, and also I didn't want to pry because who was I to ask about his past? We've just met. It would be even so inappropriate, even if my tongue was itching to question. But it was mostly about my face...

The next couple of days we had to move as Rick wanted to check out CDC in Atlanta. Once we got there, it turned out there was one person left and no other scientists, so humanity had no cure. Oh, and we all carry the zombie virus so whatever happens to us, whether we die of old age or we get shot, stabbed or bitten, if no one kills our brains, we become one of the walkers. Anyways, before we found out the truth and the building blew up to pieces, we all spent the evening laughing and drinking wine. It was peaceful for once.

That night, Daryl came to my room a bit tipsy and confessed. About his childhood, his scumbag of a father, beating him up almost every day, his absent mother, about the scars that his father's belt left on him. He told me everything about Merle, his brother, and I listened. I will never forget the words he said when I've asked why he decided to tell me.

"I don't know. Maybe I just wanted to be heard. And I knew you'd listen."

I've never seen him that vulnerable (and he never was that vulnerable ever again). He wouldn't look me in the eyes after he said it and I didn't force him. All I did was hug him tightly and he reluctantly hugged me back.

Now I'm finding out he hasn't shared the details of his life with Leah? Leah, who was his girlfriend? Who is supposed to have this type of information? What the hell, Daryl? I know you were quite tipsy when you shared with me for the first time but you never had trouble sharing with me after that. NEVER. Although nothing topped the story about his dad... My brain can't process this. I need sleep.

Why am I the one who he trusts?

Am I the only one he trusts?

Is it possible...

No. Fuck.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x female reader #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #twd daryl #daryl fanfiction #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction

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mymoshangthoughts · 5 months ago

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the amount i wanna explore the immortal alliance is just So Much

okay there are LAYERS to how i feel about these events

because look guys, so far as we understand, airplane is a pretty normal dude. a bit of an internet troll (ok a lot of an internet troll), a horny writer, and an immature punkass who's completely shameless, but like... he's not a mass murderer ya'll.

it KILLS ME that we never got an airplane extra about the immortal alliance because dude HOW HE FELT ABOUT THAT IS A LOT

yeah, he's grown up in this world and yeah he might have had no choice either via the system or via mobei jun or a mix of both, but its absolutely bonkers to be able to just walk off "yeah, a bunch of CHILDREN died in really brutal ways directly because of my influence". like shen yuan was wracked with guilt for years and he only 'killed' one kid and he knew that kid would walk it off.

and i dont buy the explanation that airplane wasn't treating pidw like a real world because frankly... i just dont think that makes any fucking sense if he was born there. yeah, it's gotta feel a bit wonky and unreal with the system in his head, but dude he was BORN here. suspension of disbelief that this world wasn't 'real' wouldnt last a few years, much less several decades. the sheer number of people he would have met, interacted with, and knew were REAL wouldnt make it possible. i do think that he made a huge effort not to get attached to anyone, knowing that bing-ge was gonna kill the fuck out of basically all of them, but theres a big difference between "ahh yeah that guy is gonna die so imma try not to get attached" and "lol ive lived in this world for thirty years but i dont actually think any of this is real"

so look, theres two possibilities for airplane's reaction:

he really does have a seriously fucked up side of him thats 100% okay with murdering children

he was VERY not okay with what happened but he had no choice and he's just Coping the best he can

there's also some answers in-between, but fuck i need to know this answer so badly because knowing the answer to how airplane reacted to the immortal alliance is SO character defining and it drives me insane. characterizing a person who can justify children dying because "not my problem, idc" versus someone who's horrified and traumatized over the part they played in child murder IS KINDA A BIG DIFFERENCE

personally, im coming to a headcanon somewhere in the middle. because tbh none of the airplane extras really spend any time addressing him feeling any sort of guilt over the situation. which does make it seem that he really does have a seriously dark side to him. and he did walk off his fellow disciples getting murdered by mobei jun very easily. but also, i headcanon that he is just the Master of compartmentalizing shit that fucks with him. cant deal with the events of the immortal alliance? thats fine, imma just put those feelings in a box and Never Think About Them.

i actually like to think that airplane's issue with the immortal alliance is the exact reason that mobei jun showed up in person. airplane is doing the immortal alliance thing because the system isnt giving him a choice and he's trying Very Hard not to think about "oh wow, theres gonna be a lot of junior disciples dead by the end of this haha, wow, they look so young ahhahaha, did teenagers always look like toddlers??? bc this is fucking me up REALLY FUCKING BAD" and mobei jun notices that something is Really Wrong with airplane and he cant decide if he's worried or suspicious of airplane's behavior

so he decides to show up in person, just to make sure shang qinghua isnt gonna pull anything but also that the idiot doesnt die while he's acting So Weird

but i think that airplane is like hyper pragmatic

so he's horrified in the planning stages and maybe even in the execution stages, but once it's over he's very much "they're already dead, theres no changing that, theres no point agonizing over it" and its not that he's OKAY with what happened but he literally cannot justify tearing himself apart over people who are dead because that isnt going to help anything. they're not alive to see him upset over it and even if their ghosts could see him, they're not gonna really feel better over dying bc "the guy who killed me feels really bad about it"

i also think that the years airplane spent growing up as shang qinghua play into it A LOT. he's had decades to come to terms with the immortal alliance happening. he knows its a major plot point, it's basically one of two major plot points that shang qinghua has a part in, and the system is unlikely to let him get out of it. so he's spent a longgg time numbing himself to the reality of "im going to murder dozens of children"

this is all my speculations tho and i just wanna rip my hair out that we dont have an immortal alliance extra!!!!!! i just want to KNOW instead of guessing where his head is at. literally, if he doesnt feel any guilt over murdering children, that's kinda a Big Deal characterization-wise. and if he does feel guilt but he doesnt express it thats ALSO a Big Deal characterization-wise!!!

I JUST WANNA BE ABLE TO ACCURATELY PORTRAY HIS PERSONALITY FFFFUUUCCCKKKK I HATE THIS

anyway, im obsessed with the idea that mobei jun is the one who notices when airplane is Not Okay even when he's compartmentalizing like crazy. like airplane is so far down his hole of "its nbd and idc" that he actually believes it. he has to believe it to be able to live with himself. but the way he's fucked up shows up in other ways, maybe he's more forgetful than normal or scattered or clumsier or some mixture and mobei jun just Knows something is wrong, even when he doesnt know exactly what that wrong thing is

and like it becomes this thing where sometimes mobei jun knows airplane better than the little shit knows himself. airplane is so busy lying to himself to cope with his new reality and mobei jun sees through the lies that airplane believes.

but heres where mobei jun hits a problem lol. like, he knows theres something wrong, he knows how to read shang qinghua suupperr well, but does he know what to DO about any of that? absolutely not lmfao

"hm. qinghua is not okay. i should beat him four times today" LIKE THIS MAN DOES NOT KNOW HOW TO HELP EVEN WHEN HE UNDERSTANDS THE PROBLEM AND THAT'S HILARIOUS TO ME

like mobei jun shows up to the immortal alliance like "qinghua has been in pain over this. i'll show up unplanned and beat the shit out of him in front of everyone. that'll help."

i just think these two are an absolute disaster area and i love it

btw i am desperate for mobei jun's pov during the immortal alliance okay because LOOK

I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT ALOT

AND IM CONVINCED THAT MOBEI JUN /DID/ HAVE FEELINGS FOR AIRPLANE DURING THAT INCIDENT

BUT ALSO

ITS COMPLICATED

like i dont think mobei jun is simping like binghe, i think he's got some weird mixture of denial and affection and frustration and pining and hatred and suspicion thats all mixed up in all the best ways that during that time he is super in love with airplane but he's also got a lot of other Complicated feelings toward him AND I JUST WANNA SEE HIS POV TO PROVE MY HYPOTHESIS SO FUCKING BADLY WHY THE FUCK DO WE NEVER GET HIS POV IMMA SCREAM

mobei jun's fb status "its complicated"

airplane's fb status "single"

mobei jun: ...........im going to murder him. im going to murder him in his sleep. omfg i hate him so fucking much. WTF DO YOU MEAN SINGLE, YOU ASSHOLE

#moshang #mobei jun #shang qinghua

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cobaltperun · 1 year ago

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Lost (4) - When they come for me

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Warning for this chapter: I believe it is intense and violent, if you are sensitive to graphic depictions of violence, please don't read

Word count: 5.3k

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

-Opposite of lazy, far from a punk, Ya'll ought to stop talking, start tryin' to catch up motherfucker-

You've always been a light sleeper, well, unless Tara was in your arms. She relaxed you, her warmth, her body close to yours, brought you peace, chased away any nightmare you might have. Unless she was sick and you were taking care of her she made it harder for anything else to wake you up. You still should have been more alert. Sam got attacked, yet you relaxed completely, believing the police officer outside of Tara’s room would do his job. You should have realized that it was clear the attacker could get into the hospital and slip out unnoticed.

Yet you didn't wake up until a robe brushed against you.

Not that it mattered. That was still plenty of time.

Your right hand shot up, grabbing the wrist and you immediately saw a knife. The black robes, the chilling, white mask, the knife. In the darkness of the room, the person in front of you looked more like a mini Grimm Reaper than a human. You weren't struggling, you did feel the Ghostface trying to push the knife into your chest, with both hands now, but you were still stronger. You were just still drowsy from sleeping and this just wasn't triggering your fight-or-flight response, you didn't even feel any adrenaline. You felt anger though, coursing through your veins, that need for revenge threatening to make you act rash.

You wouldn’t though. You were a trained fighter; you wouldn’t be consumed by emotions. You faked a yawn, wishing to irritate the Ghostface, you’d break it mentally first. Once it realized it couldn’t do anything to you, that’s when you’d beat it up.

You felt more than saw Tara shifting her weight, she woke up due to your sudden movement. Tara screamed, her healthy hand getting between your chest and the knife, though luckily she didn’t try to grab the knife, and you finally saw tiny dark red spots on the knife. The desire to mentally break the attacker vanished, leaving only the thoughts of beating the monster within an inch of its life and then letting it rot in prison.

You jerked your knee up, colliding it with Ghostface’s right shoulder. The pushing against the knife stopped and you forced your elbow into the attacker's guts. With the Ghostface gasping to regain its' breath the next part was a walk in the park. Without letting go of the wrist you slipped Tara off you as gently as you could, though not without giving her a comforting squeeze to the shoulder. "I'll be right back," you began sitting up as the Ghostface tried to get out of your vice grip. It tried to make you let go of its wrist, to pry your hand open, to push it away, to take the knife, but the way you were holding its right hand made sure it couldn’t let go of the knife either. The struggles were futile as you lifted your right arm, still holding onto Ghostface’s wrist and proceeded to punch it in the stomach once again with your left fist. Another punch to the side of the head and you felt the person underneath the mask going limp in your hold.

"Let's take this outside," you growled at Ghostface, fury burning in your eyes. This attacked Tara, this hurt her! This thing? That didn't even bother to clean the knife? As if her blood was something it wanted to admire. Maybe it was someone else's blood? It didn't matter. The possibility that it was Tara's was enough. The possibility that this was the knife that the monster used to hurt her was enough. You slammed the monster against the wall, disorienting it further, before pushing it out the doors. There was no need to do this anywhere near Tara.

That's when you saw it, a body to your right, the blood. So, it did kill someone... Your attention went back to the killer as it tried to get back up. With a scoff on your face, you approached the Ghostface to shut that idea down. A reckless, almost desperate slash missed your neck by several inches, you stepped to the side to avoid the next one, swept the arm holding the knife away and once again went for the head, slamming your fist into the mask and hearing a small crack.

The Ghostface tried to stab you again and yet again you grabbed the wrist. "Got you," it was the first time you heard the voice Tara heard as she was being attacked. It was, indeed, a chilling voice. A glint of another knife caught your attention, and you pulled back before it could reach you, switching from standing your ground and pummeling the monster to a proper fighting stance, bouncing lightly on your feet and putting up a guard.

It was just in time as well, as you narrowly ducked underneath another knife. Another Ghostface. Well, as long as they were focused on you, you were okay with this situation. You grappled the one that just attacked you, reaching down as you ducked and grabbed the attacker's shin, forcing it to the ground with a loud thud. You didn't have time to attack again, as the other Ghostface lunged at you aiming to end the fight with the two knives.

You lightly nudged one of the arms away and dodged to the side, leaving you enough opening to land a quick punch to the enemy's side. By the time you pulled away from the dual-wielding Ghostface the other, taller one got back up. The dual-wielding Ghostface didn't give you time to focus back on the other one and tried to stab you again. You pulled back just out of reach and grabbed one of the arms, twisting it and forcing the murderer to drop the knife. As the other Ghostface rushed you from your right you leaned forward wrapping your arm around the waist of the one in front of you and tossing it at its partner. The two stumbled back a bit but otherwise remained on their feet.

You raised an eyebrow when they seemed to look at each other. The smaller one motioned toward Tara's room, and your heart began beating faster. No way, not a chance.

They split up, the taller one heading for Tara's room while the one that began all of this attacked you. You had moments to react, you feinted with a punch to the head, and just as the Ghostface stopped you spun around, landing a spinning back kick to the side. The other Ghostface stopped right in front of Tara's room, as if taunting you.

And like a fool, you took the bait. Not that it mattered, you had no choice but to take the bait. It was either this or letting Ghostface get to Tara.

You went after it, sidestepping a stab and landing a knee on its chest. With each hit you pushed it back, away from Tara's room. A series of quick punches to the head and upper body should have finished the one in front of you off, and you would have, as you pulled your fist back, ready to slam a haymaker right to the side of its’ head, but instead, there was a loud bang, and you felt a piercing pain in your right side. You stumbled forward, stopping the flurry of punches and looking back, your eyes wide in surprise. The other Ghostface wasn't right behind you. It wasn't holding a knife. It was holding a gun.

"Guess you aren't invincible after all," the Ghostface taunted and went for your neck. With a grunt, you got back up and traded a blow to the side of the head for a cut across the right side of your jawline. Not too deep, but it would leave a scar. Ghostface didn't get up, but it didn't matter. You lost.

"How about we play a game, Y/N, where you don't move, and I don't shoot Tara."

Your blood ran cold, you tried to think of a way out, a way to save Tara, but you couldn’t find any solution. There wasn’t any way to save her, other than to hope that listening to the Ghostface would be enough to buy you some time to figure it out.

"Turn around," you obeyed the command and saw the gun was pointed toward Tara. "On your knees," what choice did you have? You weren't fast enough to reach Ghostface. You couldn't get between Tara and the gun. You couldn't do anything.

To make matters even worse you heard the one you just knocked down getting up. "You really are a guard dog," the phrase the one behind you said was familiar, in the back of your mind you knew you heard it dozens of times, but all you could focus on was the gun pointed at where you left Tara. At the moment, it hardly mattered where or who said that phrase before. And it certainly didn’t matter that he slammed the handle of the knife to the back of your neck, you didn’t react and that seemed to stop him from doing it again.

"Here's how things are going to go. One of you dies here, but one of you might just survive if you play along," the one with the gun decided. "Tara, come here or we'll slit Y/N's throat."

"Leave her out of this!" you immediately moved to get up, but the finger getting closer to the trigger stopped you and you settled down, biting your lip and forcing your body to stay still. Where was the security?! Surely someone heard a gunshot, right?

What were you thinking? As if they’d risk their lives to face a lunatic.

"You broke the first rule," the Ghostface behind you whispered in your ear and stabbed the knife into your left side. You barely held back a scream, instead inhaling sharply and gritting your teeth. Fighting professionally for two years made you think you could tolerate pain, and to an extent you could, much better than most people, but this was a whole different kind of pain. The warm blood soaking your shirt around the wound, the piercing pain, it was like nothing you have ever experienced.

And Tara was stabbed again and again, alone in her own house, where she was meant to be safe.

Your wounds didn't hurt nearly as much as hearing Tara whimper in pain as she got out of the room in her wheelchair. You could see the blood soaking her bandaged left hand and you desperately wanted to get to her, to protect her. "Y/N," she whispered weakly, tears filling her eyes.

For the first time in years, you truly weren't sure what to do to help her. You wanted to comfort her, to tell her it would all end well, but you couldn't.

"Now, here's a game we're going to play," the one near Tara spoke up and got behind Tara's wheelchair. "Are you scared Tara? Y/N failed to protect you."

"Fuck you," Tara gritted out, glaring despite the pain she was in.

"Another one," on command the Ghostface behind you added another stab to your left side.

"No!" Tara screamed as you gasped for breath.

"If you move in any way I don't want you to, Y/N gets another one of those. If she moves, I slit your pretty little throat. You got it, Baby?" Tara remained silent. "Guess that's another one then."

Realizing what Ghostface meant Tara quickly nodded. "I got it!" she cried out, her breathing already labored.

"That wasn't so hard, was it? Next up, you get to choose what happens. You can live by shooting your precious guard dog," you and Tara looked at each other, equally terrified. Of all the things the monster could have asked for... You couldn't even try to convince Tara to do it, because what if that made them change their mind and then they asked Tara to do something even worse.

"No, no," Tara shook her head as the gloved hand slid down to Tara's left hand.

"Do you need me to hold your hand?" Ghostface squeezed Tara's injured hand and then pointed the gun at you as Tara whimpered in pain. "It's easy. Look Baby," the Ghostface fired the gun and if the one behind you didn't hold you back you would have fallen to the floor. You gasped as the burning pain engulfed your abdomen and just for a moment you couldn't hear anything, not even Tara's screams of your name.

"So, so easy," the Ghostface leaned down next to Tara and, while still maintaining a strong grip on the gun, placed Tara's right hand on in.

"I'm begging you, don't make me do this," Tara wept as she desperately tried to get free from Ghostface's grip.

"Keep begging," the Ghostface encouraged, clearly pleased by Tara’s desperate attempts to plead for your life while pulling the sleeve of the jacket Tara was wearing up and then taking a knife and cutting through the bandages wrapped around her hand.

"I'll do anything else, whatever you ask, just please not this!" her voice was getting hoarse. "Please, anything but this!"

"Fine. Here's anything but that," and then, with the gun still in Tara's hand, the Ghostface pushed Tara's finger against the trigger and fired the gun. The bullets hit you in quick succession, one near your left shoulder, the other grazing your right shoulder.

"Y/N!" Tara's desperate scream echoed throughout the hall.

"Careful with that aim, you nearly shot me too," Ghostface behind you complained and pushed you down to the ground.

You could feel your heart beating faster, drops of cold sweat falling from your face as you tried to control yourself, to stay strong for Tara.

"You know I'd never hurt you," the other reassured and then got the gun out of Tara's hand. "I don't know what you are screaming about, Tara. You got what you wanted right? You didn't kill Y/N," the monster even began slowly reopening the wound on her hand, digging the tip of the knife into the surface,

“Stop that!” you raged, as Tara cried out. At this point, the situation was far too desperate to hope Tara would make it out of this alive, so you tried to find whatever strength was left in your body to get up. The weight on your back was too much and your arms, especially the left one gave out after a couple of attempts.

Tara's sobbing turned into coughing and wheezing and even from where you were you could see and hear she was struggling to breathe. Asthma. Now of all times. "Tara!" you couldn't remember the last time you yelled as loud as that. "You won! I can't fight back! Just let her go!"

"Let her go?" the Ghostface holding Tara reached around and squeezed her neck. "Why? She didn't do her part of the deal; she didn't kill you. Did you, Baby?" the monster ignored Tara's rapidly worsening condition and pointed the gun at you. "Hmm? Should I do it instead? That way you can feel less guilty. What do you say? Want me to do it just for you? Want me to kill the one you love so you don’t have to?"

Despite an asthma attack Tara quickly shook her head, her tear-filled eyes met yours for just a moment, the despair, the anguish showing in her eyes, almost made you look away.

"What was that? You have to speak up if you want something. Here, I'll even count to three. One," Ghostface taunted as Tara desperately opened her mouth, but all that came out were gasps and failed attempts at pleading for your life.

You doubled your efforts, managing to push your body up. You had no idea how much more Tara could take, and you were not about to find out.

"Hurry up and speak Baby, we're at two now," another taunt, another struggle, all for nothing.

"Damn it!" you yelled, pushing even harder to get up, but a stab below your shoulder blade made you drop down to your forearms once more.

"Oh, Baby, guess you don't love her enough, after all, all those times you daydreamed about your guard dog, all those nights you dreamt of her, and yet you just don’t love her enough," there was even a gleeful cheeriness in the bastard's voice.

"N-No!" it came out as if spoken by someone on the verge of drowning, desperate and gasping for breath, but there was no doubt what word came out of Tara's mouth.

For a moment everything stopped, your struggles to get free, both Ghostfaces, it all stopped. The only things that continued were Tara's desperate attempts to get her breathing under any semblance of control. "Please, no," it sounded even worse than the first no she spoke.

"Okay, okay, Baby, I get it," it started out calm, that damn voice, but then there was a muffled maniacal cackle. "Well, someone has to die, Tara! Otherwise, this was all for nothing!" and then the monster tilted the wheelchair, tossing Tara to the floor. "Guess you made the decision on who goes first!"

The pain from gunshots, the stab wounds, the weight pressing on your back; the adrenaline rushing through your body pushed all of that away when the Ghostface pointed the gun at Tara. Get to her. Nothing else matters! You abruptly pushed your body up, digging the knife deeper into your back. That didn't matter. In a split-second decision, realizing you couldn't just get up, you stopped holding your body up and twisted as both you and the Ghostface holding you down dropped to the floor. Your right elbow landed on the side of the Ghostface's head.

At last, you did it. You were stumbling back to your feet, but it was a few moments too late.

"Tara!" your eyes met as the trigger was pulled, but instead of a gunshot, all you heard was a deafening click. The euphoria at the realization the gun was fresh out of bullets added a much-needed boost of energy to your movements as you slammed a haymaker into the Ghostface's mask. The Ghostface dropped to the floor, and just for a moment, you considered finishing it off. It would end one half of this nightmare, and the other one would be easier to deal with, but Tara's coughing getting even worse made the decision for you.

There was no time left to finish the fight or to be gentle, and you dropped to your knees next to her. Getting hurt, aggravating the wounds, those could be fixed. Suffocating when there was no way you could get her to safety quickly enough, couldn't. So, you, as carefully as the situation allowed, turned Tara around.

She whimpered, biting her lip and then immediately continued coughing. As she struggled to take a breath you put your arms beneath her knees and upper back. "I got you, okay?" Tara managed a weak nod as you got back up, your knees nearly buckling under the pressure.

The first step was torture, unsteady and painful. Your arms screamed for you to just let go. You could feel the stab wounds and the gunshot wounds getting worse due to the strain you were putting on your body.

And then there was pressure on your gunshot wound. The one near your left shoulder. Tara, despite wheezing and gasping for air, couldn't take her eyes off the wound. The third gunshot. The one that happened while the gun was in the very same hand she was using to press on the wound. The steps that came after that became easier, quicker, and before you realized it you were back in her hospital room and putting her back on the bed.

The inhaler was, luckily, easy to find and you shook it before bringing it up to Tara's lips. She wouldn't take it though. Her eyes remained glued to your wounds. She was starting to sweat now, as her breathing became more and more shallow, but she kept pressing the wound, stuck in her thoughts, and likely blaming herself for that wound.

"Tara, look at me," you pleaded, cradling her cheek with your free hand. "Tara, please," panic was setting in. "Love, look at me," that somehow seemed to snap her out of it. You couldn't blame her, you had no idea where that one came from, but it got her to look you in the eyes. And that was all you needed, just Tara not looking at all the blood covering your upper body, or the blood slowly dripping from your jaw down your neck.

Finally, her lips parted, and she accepted the inhaler, and your body relaxed as Tara's breathing gradually went back to normal. Her right hand remained pressed against your wound. "I hurt you," she cried out, clutching your shirt as tightly as she could, despite her own pain.

"No. No, you didn't. You hear me? None of this is your fault," you took her hand, gently pulling it toward your heart. "Still beating, okay?"

Tara squeezed her eyes shut and nodded as tears fell from her eyes.

“I’m okay, Tara,” you wiped her tears away, smiling slightly when she leaned into your touch, her breathing shaky, but at least her asthma wasn’t an issue right now.

Both of you heard steps and your eyes widened at the realization. It wasn't over. Tara began shaking as she dragged her hand to the back of your neck. She pulled, simultaneously pulling you closer and pushing her body closer to you. You took a deep breath, just for one more moment basking in her warmth, and then you were ready for this to be your end, as long as you took these two down with you.

"Pull the knife out," you almost forgot it was still there. "I need a weapon."

Tara's eyes widened at that, but seeing the look in your eyes and hearing the steps approaching she shakily pulled your head to her shoulder and reached down for the knife. You bunched up some of her hospital gown and your jacket she was still wearing and bit down, trying not to notice how your blood stained her clothes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Tara kept repeating and your arms went around her as she began pulling the knife out. It hurt even more than it did when you got stabbed. You felt the blood trickling down your back, it wouldn't be long before the blood loss would kick in. You were already starting to feel lightheaded so maybe it already kicked in. All you knew was that the knife was out, that it was now on the floor next to you, that Tara was still apologizing, and that the footsteps stopped. From the sound of it, the bastard was right at the door.

You bit back a groan, picked up the knife from the floor, and got up as smoothly as you possibly could. "Damn, you're persistent..."

"I should say the same thing," the Ghostface, from his height you figured it was the one that was holding you down before, spoke. "You still want to fight?" thankfully, it looked like all the hits you landed were effective. There was an undeniable tremble in the attacker's posture. He wasn't as shaken as you were, but you had experience on your side, so things were more or less even you supposed.

"Tara is right behind me," you said, at peace with whatever was about to happen. You'd at least take these monsters down with you. As long as the other one doesn't get up right away you might actually do it. The bastard still didn't get into the hospital room. Not that it mattered. You'd wait. Maybe that would let you recover enough strength to pull through.

You felt a weak pull at your shirt and smiled somberly when you heard a sob. "Just in case I don't get another chance. You saved a life that had no right to continue. So let me-"

You were interrupted when several gunshots made the Ghostface in front of you and Tara run for cover.

"Tara!" you both heard Sam's shout and you couldn't help but grin as you looked back at Tara. Finally, there was relief in her eyes.

You sighed. "I'm getting you out of this damn town ASAP," and you would. Damn it, you would. The moment someone patched you up you'd be on your way to preferably Sacramento, or, alternatively, San Francisco. Susan was a nurse, she could take care of Tara, so you really hoped she'd let you stay at her place.

Sam rushed in along with a man you vaguely recognized. The former sheriff? You really didn't have the energy to think about that right now.

"Oh, Sam!" the relief in Tara's voice was like a balm to the wounds. Everything would be fine now.

"I'm here," Sam reassured Tara and then looked at you. "Oh, God, Y/N," yeah, you imagined there was a lot of blood, everything kind of felt wet and sticky.

"Come on, we need to get out of here," the man ushered the three of you.

"Y/N can't, she's injured," Tara sounded desperate and you couldn't blame her, you really couldn't. You were injured, she was injured, she couldn't walk and there were two murderers between you and safety.

You looked at her blankly. "You did not just..." oh, if you weren't already motivated to get the hell out of the hospital, now you'd move out of spite. You handed the knife to Sam. "How's this for 'can't', huh?" Tara yelped when you once again lifted her up. "Keep us safe?" the question was mostly directed at Sam.

"Of course," there was certainty in Sam's eyes. You could recognize that look, Tara could recognize that look. It was the same look you had plenty of times during the fight. Sam would rather die than let anything happen to Tara.

"Sam," Tara tried to speak, maybe to say something about the way they ended the conversation from earlier that day, or maybe it was something else entirely, but Sam just leaned in and kissed her forehead.

"We'll talk later," she promised softly.

The man, who you now realized was holding a gun, left the hospital room first and Sam followed him. You were the last to step outside and you looked at your options. The elevator would be the best option if you could reach it. It was far and there was a Ghostface in your path, the one that was holding Tara, the one you knocked out, at least temporarily. There was no telling how long Ghostface would stay unconscious though. Not to mention another one was still somewhere nearby. Still, the stairs, while closer, were probably even more dangerous. Not to mention that you, plain and simple, didn't have enough strength to do it. The man and Sam probably had a similar train of thought, as they began moving toward the elevator.

This time Sam was the one leading as the man remained close behind you. With the way your vision was getting blurry this really was the best option. If you and Sam switched you doubted you'd be able to fight back, like this, you were mostly moving on autopilot. You heard a commotion behind you, you were vaguely aware of Sam stopping, conflicted over helping the man or keeping her guard up in case the unconscious Ghostface regained consciousness and attacked again. You were completely aware of Tara's whimper, of her fear as she curled into you as much as she could. So, you kept moving. You passed the unconscious Ghostface, you reached the elevator, you got in. Sam got in. The man didn't.

They argue. Someone mentioned the head. Pain. Pressure on the chest. Shooting. Elevator lights.

Tara.

Too bright. The hall was dark. White flashes. Dizzy.

Tara.

Doors closing. Cold sweat. Words. Someone speaking. Buzzing. Heart is too loud. Heart. Brother.

Zack.

Keep going. In, out, two times in, out, in, two times out. Keep doing that. Keep breathing. You have to make sure Tara is safe. Keep breathing.

Tara.

Doors open. Move. Move. Move. Something pulls your head down.

Tara.

It's soft. Small. Trembling. Hand. You're moving.

Tara.

The hand vanishes. You feel lighter. Tara isn't struggling to stay in your arms. Did Sam take her? Who took her? Your vision clears just for a moment, and you see the doctors around the three of you.

Tara is safe.

Everything goes black.

~X~

Nothing could have prepared Sam for the way Tara cried out your name, raw, frightened, desperate for you to respond to her. It made Sam turn around just in time to see you stumbling back and dropping to the ground.

“Help her, please! I-“ Tara gasped, tethering on the edge of another asthma attack and causing Sam to rush to her side, to hold her and try to calm her down. “It’s my fault, it’s my fault,” Tara still cried covering her eyes with her hands and the blood stains left on her face, your blood on the side of Tara’s hospital gown and jacket… Tara felt it, the warmth and stickiness of it, the smell of it, and Sam couldn’t even begin to imagine how her sister must be feeling right now.

Sam knew you got seriously hurt, but seeing you carrying Tara made her think it wasn’t as bad as it looked. She looked back at you, just as you were being taken away, and then at the spot where you fell, and the stains of blood left behind. There was so much blood there and she feared you might not survive. It was only a fleeting fear, because you would survive. You’d survive, you’d survive for Tara. Sam had to believe I that, otherwise she’d start panicking as well.

“Sam, help Y/N,” Tara pleaded, looking up at Sam the same way she used to when they were children and thought Sam could do anything.

But Sam couldn’t do anything right now. She couldn’t help or fix you up, she could just wait with Tara.

“She’s strong, she’ll get through this,” was all she could say as she held Tara as tightly as she could without further aggravating Tara’s injuries.

Sam felt tears soaking through her shirt. “I shot her,” Tara said, and then repeated those same words, stuck in that moment, spiraling into guilt and fear and Sam had no way of helping her. She simply didn’t know how to properly approach Tara now. What to tell her, and Sam fully understood what the distance did to them. She no longer knew how to make her own sister, the person she loved the most, feel safe.

The only option remaining, before she got another asthma attack, or did something to worsen her wounds was to sedate her and check up on her injuries. And Sam? Sam felt helpless.

Even more so she saw Dewey in a body bag. Tara nearly getting killed twice, you nearly getting killed. Wes, Judy, and now Dewey, dead, all because some lunatic somehow found out she was Billy’s daughter and was now after her. In the back of her mind, she thought she didn’t deserve to be the one capable of making Tara feel safe, not when she was the reason why Tara wasn’t safe in the first place.

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