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melodyofmbaku · 16 days ago

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Pour Me Another Lie (Smoke Moore x Annie x Stack Moore)

Preview: “You’re doing good baby. Keep that up, Smoke’s gonna be nice to you. Gonna be real nice and give you what you want.” Stack encouraged with a kiss to her tear stained cheek.

Word Count: 2.25k

Warning ⚠️: They're a Trio. Smut (18+ Material) + Angst

A/N Ya'll loved the boys and Annie together as a trio in Her House, Her Rules. So heres more!🤠💁🏾‍♀️

Part 2 ____

“I ain’t know Annie’s working Hank’s bar now.”

Cornbread was in the barn unloading the last batch of beers the boys had ordered and trying to make conversation while Filly stacked bottles behind him.

Smoke sat at the bar, flipping through a ledger. Stack leaned over the back of the couch, scribbling on a clipboard, mid-count.

Upon Cornbread's comment, there was a shift.

Smoke’s back straightened. His hand froze mid-air, glass halfway to his lips. Stack’s head turned slow like he hadn’t heard right, then let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“What you mean?” Stack asked.

Cornbread scratched his head. “I saw her. Earlier today. When I was dropping off at Hank’s. She was behind the bar. Serving.” He said it plain, like it wasn’t a live grenade.

The boys shared a look before Stack started.

“That wasn’t Annie. Because Annie dont work, do she Smoke?” Stack shot at his brother over his shoulder.

“Annie don’t work.” The older responded flatly.

“That’s right. Cuz Annie ain't got no bills. Annie got any bills Smoke?” He asked his brother.

“Annie ain’t got no damn bills.” The older confirmed.

A picture was forming now. Smoke didn’t like it. Hadn’t thought much of how she’d been slipping out in the afternoons lately—just as they were settling into sleep. Kissing them both goodbye like it was nothing.

Back by eleven. Smelling like sweat and sugar. He’d chalked it up to her wandering ways. She got restless. But she didn’t work.

Smoke stood from his stool, slow and measured. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But Cornbread wasn’t the lying type. The man was many things, but not a liar.

He stalked closer as Stack kept going.

“Annie don’t pay bills. So she don’t need to be working for no money. Definitely not for no damn Hank, and especially not serving no drinks.” Stack concluded.

Cornbread rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t trying to stir anything up. He just figured they knew. He let out a breath and tried to explain.

He’d been hauling crates with Filly—usual route. Made the stop at Hank’s around 5. Sun had teeth that day, hot on the back of his neck.

Inside, the bar was its usual dark, sticky self. And there she was.

Annie, behind the bar like she’d always been there. Dress stuck to her back, brow damp. Laughing at something Hank said.

She didn’t see him.

He wanted to wave. Say something. But Filly was already honking the horn, yelling about the next stop.

So he let her be.

“I ain’t lyin’. You can ask Filly too,” Cornbread said, nodding toward the young man hauling in the last crate.

“Yeah, that was Miss Annie at Hanks, can’t miss that laugh of hers.” The boy shared a smile, not knowing what he was walking into.

Silence fell thick as a quilt.

Smoke’s jaw flexed. Stack clapped a hand on Cornbread’s shoulder.

“Preciate you for stopping by.” Smoke said, a tight smile on his lips and a prompt for the man to hit the road.

“You’re a good man, Cornbread.” Stack said as he started him towards the exit.

Cornbread hesitated at the barn door. “She ain’t in trouble is she?”

“Trouble? Nah, she not in no trouble.” Stack replied, smiling with his golds peaking out.

But for some reason, Cornbread had a feeling she had walked straight into it.

___

Earlier that day…

The house was still, heavy with the kind of silence that only came when the boys were down for the count.

Smoke and Stack had come home just before dawn—fed and full, stretched out like kings in the wide bed they shared with her. By the time the sun crept through the curtains, they were out cold, deep in the kind of slumber that wouldn’t break for hours.

Annie sat on the edge of the bathtub, taking her twists down and fluffing through her curls with slow, idle movements. The house was too quiet. She looked at the clock—just after noon. She’d already done her chores. Her hands itched for something else.

The days were long now. And with the boys sleeping till sundown and business slow this week, Annie had too much time to think. She’d stopped by Hank’s the day before to drop off a tonic for his gout, and he’d looked at her with those tired eyes and said, “Wish I had someone with hands like yours behind the bar. Just till Margie gets back.”

She hadn’t answered then. But now, hours into silence, she found herself slipping on a cotton dress and pinning her hair back. Nothing fancy—just a shift dress and low heels. Something easy to move in.

“I’ll be back before they even wake up,” she murmured to herself, grabbing her purse. “Just a couple hours. Help Hank out. Stretch my legs.”

She left a note on the kitchen counter, though she doubted they’d see it. They never looked for notes—they looked for her. The words she wrote weren’t a lie, not exactly. But she left out the part about where she was going—and why she wouldn’t be back before sundown.

Annie was in trouble.

Stack’s eyes bugged out. “You seeing this?”

Smoke didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Smoke was seeing it. He saw Annie—there, behind a bar, pouring a drink for a patron. Wearing that soft cotton dress she liked, sleeves rolled up, hair pinned. She looked pretty. Capable. Like she belonged.

And that made it worse. Smoke made it clear early on that he never wanted her to have to answer to another man for money. He would make sure that she would never have to. He had a big thing about taking care of his family. Taking care of his woman.

He loved that Annie made her own money and pursued he own passions. Smoke nurtured that entrepreneurial spirit in her, helped her with her business. And she made a fair amount from it. He’d pay for whatever herb she needed that grew across the country to be delivered. Just so that Annie could hone in on her craft and work on new treatments for her customers.

But where she stood right now? This wasn’t her business. This wasn’t her passion. It was the antithesis of everything Stack wanted for his woman. A threat to what he believed made him a man.

She spotted them just a second too late—two shadows seated at the back of the room, dark and still. Her heart sank the moment she met Smoke’s eyes. Stack’s face was easier to read—surprised, maybe even a little amused—but Smoke? He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared.

The boys had picked a table in the back of the venue, tucked away from view but still with enough of a vantage to see the action.

She dropped the towel and ditched the apron with haste and headed over the the boys table.

“I’ll meet y’all at the house,” Smoke said, voice flat.

“Smoke, I can explain,” Annie called out, taking a hesitant step toward him—but he was already turning away, flagging down the stock boy.

“Where’s your boss at?” Smoke asked. “I got somethin’ for him.”

Stack shook his head as he looked at Annie with a little pity. He personally wasn’t too fussed with Annie working. As long as the patrons kept their hands to themselves and Annie stayed strapped he thought she’d be fine.

But Smoke? That was a different story. Stack knew how his brother felt about their woman being in someone else’s domain.

The way Smoke acted, you’d think she was on the damn pole.

Stack stood and stretched like he’d just finished a meal. “Let’s go, sweet bits,” he said, gently placing a hand on the small of her back to steer her toward the exit.

She resisted for a second, glancing back—hoping, maybe, that Smoke would stop her. Say something. But he was already disappearing behind the swinging doors.

Stack almost felt bad for Annie. Almost.

He wasn’t really mad—not the way Smoke was. He didn’t mind her working, not in theory. But working for another man in a place like this? And doing it behind their backs? That was where things got sticky.

She might’ve been able to get away with it if she opted for being a seamstress. But a damn barmaid? Stack wouldn’t be able to save her from her brother's wrath even if he wanted to. The duo left the bar as instructed and headed home.

They were in the bed awaiting her fate as Stack pulled Annie back against his chest, his arms snaking around her to cup her breasts with slow, greedy hands.

First he just held them, they were heavy and he loved that.

“I could play with these — with you — all day.” He felt her relax into him. This would take her mind off of things until Smoke got back. Quell any anxiety.

Slowly he began to rub her nipples between his fingers expertly. He was in his element and she was in heaven. He paid attention to her breasts and all she did was lean back and whine. Like a princess. At times her hands overlapped his as she joined him in teasing her tits.

“You like that mama?" A kiss to her cheek "I know you like it when we give these girls attention. You're greedy for it.”

She could feel his dick pressing against her back and her mouth watered. She slid her hands behind her back to grasp at the man’s covered cock. She listened as Stacks voice hitched.

“Oh baby you’re so sweet, tryna take care of me.” Stack looked at his watch, did they have time? Could they have a little fun before his brother came back?

“We gotta be fast.” he said but before they could get into it they heard the front door slam.

They paused their play for a moment when they saw Smoke walk into their bedroom and shut the door.

He didn’t regard them. He slowly began to remove his cuff links and roll up his sleeves.

As he was undoing his belt he looked up and locked eyes with Annie. Perhaps the only time he’d done so that night.

“You wanted to be seen, didn’t you?” Smoke asked. His voice was quiet, not cruel. That made it worse.

Smoke walked straight toward her — slow, deliberate, without saying a word. He knelt between her legs, ignoring Stack's hold on her, and slid his hands up her thighs to pull her hips forward, closer to the edge of the bed. His grip was firm. Possessive. It was a silent claim, and it told her everything words hadn’t yet said.

He shoved her dress up to her hips. She knew this was her moment. To plead her case — to appease Smokes anger.

“Smoke — I can explain —“

“Shhhh”. Stack whispered in his wife’s ear.

In response she struggled in his arms. Stack held her close to his body with a smile.

“How about you show Smoke your pussy baby? I think he wants to see how greedy she is.”

She shook her head and tried to close her knees and avoid Smoke's hot gaze.

Stacks hands were fast. Dropping from her tits down to her thick thighs quickly.

“No, no. Keep em open.” His hands forced her knees back apart, for her sex to be exposed to his brother's view.

“Be good.” Stack murmured —

“She hasn’t been,” Smoke said coldly, without looking up. “That’s the problem.”

When Smoke placed his mouth on her sex she threw her head back, eyes raised to the sky. She could feel him in every part of her body. His tongue expertly licked her from her clit to her opening snaking through her folds to sip every drop of her essence.

She didn’t know if she wanted to cry or thank him.

“Look at Smoke Annie. He tryna teach you something. He’s showing you what happens when you don’t listen.”

Smoke worked with experience and precision. He knew his woman and all her parts. Knew how she liked to be touched. It wasn’t long before she was on the brink of an orgasm, and then he just… stopped.

She gasped, and there he was, on his knees looking her straight in her face. Her lip trembled.

A tear slipped of her eye and began a trail down her face. Stack licked it.

Annie began sobbing. She could tell what kind of night it was gonna be.

“Smoke only tryna help you baby. He’s doing it cuz he loves you.” he crooned into her ear before kissing her cheek.

Almost satisfied with her ruin Smoke went right back to work licking into her sensually.

Stack matched that and began to play with her nipples once more. He pulled them, obsessed with how she responded when he did. The pain bit and then subsided and her shallow breaths encouraged him to keep going.

She gasped. “Please.”

“Smoke’s still mad about that bar,” Stack whispered. “But he’ll forgive you. He always does.”

Throughout this entire ordeal. Stack was his brother's mouthpiece. The older hadn’t said many words. Annie didn’t know where his head was at.

“He’s quiet, huh?” Stack whispered, grinning.

And it continued like that. Smoke sipping from her pussy and bringing her to the brink of her pleasure before stopping and starting back up again. He made sure to look her in the eyes when he stopped right before she orgasmed.

He wanted to see her disappointment. Her frustration. For her to feel like how he was feeling right now.

He kept her desperate and wanton with his ministrations on purpose. It was pleasure and punishment all at once.

“Stack please. Please —“ She begged with little reservation. “I need it.” “Please let me cum.” She wailed as he her brought her right to the edge before pulling away and sitting back. Watching the confusion ripple across her face once more.

“You begged them like that too?” Smoke asked, still between her thighs, voice low. “You make those sounds for them?” His grip on her thighs tightened.

It dawned on her once again that he’d left her hanging. He turned his attention right back in to suck on her clit. He rubbed his tongue against it, lapping at it, savoring the noises that came from her lips as a result of his wicked actions.

But then she moaned his name. Not Stack’s. His.

It broke something in him.

Smoke growled low in his throat, and for a second the precision was gone — replaced by hunger, raw and unchecked. His fingers sank deeper, rougher. His mouth moved like he needed her to cry out again, louder this time, for him.

“Say it again,” he rasped against her sex. “Say my name like you mean it.”

And she did. Over and over again.

Still he persisted. At a certain point in the evening Annie stopped begging and started repenting.

“I’m sorry daddy. I’m so sorry.” Now they were getting somewhere.

Smoke paused. He didn’t look at her. But she felt the way his hands softened, just slightly, against her skin.

“Good,” he finally said before diving back into her sex, fingers curling inside her.

“Smoke I — I’m sorry.” She let out desperately. Her head flung back. She wanted him to hear her. She meant it.

“You’re doing good baby. Keep that up, Smoke’s gonna be nice to you. Gonna be real nice and give you what you want.” Stack encouraged with a kiss to her tear stained cheek.

Hearing her apologies and desperate breathless whines worked to subdue Smoke’s anger. He could feel the anger subsiding — sliding back into himself. The teasing wasn’t in vain. She was seeing the error of her ways.

When he had had his fill of her moans and apologies, he decided to give in.

“Annie.” The first word he’d said in a while. Her eyes were unfocused.

“Look at me.” And she did. He held her gaze as he stroked her insides with his two fingers and thumbed at her clit.

She could feel it coming, coupled with the way Stack tweaked her tits and the way pleasure was building in her chest. She was almost scared of how her orgasm would take her. Scared of the feeling that was to come. Still she held his gaze.

She mouthed the words ”Please” but no sound came out. The one final suck of her clit into his mouth did it and sent her over tumbling over the edge.

She bucked and Stack was startled for a moment before he held her body to himself as her orgasm crashed over her. She was a fucking wonder.

“Look at you. Look at you.” Smoke praised softly as she wailed — the sound came from deep within her. It was primal. Through it all, Smoke stayed on his knees, between her legs to lap at the essence that freely flowed from her.

In a way, at that moment all of them could sit back a little easier. The tension in the room melted alongside her orgasm. As if they experienced the same oxytocin she did. They waited for her to catch her breath.

Slowly — Smoke stood up.

He gripped her chin softly and looked down at her. She was wrecked. Her lips were parted and her chest moved up and down. His thumb skimmed her kiss swollen bottom lip.

“Open your mouth.” He spoke softly.

Annie opened her mouth almost immediately. Like she was craving what would come next. Like she was hungry for it — for him.

Her eyes locked with his as he spat into her mouth.

“Keep it open.” He spoke once more.

And she did.

Smoke wanted to see. Wanted a visual on how they — how he — owned her. And how she wanted to be owned too. It was reciprocal. The two held each others gaze, almost communicating to one another through micro expressions.

You hurt me. You’re mine and nobody else’s.

I love you. I’m yours. I'm sorry.

“Swallow.” She closed her mouth and her eyes and swallowed what he’d given her.

Stack scrunched his nose up. “Ya’ll nasty as hell.”

“Smoke?” She breathed. He crouched down and pushed the tendrils of curls out of her face. Her hand reached out to him seeking connection and he was quick to hold it. To rub his thumb over her knuckles and comfort her. To place a chaste kiss on her hand.

He looked up at her frame. She wasn’t in no state to have any kind of conversation right now.

“Yes baby?” he loved her so fucking much it was scary. His Annie.

“ I never —“ she started before her cut her off.

“Tomorrow mama. You're okay. You rest. We’ll talk all about it tomorrow.”

He reached up and placed a kiss on her head. It was shiny with perspiration but Smoke didn’t care. She was his.

She sat back into Stacks chest getting comfortable as Smoke went in and wiped her down with a rag.

They settled into a soft and comfortable silence. There was a reverence in the air.

Stack stroked her hair and placed light kisses behind her ear.

Smoke began whispering sweet proclamations of love into her skin. Almost in worship.

“You did so well.”

A kiss on her ankle.

“You’re perfect.”

A kiss on her knee.

“We love you so much.”

A kiss on the inside of her thigh.

Annie basked in their love, letting the feeling wash over her — filling her heart with warm affection.

Smoke’s position at her feet pouring praise into her skin felt symbolic. Despite what transpired that night, it was her who owned them.

He rose to see her face.

“You’re ours, Annie,” Smoke said softly, brushing her curls back. “Don’t make us doubt that again.”

Whatever happened today? It was water under the bridge. They’d talk about it tomorrow. She’d worked hard tonight — paid her penance.

She was loved, safe, and protected under the watchful and attentive eyes of her partners.

The hurt had been seen. The apology had been heard. The slate, quietly, was clean.

And with that knowing, she let slumber take her over. ____ Interested in my future works? Let me know if you'd like me to add you to my tag list. My other works can be found in My Masterlist. Thanks for reading!

PART 2 ___ Taglist @chaneajoyyy @pyraomen @browngirldominion @sarcastic-sunshines

#sinners fan fic #sinners fanfiction #annie x smoke #black!fem!reader #black!reader #smoke moore #smokestack twins #stack x reader #smoke x reader #annie and smoke #smoke x annie #melodicfic #black writer #black reader #my fic #sinners writer #stack moore #smoke x annie x stack

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bandgie · 5 months ago

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Indica

1.1k words

warnings! MDNI18+, fem!reader, oral(fem!rec), high cunninglingus, dealer!han

notes! sorry the pictures are small but PLEASE READ THE TEXT MESSAGES THEY ARE PART OF THE FIC. I haven't written in a while and I just wanted to post something to remind ya'll I am alive.

It’s so slow. So slow when Jisung laps his tongue up and down. In any other instance, you’d press the back of his head deeper into your cunt, but with the gentle buzz of weed drumming in your veins, you settle further into the couch and let him go at his speed.

You laughed when you first got the message, but you weren’t entirely surprised. Jisung was always hitting on you when you bought from him, but his flirtatious attempts were more cute than hot. His fumbling hands and stuttering lips were so adorable to watch. He must have worked up the courage to send a text like that. Or he had already smoked it up.

Not that you care which it is. You agreed immediately, teased him when he showed up blushing and pink, then plopped on the couch to roll a joint.

Everything feels so sensitive when you’re high. Jisung’s soft tongue feels blissful swirling on your clit. It feels so big, so fat, so warm. You’re thankful he’s too stoned to do more than suck and lick. You’d be drooling on the pillows and creaming on the sofa otherwise.

The tip of his tongue plays with your entrance. He barely dips it inside before gliding it up, smoothing over the place where you really need him.

You sigh with contentment, widening your legs so Jisung can scoot closer on his knees and wrap his lips around your clit.

He combines sucking and licking, giving you the perfect excuse to buck your hips and whine. Jisung follows your movements, not letting a second of your pussy escape his mouth.

And when you fall back onto the couch, you comb your fingers through his dark hair. “So good. You’re gonna make me cum.”

His boba eyes shoot to yours. You swear you can see hearts in his pupils. Carefully, he pulls away, letting his tongue stick out so he can get a swipe to your clit and make you jolt.

“Yeah?” He bites his lower lip almost innocently despite your juices on his chin. “I-I got cotton mouth real bad right now. I feel like I’m moving so slow.”

You giggle, playing with his strands tenderly. “A little, but I like it. Your tongue’s so soft.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t stop.” You urge him with a soft tug. It doesn’t take much to have him back between your legs, mouth opening with new vigor. His tongue messily plays with your folds, swooping down to collect your arousal and play with it on your clit.

It feels like your heart is going to beat out of your chest. Jisung is determined to make you cum, or maybe he sobered up just enough to eat properly. You almost want to tell him to slow down, but every flick has you reeling. Wet arousal keeps oozing out, sliding down your ass, or getting licked up by Jisung.

You put both your hands in his hair, bringing your knees to your face and looking down to watch him eat.

He looks so good. You can see how his tongue swipes over you, how his lips peck and suck, and the way his cheeks hollow. If you focus enough, you can see the stubble shadow of his mustache.

You clench around nothing.

“F-fuck.” You whine. “Fuck me, please.”

Jisung looks up but keeps his mouth on your pussy. His eyes are red and big, but there’s determination in them.

He shakes his head and pulls off to spit on your cunt. “Nuh-uh. I’m not done.” His saliva runs down your slit, but he latches his tongue back before it slips down your ass.

Your eyes roll. Your legs shake in the air, but you keep them spread. “B-but I’mma cum.”

Jisung moans. The vibrations feel so strong, but you know it’s just the weed making it feel like that. His ringed fingers grip the underside of your thighs and it takes a second to feel how wet his right hand is.

Ah, he must have been jerking himself off.

You want to see it, his aching cock with pre-cum that seeps from the tip. Is he thick? Long? Does he have a smaller dick that you could hump on? Your hazy mind tries desperately to come up with how Jisung looks, but his mouth is glued to your pussy in a way that makes you think he’ll never come off.

“I wan’ taste it. Give it to me please and I’ll fuck you. I promise. I promise I’ll fuck you so good.” Jisung begs into your pussy. “On my tongue. I wan’ it on my tongue.”

Oh my God. You’ve never met a more pussy-craved man than him. His skilled tongue and eagerness has that warm feeling bubbling in your stomach. His warm breath aids in the pleasure, keeping your cunt hot all the time.

You don’t have to move his head to get him where you want. Despite eating you out for the first time, it’s like he already knows where you like it. Jisung knows when to swirl his tongue, when to suck on your nub, and how to pin your legs so they don’t clamp on his head like you want to.

“Oh my- yes! Yes, fuck! Pleasepleasepleas-”

One of his hands quickly moves to your cunt and you feel two fingers easily slip in. They squelch with the amount of wetness you’re making, but the crude sound has your eyes rolling back.

His tongue doesn’t stop swirling, his lips don’t stop smacking, and his hand fucks you faster than what you were prepared for. The sweet orgasm coils tighter and tighter until you burst, fighting against his grip to squeeze his head between your thighs.

You plant your feet on the edge of the sofa and lift your hips to hump his face, a moan stuck in your throat as you ride out your orgasm.

Jisung puts his hand on your stomach and forces you back down. His fingers have stilled, but you can’t stop clenching on them. And despite your clear orgasm on his fingers and lips, Jisung doesn’t stop.

Finally, the moan you were holding drawls out.

“Nghhhh! I came. Hannie- Hannie, I came.”

He whines, moving from your sensitive clit to your stuffed entrance. “B-but I wan’ taste it. Just lemme clean you up and I’ll fuck you, ‘kay? I promise. I promise.” He digs his tongue inside, using his fingers to keep you spread before getting an answer.

But at this point, you don’t care. Your clit’s throbbing and your cunt’s stuffed. With the weed beginning to fade and your mind coming back, you think it’s time for another hit or two.

#smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids #skz #skz hard hours #skz hard thoughts #skz han #skz jisung #han jisung #jisung smut #han smut #skz han smut #skz Jisung smut #skz x reader

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isimpoveryou · 1 year ago

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lestappen x sargeant!reader

fc: sabrina carpenter

{𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓} {previous part} {next part}

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bunnithechubs · 4 months ago

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Bunni's Social Media Templates - Part One

I know I said I was going to release the "pack" I made for my story but I didn't realize how... messy they were. hehehe. So I'm just going to release them one at a time, then when they're all done they will be easier to put into one big pack for you all. So here is the first release, the instagram bio template! I want to preface this by saying I don't have ANY social media, so I use reference photos online to help me. I worked super hard on this and even made you all a "light" and "dark" mode depending on the aesthetic you want! Fonts I used are linked in a doc inside the goggle folder. Not needed but recommended, you can obviously use your own fonts if you wish. Also please feel free to edit this or use it as a "foundation" for something else. I really don't mind as long as you give credit!

TOU:

don't paywall or claim as your own. If someone asks you where you got them please share- we don't gatekeep in this blog! Other than that it's yours! if you use them pls tag me, I LOVE seeing what ya'll do with my templates!!

Download:

google drive (always free & no ads)

#ts4 #the sims 4 #ts4 template #psd #sims 4 psd #part one is here yall!!#part 2 will be the insta post template :)#enjoy!!!#ts4cc #s4cc

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prettypieck · 1 day ago

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𝒮𝑜 𝒮𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sylus x Reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Sylus gets bored and kidnaps reader who is upset with him and they basically have angry and not so angry sex.

ᴀ/ɴ: I'm so gagged by the amount of love I received for Xaviers Cam Girl!! Part 2 coming soon for that one, but for now I'll give ya'll this quick one I came up with lol. Thank you guys again <3

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Sylus, Sylus smut, love and deepspace smut, MDNI!, oral(female receiving), unprotected, light fingering, p in v, kinda angry sex kinda not, Sylus is freaked the freaked out, so am I...

You got lost.

The house was huge and with so many hallways and doors it was easy to forget which way you came and where to go. It was annoying, but not as annoying as the man who brought you here. Or more accurately kidnapped you from your apartment and is holding you hostage here.

Sylus… the man who owned the N109 Zone and practically everyone in it.

You hadn't seen him since you both had an argument and that should make you feel at ease, but you weren’t, knowing how persistent he could be, you were sure he had to be planning something. That was the part that scared you most, although being around someone as dangerous and intimidating as him also sent a shiver up your spine, at least you would usually have the presence of the young, deviant twins.

But in the couple days you've been here, you haven't seen them, which is a first. The only person you can blame for that is Sylus himself, you could definitely feel that he sent them away on some long mission to force you to fold and speak to him, but no way. You were stubborn.

You continue walking down a dark hallway until you make it to the door at the end of it. You sigh, it was either go back the way you came or through the door.

You take your chances and twist the knob open. The lights flicker on as soon as the door opens, but it was still very dim lighting. Shelves line the walls from the floor to the ceiling with bottles of wine. There's an island in the middle of the room with drawers of them as well.

It's a wine cellar.

You enter the room and begin snooping around. You love wine, a trait you inherited from your grandmother. Since you were thirteen, she would let you sit with her in bed and have a glass while watching one of her shows. You feel your heart ache again at the memory, you didn't even get to say goodbye to her.

You don't have a phone either, but maybe you’ll be the first to break the silence between Sylus and you to request to use one. Although you would rather never talk to him ever again.

You finally find a wine that you think is good enough for your late night movie you plan to watch in your bedroom. You stand on the tips of your toes as it was placed on one of the higher shelves and your fingers barely skim the rim of the top before you feel it.

The firmness and warmth of a strong chest against your back and your heart jumps out of shock. You don't move as a hand bigger and stronger than your own surpasses you and grabs the wine bottle that you were attempting to reach. It only takes a second to recognize the large hand that has touched you before.

You don't say a word or turn around to face him, you rest back on your heels again but that only pushes your body more against his. As you’re about to take a step forward and away from him, he has other plans.

You feel his hand begin to skim where your short sleeping gown begins on your left thigh until he drags upwards and settles his hand on your stomach. His touch burning through the thin dress and slightly lifting it.

Then his raspy voice breaks the silence, "What are you doing in here?"

You couldn't breathe yet, but still reply quietly, "Grabbing something to drink."

He hums in response and begins to skim his lips against your right ear and down towards your neck. You still feel stuck, and you hate that your body wants to feel him. You clench your eyes shut and once you feel his tongue peek out when he places a single kiss behind your ear does your whole body wake up.

You quickly grab his hand, pry it off you and turn around to face him with the strongest glare you could muster. However, it's hard to hold the look on your face when your body feels like it's burning up from his actions. And it's even harder when you look up at his beautiful face.

His red eyes were darker than usual as he gazed down at you with a look that made your heart race. He had grown slight stubble and his hair was slightly messy as if he ran his hand through it multiple times. He was dressed in all black, the button up shirt showed the chain on his chest and his sleeves were rolled up.

He looked like Lucifer himself, a complete contrast to your all white slip gown. An angel, and the devil with temptation written all over him.

And it's as if he knows because his lip slightly curls up in a smirk as he takes you in.

"You thirsty, kitten," it didn't sound like he was asking a question and the way he purrs your nickname doesn’t make the fluttering in your lower belly any better. You can sense the double meaning in the way he purposely speaks his words.

"No," you try to harden your voice, but even you can't stop it from sounding so soft and flustered, "I think I want water instead now-" you try to bypass his side and evacuate the room as soon as possible, but stop as soon as he grabs your arm.

"Don't be so quick to leave," he says, his voice slightly huskier now.

You try to pull away, but his grip is firm and you can't seem to find your voice to protest. He pulls you closer to him, your body now pressed against his. You tilt your head up at him and give him a hard glare, "Sylus whatever you think you're doing is-" your voice catches in your throat and your hands grip his arms when he lifts you with ease and plants you on the island.

Your legs dangle over the edge as he moves forward and stands between them. "And what is it that I'm doing," he asks with an amused smile and places his hands on either side of your hips, effectively trapping you in.

The heat of his stare feels too much for you, your breathing becoming shallow. You wait for his next move, as he slowly grabs the wine bottle placed on the counter next to your hip and pops it open. He holds eye contact with you as he takes a swig of it, but there's something so provocative in the way he does it.

You hum, yet you can't seem to focus on what he's on about. "Not leaving me alone?" Not when he's far too distracting.

You can't seem to take your eyes off how the neck of the bottle looks so small in his perfectly sized hand, or how his lips, plump and pink look so perfectly wet as he wraps them around the lip of the bottle. And then there are his eyes. Hypnotically red, dazed and lazy as he watches you with his head slightly tipped back and his throat bobbing as he chases the wine down with nothing but his words delivered in a harsh breath. "I did leave you alone, now I don't want to."

You flicker your gaze up to him, "Well, go give your company to someone else." You murmur, reaching for the bottle suddenly parched.

He lifts it over his head, effortlessly out of your reach, and towers over you. Narrowing your eyes up at him, you speak up again. "That's my bottle."

His tongue peeks out to trace the drop of wine left on his lower lip, "Is it?"

"Yes?"

"No, the bottle is mine, and you're mine." He murmurs with the swaying of his body as he leans into you.

You debate shutting the fuck up, knowing better than to egg on a man who finds murder more appealing than smiling, but on the other hand, the man deserves every bit of torture for treating you the way he's been.

And so, you bite your lip so seriously he has no choice but to focus on your mouth as you respond, "I'm actually someone else's-"

Another tug of your gown and you're so close, you can feel his breath tickle your forehead. It's too controlled and still to be normal. "You're really fucking annoying." He doesn't give you a chance to respond. Not when his hand fisting your nightgown creeps up to grab your jaw, and with a harsh push, he's tilting your head back and tipping the bottle into your mouth.

He forces the drink into your mouth, and down your throat. While he stares down at you with heat and jealousy burning his eyes. "They're as good as dead, if what you say is true."

You don't respond, you can't with the wine sliding down your throat. Instead, you both stare at each other, until you can't take it and close your mouth, swallowing the mouthful of wine before you choke on it. Only that doesn't seem to stop him from pouring.

"What the fuck!" You snap.

"Oops." His voice is far too dry and his gaze far too pointed as he places the bottle down next to you with more than half of it done. Some spilled and trailed down from your chin and in between your breasts.

Your dress stuck to your skin from the amount of the wine that spilled on you. You couldn't let Sylus have the upper hand, so the only way was to torture him even more. You reach down to the hem of your gown and slowly pull it up and over your head, leaving you in only your panties. Then, you reach over and grab the bottle, bringing it to your lips and begin to drink it.

But you only get a sip before he reaches over and manages to take the wine from your hand, but instead of bringing it to his own mouth, he grips your chin, tips your head back again and pours it into your mouth for the second time.

This time when you close your mouth to swallow the mouthful, a stream of wine splashes down your bare chest to your stomach. Sylus eventually straightens out but his eyes follow the path. Vivid red eyes travel down the valley of your breasts, past your sternum and then to your belly button and lower. His eyes linger impulsively, while yours watch expectantly.

So expectantly that you lean back on the palms of your hands, a silent invitation. Maybe its the circumstances, or just the strong wine in both your bloodstreams, but he plants his hands on the marble on either side of you, and lowers his mouth until it meets your skin, suddenly so desperate and hot for his touch. He's slow, deliberate, thorough, while those eyes stay glued to your face.

His lips barely brush as his tongue darts out to follow the trail down and it's only when he gets to the crevice where your breasts are that his lips move from a soft caress to a purposeful hunger. He sucks the swell of your breast, licks any drop of wine before moving lower and grazing his teeth over your nipple. It hardens instantly.

It isn't long before he pulls back enough to drag his gaze down to them, while one of his hands slide up and his thumb begins to gently graze the skin back and forth. You exhale a harsh breath, he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth seemingly lost in thought. "They're sensitive." It's a low rasp. One thats more observant, meant for himself than anything.

"I'm just cold." You breathe, still now wanting to give him any satisfaction.

"Yeah?" he murmurs against your burning skin, and when you don't offer a response, he merely hums and trails his lips down the path of your sternum and finally to your belly button where he sucks the wine around it into his mouth.

Instinctively, you fall further back, onto your elbows as he trails down further, stopping when he gets to the band of your panties. He hovers, lingers. You tilt your head down after a long moment, anticipation stirring in your stomach, for what, you don't know. All you know is that he'd barely touched you and the wet trail down your leg that wasn't from the wine was only making you want it more.

"Sylus?" You get out, he merely tips his head and looks up at you. It does nothing to help the ache between your legs. "What are you thinking?"

The man contemplates answering you for a brief moment, before he does, in a low breath, "you taste so sweet, I want to taste more of you."

You debate your next words, until you can't help the simple breathless sound that leaves you, "Oh." His gaze sharpens with an intensity you can only describe as suffocatingly overbearing, controlled, yet persistent.

"Do you want that Kitten?" Something heavy sits behind his words, a dark something that sits itself right between your legs as you subtly clench them together. He must notice with the way his eyes flicker down at the action.

You swallow thickly, and cant help the way your face feels so hot, it's embarrassing. "Yes." He shows no reaction, but you still can't help the embarrassed flush at admitting it to him. You feel it when his eyes watch you and you feel it when his hands brush your hips, and he hooks his fingers in the band of your underwear, slowly dragging them down your legs, despite how hard you're clenching them.

He gets them off, and sets his gaze on the most intimate part of you, while you're not only shaking in anticipation and need, but nervousness. His hands move to your thighs where his thumbs draw little circles on your skin, "Spread your legs."

He looks over you, his broad shoulders and tall build doing nothing to help the way he swallows your shadow whole. Yet it only takes one look at him for you to comply. You realize you want it badly. So badly, you spread your legs for him. Slowly, his gaze moves down to between them.

There's a subtle change to his breathing and you see it in the way his chest begins to heave while his eyes flicker to every part of you and his hand slides up until he's ghosting his thumb over your clit.

He pauses and looks up at you. "Now, say please." Every color save for red drains from your face as it burns, yet you manage a glare. "No way-"

He spits down onto your pussy and uses his thumb to rub it into your clit. The action so fasts it steals every last breath from your lungs. That is until he circles it once, twice and stops after the third. He raises a brow at you. "How about now?"

Your legs shake, your mind races and it takes everything in you to grit out a reluctant and obvious forced, "please."

"There you go, baby." His lips move to your inner thigh, and you can swear you feel the ghost of a smile on his lips. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" A retort sits on the tip of your tongue, but it's drowned out by a gasp so loud, you can do nothing but fall back onto the island when Sylus dips his head and buries his face between your legs.

His lips latch onto you, instantly finding your clit with ease. He sucks, it's so good, but when his tongue peeks out and flattens against you, you can't help but shudder. "Holy f-fuck." Whether it's a moan or a desperate cry that comes out of your mouth, you don't know.

The sensation is like no other.

His tongue is warm yet firm in its movements, his lips are soft yet so precise when he sucks and then there are his hands, so possessive as he grips onto your thighs holding you down before they flatten over your stomach and pin you down from there.

Another moan escapes your lips as your head falls back against the marble counter and your back arches. He makes a satisfied noise, so deep it rumbles through your core, while you writhe, moan, and fall at his mercy. It feels like an eternity of pleasure, one where the man doesn't bother coming up for air and one he's lost in. But you don't complain.

Not until he pulls away and glances up at you, his gaze dazed and lips swollen. "Does that feel good baby?"

"So so good, Sylus." You nod, squirming beneath him, needing and panting. "Don't stop." Desperation reeks in your voice, but it only seems to turn him on, and you realize that this man could very well be the death of you.

You thread your fingers into his hair just as he settles back in between your legs and when he grunts at your grip, the sound is so raw and deep, you feel it course through you. He's meticulous as the tip of his tongue glides from clit all the way down your slit, and had it not been for his hands holding you in place, you would be a mess.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, you push his face deeper into you and you're surprised he's still breathing enough to groan into you as you grind into him, crying out when he moves back up to flick your clit, then suck on it.

"Fuck," there's a tremble to your voice, and it only worsens when his tongue trails back down to your opening and traces it not once, twice but a third, while his perfect nose nudges your clit with each grind of your hips.

You begin to shake uncontrollably, only for him to pull back slightly and stare between your legs while he spreads your lower lips with his fingers, and then dives back in, thrusting his tongue into you.

"I'm…" breathy and panting, your eyes shut in bliss. "Close." Fingers fisting his hair, you tug, cry out as your mouth falls open. Despite your deepest fantasies of men, you had begun to realize that nothing came close to a man skilled with his tongue. But Sylus? Every single fibre of his being drips with skill like no other.

It's so clear in the way he lifts you by the hips to get a better angle as he thrusts his tongue into you. His movements harsh, deep, and with little remorse. You moan out into the room. He groans into you.

It builds, like a never ending ascend, until finally you crash, and explode. And when you do, the cry is loud, while your cum spills onto his tongue.

Sylus doesn't pull away, nor does he stop. His mouth sucks and licks every last drop of your release while you're so overstimulated, you can't help but writhe beneath him, and yank his hair until he finally pulls away.

He rises up to his full height and perhaps you're both drunk on the wine or high off each other, but he can't seem to take his eyes off you, and you can't look away from him.

He's still standing at the edge of the counter, between your legs while his hands hold your shaking thighs open. But it's clear he's turned on. His chest heaves and the look on his face tells you he's almost enraptured by the sight of you.

He's still looking at you when his hand on your thigh moves and he trails his thumb down your slit before tracing your opening. You exhale, he looks down. You gasp as he pushes his thumb in.

Still coming down from your high, pussy still oversensitive, but the sight of him, standing above you and staring down at you like you're what he wants is the most torturous.

He doesn't push his thumb all the way in, he merely pushes in an inch and then pulls out, moving in and out, the movement almost absentminded until finally his gaze slides to his hand between your legs. "You're just begging to be stretched, yeah?"

His words are hoarse, filled with desire and something much darker. It gets so much harder to compose yourself. His lips still drip with your cum and when he's standing like this, your eyes are drawn to the imprint of him, hard and so big.

You lick your dry lips, "Yes please, I want it Sy."

Your response captures his attention enough to where his hand leaves you, and instead moves to absentmindedly rub over the bulge in his pants. "Then let me fuck you." He breathes.

It's such an erotic sight, especially coming from a man who is always so composed, so in control, so reserved. But now, as he rubs himself over his slacks, he looks at you like the sole reason he's feeling an ounce of desperation. Like making you cum satisfied him as much as it did you.

Despite every ounce of energy drained from your previous orgasm, you feel yourself clench, desperate for more. The throbbing between your legs pulses louder and you realize you want him to fuck you more than anything. But you're nearly naked and he's fully clothed.

And it's the clank of his belt coming undone that snaps you back into reality. You sit up and place a hand on his chest. "Take off your shirt, first." You slowly trickle your gaze from his button up to his face.

"Take it off for me, Kitten." You do so, flickering your gaze away from the intensity in his and focusing on each strip of skin you see as you get each button undone. You toss it somewhere behind you, far too distracted by the sight of him to care where it lands.

He's every bit as fit as you'd imagined. Toned arms, shoulders corded with muscles and abdomen so lean, It suddenly makes sense how he's so strong. He's built like it.

Something in his posture gives out, his hand moves up to grip your throat, while his lips find the skin just below your ear. "Are you happy now?"

"Maybe." You breathe, scraping your fingers along his abdomen, loving the way he tenses before goosebumps break out all over his body. "Are you?"

"Not even close." His hot breath tickles your ear while he pulls you to the edge and spits his confession in a frustrated tone, "I want to be inside you."

You smile and realize you like him like this. Raw, real and not bothering to hide behind a mask of indifference. You realize he must take your silence as not a good enough answer because with even more force, the man pulls you to the edge of the counter and undoes his zipper.

"I'll give you what you want kitten, only if you stop this game you're playing at." His lips press to your ear, as he steps into you.

You smile, "Probably not." His response comes a moment later, dragged up your thigh and settled between your legs.

You bite down on your bottom lip to stop from letting him know just how much you feel him and the tip of his cock that he drags up and down your slit. And instead, focus on the fact that Sylus has got it bad for you. So bad, he can't seem to shut up.

He pulls back and tips his head down to focus on the space between both of you, where he begins to circle his tip around your clit in tortuously slow movements, until you're withering for more.

He pauses and clenches his jaw, "You gonna let me fuck you, like I've wanted to since you've been here?"

You wrap your arms around his neck and push yourself into him, "If you're that desperate, then go ahead-"

You barely have time to finish your sentence before he's circling your entrance and thrusting himself into you. It's hard, fast and before you can even catch your breath, his entire length slides between your folds, and right into you.

Instinctively, you squeeze around him, and the deep masculine noise of satisfaction that escapes his throat echos in your ear. "Fuck." Nails into skin, you realize you're digging your nails into his shoulders, while he pauses only for a second to murmur low in your ear. "All of it." He commands, using the grip on your hips to pull you into him. Groaning when you realize he's not in all the way. "Take it all."

He's ruthless when he pulls you into him, and you can't help the noises that escape your lips when he fills you up. "That's it." He murmurs. It's painful, but the kind that has you moaning and despite yourself, wanting more of him until there's nothing left to give.

Biting down on your bottom lip as he fills you, so deep inside you don't know what to do with yourself but tremble. It only lasts a second before he releases your bottom lip with his fingers, and then shoves his thumb into your mouth to keep it open. "I like the shit that comes out of your mouth when I'm inside you baby." He rasps, voice breathless as though it's hard for him to remain still. "Don't suppress it."

Exhaling a shaky breath, you bite down on his thumb all the while shifting around him to get comfortable. He's ruthless. Especially when he pulls out of you and slams right back in, but this time when he does it, a mix of a gasp and a groan of surprise escapes your lips.

He pulls his finger out of your mouth while his voice takes on a serious, yet curious edge. "What's wrong?"

You catch your breath. "Nothing." you exhale, slightly embarrassed. "It just… you're big" He stills, his voice strained, while the muscles in his arms flex as though it's taking everything in him to still.

Instinctually, you grind your hips, inching closer to him. He groans when you shift to get comfortable, exhaling a long breath, one that makes him pause. "Am I hurting you?"

And when you slowly roll your hips forward, his head tips back and a tremor floats through his body as though it's physically impossible for him to stay still. "Give me a second to get comfortable."

Pained and strained, the man sounds like he's seconds from losing his control when he speaks next, "You're killing me baby." You sift once more, and when the pain starts to feel like the type you get off on, you grind into him, arch your back and moan against his lips. "Fuck me."

It's purely relief that powers his next movements, because without another word, Sylus fucks you like he hates you. It's ruthless, borderline cruel yet makes you so delirious, your eyes roll back and you moan into his ear.

His skin heats yours, his fingers thread into your hair and he yanks your head back, his mouth not leaving any inch of your neck untouched while he pounds into you.

He's completely unrestrained when he sucks a path down to your chest, he's completely wild when he bites enough to sting before soothing the skin with a few wet glides of his tongue. But most of all, he's completely merciless with each slam of his hips into yours. You realize it's your favorite version of him.

It's embarrassing how fast that now too familiar feeling starts to build. It's all immensely earth shattering. His low noises, his rough hands, his firm body.

He's everywhere, while you can do nothing but hold on for dear life. He must sense that you're close because with a harsh grunt, the man leans you over until your back is against the cold marble of the Island and he slows his movements. "Not yet."

A choked groan escapes your lips while your head tips to the side and your body begins to give out. "What do you want now?"

His hands slide up to rest on the marble on either side of your head, while he leans over and picks up his pace, not nearly as fast as before though. "I want you to say you're mine."

Each languid stroke somehow jolts your clit at this angle, while he remains to hit so deep you wonder if he's rearranging your organs.

"Mmhm." You mumble, arching your back and running your nails down his chest.

"Say it." His command is hoarse, and so fucking hot you want to drop to your knees and give him what he wants, that is until he bites your nipple, so hard, you have to grit your teeth.

"You serious?" A frustrated noise escapes your throat as you glare up at him. He lowers his face until his lips nearly brush yours and the crazed look in his eyes grows depraved. "Dead serious."

"Fine." This didn't actually mean you were committing to him. It was nothing more than two people chasing a high. That's why you give in to his ridiculous demand.

Only when you do it, your body has a mind of its own when you wrap your arms around his neck and lift up enough to place a single kiss on his lips. "Sylus, I promise to fuck you and only you."

Something inside you stirs at the thought of living in a fantasy where you were his and only his, forever. "Good girl." He groans, and when his heavy breathing hits the skin of your temple, it feels almost… sweet.

You swallow thickly, when his lips brush there. "I'm really not."

"It's rare." He chuckles, it's low and hoarse, the sound enough to make you cum at a time like this. "But when you are, it's only for me."

He sounds far too satisfied, but you don't question it when his palm finds your throat and he holds you down before pounding into you with a newfound rigor. It starts to build again, stronger than before and with each trust of his thick length, you move higher.

But you're not the only one lost in your own pleasure.

The man's movements turn erratic, and he buries his face into your chest while a thick stream of what you can only assume to be curses sit against your damp skin.

You explode before he does with a loud cry, arching your back and pushing your chest further into his face when his groan vibrates through you.

He doesn't stop though, and it's only after you're overstimulated with a dragged out orgasm, do you feel his length jerk and feel his come as he somehow manages to pull out and come all over your stomach.

You're utterly dazed as you watch the man come. His is head tipped back, his broad shoulders dropped and lips slightly parted as a sound you can only classify as a low moan escapes in a dragged out breath. His bare chest is gleaming in a layer of sweat, while the man himself looks far more powerful than any other you'd laid eyes on.

And when he gazes down at you, it's as though he's made you his. Part of you wants it, the other part is afraid of it. He drags his fingers across your stomach, coating them in his release before bringing them up to the seam of your lips and pushing them into your mouth. No hesitation. No permission.

It's so carnal and hot you can't help but lick his fingers clean, fueling that satisfied gleam until he pulls his fingers out and steps back and tucks himself back into his boxers, but doesn't bother to do up his slacks and belt as it sits open against his hips.

You can do nothing but lay there and watch as he reaches for a small white hand towel, wets it with warm water and uses it to clean your stomach, then another one for between your legs.

He's surprisingly gentle, and not surprisingly throughout, not missing an inch of skin. It's not long before he has you wearing his button up as he carries you bridal style to what you assumed was your room, but turned out to be his instead. Maybe you didn't have to fantasize about Sylus and you together, maybe he meant what he said.

And is if he can read the look on your face, he only says two words that reassure you, "You're mine."

#lads smut #lads mc #lads fanfic #lads x reader #l&ds #lads sylus #lads rafayel #lads caleb #lads #loveanddeepspace #love and deep space #lads zayne #lads xavier #smut #sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus smut

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plasticflowersinahistorycemetery · 2 months ago

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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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thelastofmel · 1 day ago

Text

Batmans and Robins

Jesse TLOU x F!READER

Warnings: pregnancy, contractions, active labor, cursing, mentions of blood, baby daddy!jesse, mentions of oral (female receiving)

Summary: Timing is everything...especially when you're pregnant in the apocalypse.

A/n: Ya'll I'm ovulating and needed baby daddy!Jesse like water. I'm just gonna keep writing and pretend that the next week's episode isn't actually happening...haha... :(

Word count: 8,064

Something woke you up.

You let out a huff, feeling extremely frustrated that, for what seemed like the millionth night in a row, you weren't able to stay asleep. You turn your head, glancing at the clock on the nightstand.

2:47am

The cool night air blew through the open window, billowing the curtains. The moonlight provided the only light in the dark room, bathing the empty bassinet just underneath the window in a white glow.

As if on queue, you felt a sharp kick under your rib and winced, moving your hand to the spot and rubbing gently. You were a couple weeks shy of 9 months and completely fed up with being pregnant.

To be fair, you had been fed up since your first trimester when you were vomiting up everything you ate and constantly nauseous.

Jesse waited on you, hand and foot, when he wasn't busy with patrols or the council.

Right after you'd found out you were pregnant, he had become the youngest member of the council and Tommy's right-hand man. It came with a lot of responsibilities and struggles, but he stuck around when you threatened his life and for the rough couple of weeks when the mere sight of him sent you into a rage.

You would scream at him and then cry hysterically when the fog would clear, and you realized just how mean you were being.

Of course, he didn't hold it against you, assuring you it was all normal. The emotional outbursts came with the territory, besides he was far too busy being obsessed with the idea of you carrying his baby to let anything bother him.

He'd been reading the books that Maria had given you, including a book called 'What To Expect When You're Expecting'. Anything he couldn't find in the books, would be answered by Tommy, the man he went to for all of life's questions.

You knew he was talking Tommy's ear off any chance he got. A handful of times you'd find them sat on your porch, Jesse with a list of questions and Tommy with a beer, trying his best to answer. It helped that Ben was only 5 years old, so all the memories of Maria throwing him out for breathing too close or her strange cravings were still fresh in his mind.

By your second trimester, the nausea had subsided, and you felt the glow that everyone talked about. You had your energy back, for the most part, and was able to return to your duties in the community, as much as Jesse would allow.

The guy had spies all over town and the second you attempted something like lifting a box or guiding a horse into a stall, you were stopped. You thought it was cute how much he cared.

At town parties he would dote on you, finding any excuse to touch your ever-growing bump.

At home he would give you massages or rub your feet, which always turned into something more. He opted for pleasuring you whenever he got the chance, having read that orgasms throughout the pregnancy could lessen the pain of childbirth. You weren't sure if it was true, but you weren't going to stop him.

Now nearing the end of your pregnancy, whatever comfort or sex drive you had, was completely gone. Your belly was protruding so far that you could barely see your feet, which were swollen and painful to walk on. Your whole body seemed to ache more and more each day making it damn near impossible to sleep.

The baby was running out of room inside you, and you were running out of patience.

You sighed, shifting slowly in bed, careful to not wake Jesse who was snoring quietly beside you. He'd become quite a light sleeper over the course of the last couple of months, always worried you might need something in the middle of the night.

When you finally managed to sit up against the headboard you pushed the messy hair off your face and reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. It was room temperature now, but still eased your dry throat.

Just as you set the glass back down, there was a gentle touch on your arm, followed by a deep, gravelly voice, "Are you okay baby?"

With the moonlight shining through you could see that he was propped up on his elbow, blinking at you. He'd had a long day of riding with Tommy; with the warm season coming there was more sightings of infected in the area.

"I'm okay," You whispered, moving your hand back to your belly as you felt a strange sensation in place of the baby's kicks, "Go back to sleep"

Intuitive as ever his hand followed, resting just below yours as his thumb rubbed soothingly across the fabric of the shirt that covered the large bump, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," You sighed, watching him yawn and feeling guilty for stirring him awake. "I'm just feeling some of tightness right here"

"Contractions?" He asked, voice cracking as he shifted slightly under the blanket, ready to bolt out of bed. He'd been nervous about the thought of you going into labor since the moment you told him you were pregnant.

"No—Well I don't think so," You replied, as the feeling began to dissipate. It's not like you had experience with it, but judging off what Maria had told you, that wasn't what a contraction would feel like, "It was just weird"

He listened intently, chewing on the inside of his cheek. After a moment he nodded, rubbing at his eyes, "Maybe it was braxton hicks, sort of like practice contractions to prepare you for labor"

"You've been spending way too much time reading those damn books," You teased, feeling his hand run along your thigh under the blanket, leaving a trail of goosebumps. You leaned over carefully, catching his expression before pressing your lips against his in a quick gentle kiss, "It doesn't matter, it's gone now"

Just was you were pulling away, he was leaning back in, chasing your lips. When he caught them again, he moved his slow against yours, savoring the taste of you in his tired state. You kissed him back, enjoying the way his tongue slipped into your mouth as he moved closer to you. You felt his hand slide to your inner thigh just as you pulled back, breaking the kiss again.

He made a sound deep in his throat that made you wish you weren't pregnant and had the energy to go all night with him. But instead you leaned over and whispered, "I'm going to get a snack"

Jesse moved to sit up then, more awake despite the yawn that escaped his lips, "I'll go with you"

"Jesse," You laughed, pressing your hand to his bare chest and pushing him back into the pillows, "You need to sleep, you have patrol in a couple hours"

He sighed, glancing at the clock on the side table, peering at you through heavy eyelids. It wouldn't be the first night that you snuck out of bed and hung out in the kitchen, eating anything you could get your hands on.

"You'll wake me if something happens?"

Your bare feet were already coming in contact with the cold wood floors before you hummed a response to him, softly closing the door behind you as you waddled out of the room.

The trek downstairs was proving to be quite difficult as you felt another tightening sensation, this time on the other side of your belly. By the time you made it to the bottom step it was gone again and all you could think about was how hungry you were.

You turned on the stove light, learning over the months that it provided just enough light for late night snacking.

You settled on a box of cookies that Dina had dropped off a couple days prior. She knew that the pregnancy had given you an extreme sweet tooth and proclaimed herself as your cookie dealer.

You took a bite, closing your eyes dramatically as the sweetness danced over your tastebuds. If Maria were standing in the room with you, she would have laughed at the sight. She'd been telling you about old wives tales over the last few months and claimed you would be having a girl. Craving sweets was one of the big indicators along with the fact that you were carrying high, but you would only roll your eyes at her.

You didn't have a preference. All you really hoped for was a fast delivery and a healthy baby. Jesse felt the same, of course, but you could tell he was partial to a girl.

You leaned against the counter as you took another bite, looking across the room to the window. It was still dark, but the moon was providing just as much light as it was through the upstairs window.

As you reached for another cookie in the dimly lit kitchen, you heard a creak on the old floorboard behind you. Spinning around to find Jesse entering the room as he pulled a dark shirt over his head.

"-Fuck, Jesse, didn't anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on a pregnant woman"

"Sorry," His voice was still thick and scratchy from sleep as he moved across the kitchen pulling the shirt over his toned stomach, "I don't like sleeping alone"

You smiled to yourself remembering all the late nights that Jesse would be on watch when the two of you had just begun dating. You would toss and turn for hours before deciding to climb up on the gates to be with him.

"You got another long day ahead of you," You scolded, through a mouthful of cookie, "You should really go to sleep"

He ignored you, moving to stand behind you and snake his arms around your waist. His hands spread across the bottom of your belly, where he carefully applied pressure upward, lifting it.

You melted against him immediately, leaning back against his chest. The position took some of the weight and strain off of your back and abdomen as he literally held your belly for you. It was something he did often after reading that the simple gesture could alleviate some of the discomfort you were feeling.

"I love when you do this" You mumbled, swallowing the last bite of your cookie.

He hummed against your neck, pressing a soft kiss to the skin there.

"What if you did this all day?" You joked as your eyes fluttered close, feeling your muscles relax.

His chest vibrated against your back when he let out a low laugh, "It's only been a couple minutes, and I can already feel it in my back"

"You better be glad you don't have to carry this thing around 24/7," You giggled, as you felt him press another kiss to the side of your neck, "Everything hurts all the time"

"I'm sorry baby" He cooed in your ear, making your knees go weak. It never failed to surprise how much you craved him, even as pregnant as you were. "You're almost there"

"I'm lookin' forward to not being pregnant anymore," You hummed, leaning your head back to rest on his shoulder as he swayed your bodies slowly, the motion doing wonders for your hips, "Can you lift higher?"

"I'll miss it," He spoke quietly against your ear as he repositioned his hands, doing as you asked, "You look so sexy pregnant"

You had to roll your eyes even as the blush crept over your cheeks. He was never shy about his attraction to you, especially ever since you'd gotten pregnant with his baby.

You felt a sudden movement under his hands, a flutter of what felt like an arm moving, "Did you feel that?"

He nodded, "Baby is really moving tonight huh?"

"That reminds me," You hummed, closing your eyes again enjoying the moment as he pressed kisses under your ear, "We should really figure out a name"

"Jesse Jr." He responds without hesitation, suppressing his laugh against your neck, "JJ for short, works for boy or girl"

You smack at his arm. The conversation of names had come up multiple times throughout your pregnancy and Jesse wasn't much help, "I'm being serious"

"You always are," Jesse mumbled, now burying his face into the crook of your neck, "I'm not good at names"

You giggled, squirming against him as he nibbled at your skin, "How about—fuck"

A sharp pain erupted from the bottom of your stomach where Jesse's big hands were still holding you. It shocked you, causing you to jerk away from him and clutch his hand on the spot.

"What is it?" He rushed, loosening his hold on and moving in front of you in a flash, "Talk to me baby"

"Shit" You groaned again, squeezing your eyes shut as another wave hit you. "I-I don't know, I think something's wrong"

"We need to get you to the doctor," He said quickly, looking around like a lost child before gathering his bearings, "Shoes, we need shoes"

The panic hit you as he left you alone in the room. There's no way this was normal, you were still weeks away from your estimated due date. You moved to support yourself against the counter but stopped short at the sound that made your blood run cold.

In the quiet of the night, you heard the all too familiar ringing of bells. One after the other, echoing through the town.

Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding.

Four bells.

Four bells meant infected.

"Jesse" You shouted, voice shaking as you stumbled your way to the door, fighting the aching pain as best as you could. The house was still dark, but you could see the outline of his back as he froze, hearing the same bells that you had.

When he heard you hiss out in pain behind him, he spun around seeing you leaned against the wall as another wave of tightening came. He snapped out of it, pulling his other boot on before rushing to your side and dropping to his knees.

His hands were moving fast and shaking slightly as he lifted your foot and placed it in the slip-on shoes you'd managed to wear for the duration of your pregnancy, "I swear to god if this is another drill, I'll kill Tommy"

Bang.

A shot sounded over the repeating bells and you both turned towards the window just in time to see a sudden burst of a red light against the dark sky.

Flare gun.

"Definitely not a drill" You said through gritted teeth as he stood. Tommy would never waste flares on a drill, not with all the sightings in the area.

"-Fuck" Jesse suddenly yelled, heading for the hall closet where he kept his gun.

You opened the door, watching as your neighbors sprinted towards town. In the distance you could hear yelling over the bells, presumably from the men who were stationed on the walls.

"We have to go," Jesse was next to you in an instant with his gun strap hanging off his shoulder, putting his hand against your back and holding your arm as he helped you down the porch steps and into the street.

The cool night air hit you in the face as you tried to walk as fast as you could, which wasn't fast enough. The plan that Tommy had drilled into each member of the communities heads was playing through your mind:

Young ones and old ones get underground, basements or cellars and shelter in place until told it's safe to come out. Everyone else go up, rooftops and 2nd stories with guns. If there is a breach, stay off the main roads.

"You need to find Tommy" You managed, out of breath and fully halting your steps when another intense pain sliced through your stomach. You would've dropped to the ground if Jesse hadn't been supporting you.

"Not until I get you somewhere safe" He had to shout so you would hear him over the chaos and the bells getting louder as you entered the town center.

"Jesse—" You gripped his bicep, nails digging in as you attempted to manage the pain you were feeling, "You're his 2nd you should—"

"I'm not leaving you out here" He cut you off, suddenly pulling your arm across his back so he could support your weight better and get you moving again.

Your head was spinning by the time you were both standing in the middle of town, the gates were being barricaded, and everyone was rushing around you. Jesse had loosened his hold you, turning in all directions trying to come up with a plan for you. You would need a doctor in whatever shelter you were in.

Just as he moved to hold you up against him again, you were crying out and holding your stomach with both hands. There was a weird sensation between your legs and your thighs suddenly felt wet.

You reached your hand below the long shirt you wore and immediately felt the liquid that was dripping from your underwear.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Uh— my water just broke"

When you raised your wet hand up to show him, he could see how badly you were shaking. "It's okay baby—Listen to me," He caught your face between his big hands forcing you to look at him but you couldn't focus, on the verge of a panic attack, "We need to get you off the street, okay?"

You nodded, even though you could barely hear what he was saying over the heartbeat pounding in your ears. All you saw was the color draining from his face and the way his eyebrows were pinched together. He disappeared from your field vision for a second before you felt yourself being lifted up off the ground.

He took off running once you were secure in his arms, heading away from the gates. The jostling only making what you now knew to be contractions worse. You must've cried out again because Jesse was pressing his cheek to your forehead, holding you high and tight against him muttering, "I know, I know"

You heard Tommy before you saw him. He was yelling and panicked, moving across the street and pointing to the gates.

Jesse ran straight for him. Before he could say anything, Tommy was shouting at him, "Jesse, where the hell you been? I need you with me now!"

"The baby is coming" Jesse pleaded, looking to Tommy who had become somewhat of a father figure to him over the years, "I don't know what to do— where's the doctor?"

Tommy looked at you then, as if being snapped back to reality. Wrapped up in Jesse arms with tears running down your cheeks. He watched as your face twisted and you winced at another contraction, clutching your stomach. Then all at once he locked in, "Follow me, Maria took Ben to the cellar under the restaurant, she can help"

Suddenly, you were being jostled in Jesse arms again as he followed after Tommy. Past his head you could see the twinkling stars scattered all across the dark sky and the full moon that hung, shining down and lighting up the streets.

"How many infected?" Jesse rushed out, keeping up with Tommy as best as he could as they turned the corner.

"Too many"

Tommy's words hung in the air, amidst the chaos and yelling. You felt Jesse's fingers curl against you tighter.

Another contraction came and you balled the front of his shirt up in a fist, as you counted through it, just like Maria had taught you. He was breathing hard as they turned the final corner to the restaurant, "Just breathe through it, okay baby, just like we practiced"

You would've laughed if you hadn't been grinding your teeth together, pretty sure whatever practice you'd done would be useless at this point.

A horde of infected attacking the town was not exactly in your birth plan.

Before Tommy burst through the doors of the restaurant he was already screaming for Maria, who appeared at the doorway of the cellar toward the back of the building. She was ushering in the kids and elderly down to the cellar when her head snapped in the direction of her husband.

"Can you help?" Jesse asked, voice breaking as he approached her with you still gripping onto his shirt.

She didn't ask questions, only moved to the side so Jesse could enter. He moved down the steps carefully, clutching you tight to him. You could hear his heart beating in loud thumps against his chest.

The cellar was cold and damp, filled with people and crying children. Maria guided him as he lowered you to the ground, onto a mat that she had rolled out only seconds prior. You grunted in pain and the moment you left his grasp you were reaching out for his hand, squeezing it tightly as he knelt beside you.

"How far apart are the contractions?" She was talking to you now, coming to her knees at your feet.

"5 minutes" You say at the same time you feel Jesse's lips against the skin of your hand, echoing your words. You weren't sure how he had managed to count the contractions with you as all the chaos ensued around him, but it made you smile despite the pain in your abdomen.

Maria nodded, curtly as she moved your knees apart, "I'm going to take a look"

You were thankful that you'd only been wearing one of Jesse's shirts and underwear on this night, thinking of how much effort it would take to remove pajama pants in your current state. Her hands were freezing as she moved your soaked underwear down your trembling legs.

"This isn't what I had in mind—" You attempted to make a joke but your voice cracked, exposing just how scared you were.

Jesse brought his other hand down over your forehead that was slick with sweat and pushed your hair back.

"I know," He leaned down to press his lips against your skin, "It's gonna be okay, just breathe"

"This baby is coming" Maria spoke quickly, moving to kneel beside Jesse. "It won't be long now"

"What about the doctor?" You asked, eyes pinching shut as another contraction hits you. You cry out, digging your nails into Jesse's hand as he tries to comfort you through it.

"This baby isn't gonna wait for a doctor," Maria sighed, looking to Jesse, "I can deliver it but if there's any complications I don't know—"

"—We trust you" You breathed, opening your eyes and looking at the two of them at your side, "I trust you, Maria, please just help me"

It was all the confirmation she needed as she stood, instructing some of the women behind her on what she needed to assist you with this birth.

But you couldn't hear her, too distracted by the way Tommy was screaming for Jesse at the top of the stairs, "We need to go now, that horde is only a couple clicks out"

"I'm not leaving her" Jesse screamed back, running a hand over his face. The cellar became quiet aside from your heavy breathing and the sound of stairs creaking as more children filed in. Everyone knew Jesse was Tommy's right hand man, he'd earned the position after years of proving himself. To see them now, screaming at each other was shocking.

"Son, listen to me," Tommy must've moved down the stairs because he was louder now, "I know you want to be here but you can't help her"

Jesse had his full attention on you, as if he couldn't hear a thing Tommy was saying. But you could.

"He's right," Maria was back, moving beside Jesse and putting a rolled up blanket under your head as a sort of pillow, "You can do more out there"

He still didn't budge, only staring at you with his hand holding yours tight as his other moved up and down your arm, an attempt at calming you.

"Jesse, if those fuckers get in here we are all as good as dead," Tommy shouted, turning to head back up the stairs, "—including her and the baby"

He flinched at the words. His fingertips halting on your arm. The sounds of yelling and bells floating down the steps and echoing off the walls as Tommy ran out of the restaurant.

"Jesse" You whined, attempting to sit yourself up, only to be ushered back down by Maria.

"I'm staying right here," He moved his hands to your cheeks, wiping at your tears and speaking slow and clear to you, "I want to stay with you"

Maria had disappeared again, muttering about needing water and giving you some sliver of privacy in the over capacitated room.

"I'm scared and I want you to stay with me," You blurted out, feeling fresh tears slide past your red cheeks and collect on his fingers. You placed your hand on top of his as you winced, "—But I need you to go"

He shook his head incessantly, and you felt his thumb moving on your skin.

"Tommy's right—," You croaked, feeling your heart ache, "If you want to protect us, this baby, then you need to fight"

You moved your head slightly to get a grip on yourself, Jesse would never believe you if you kept crying the way that you were. You needed to be strong, to show him that you didn't need him; even if you did.

"There's no point in any of this if we all end up dead, right?" You attempt a light hearted laugh but your nerves have you choking back more tears instead.

He suddenly shifts on his knees moving in to press a kiss to your lips. It's desperate and feverish. As passionate as it could be in the moment, being in active labor. Your hand cards through his hair and you make a sound against his lips when you feel another shooting pain start.

"You've got a lot to fight for" You managed a smile, moving his hand to your stomach when he pulled away. "We'll be okay"

"I love you" He mutters, pressing another kiss to your lips and then again to your forehead.

"Don't die"

Jesse gave you a tight lipped smile as he stood up fully. He adjusted his gun strap on his shoulder, "I'll be back"

"She's in good hands," Maria was back, moving to your side again, nudging Jesse away carefully, "Go now Jesse"

He disappeared in a blink of an eye. You could hear him running up the stairs and the cellar door shutting behind him. The sound of the lock deafening.

"Okay sweetie, are you ready for this?"

•

In a matter of minutes, the town of Jackson was at war. From the cellar you could hear the muffled gun fire and yelling. You tried to focus as Maria checked you again, "It's almost time to start pushing"

The sound of firing was not helping your nerves especially knowing that Jesse was out there in the middle of it. Luckily, you had quite the distraction.

An older woman, Karen, was wiping your forehead with a damp cloth, trying to keep the fever that had developed away. On either side of your legs were two women who had recently given birth, holding your legs as you trembled.

"Maria I don't think I can do this" You cried, already feel exhausted despite not actively pushing.

"You can" She encouraged, gently moving your legs up so your knees were bent getting you in the right position, "You're already doing so good"

You squeezed your eyes shut, becoming ultra aware of the concrete floor and the pain spreading through your lower back. Any effort of grounding yourself ended the second Jesse went out the cellar door.

"Just remember to breathe—" She said, her voice soft, against the sudden sound of an explosion.

"What was what?" You say body lurching at the sound, but the women on either side of you, held you in place.

"Look at me," Maria spoke again, catching your attention, "Let's just focus on you and the baby right now okay?"

You nodded, propping yourself up on your elbows and gritting your teeth hard as another surge hit.

"I want you to listen to your body, it's gonna tell you when to push okay? We are going to let this happen naturally"

"This doesn't feel very natural" You groaned, throwing your head back.

"It's the most natural thing in the world" One of the women near your head cooed, giving you a sip of water.

"I don't know about that" You muttered, feeling like your body might split in two as the burning sensation intensified. "Nothing comes natural to me"

"Motherhood will"

You felt the tears falling again at the words of encouragement.

You'd never thought you'd be here.

Obviously not, currently here: in a cellar giving birth as your town is attacked by a horde of killing machines and your baby daddy is in danger of being ripped apart or infected.

But in general.

You'd never thought you'd make a good mother, the thought of having children never even crossed your mind. When you first showed up in Jackson you were a broken, scared girl. You'd done and experienced things on the outside that haunted you, even to this day. You swore you would never curse another being with living in this fucked up world and you'd never let your guard down again. It was something you held onto even as the cramped trailer pulled into the heart of Jackson.

You had managed to keep to yourself for all of five days before you were introduced to a particularly tall guy who immediately struck you as a good guy.

And not one of those guys who pretends to be a good guy to get what they want or to impress someone, but a genuine good guy. You admired him.

Cut to a couple months and many patrols later, you'd decided that you liked Mr. Good Guy. You liked his dorky jokes and the things he'd taught you about life. He easily jumped over all of the remaining walls you had left standing until there was nothing left to hide.

Life was good.

Mr. Good Guy finally made a move on you after months and months of subtle hints and flirty banter. And the relationship snowballed from there.

The two of you had talked about children and babies in casual manners. Jesse enjoyed volunteering as a coach for the limited amount of sports that Jackson offered, finding fulfillment in creating bonds with the young generation and being a role model. You'd go along and watch him in his element as kids jumped on his back and giggled at his jokes, stomach fluttering at how much of a natural he was with them.

You'd never been that way with kids, even after being settled into Jackson for as long as you had.

Often times he'd bring it up after the two of you had sex, lying sprawled out with you on his chest and heaving heavy breaths. Hypothetical questions and what ifs. It surprised you that he even pondered the idea, but then again Jackson was safe and lot of members were having babies.

You'd been rocking the pull out method for the entirety of your relationship and it worked like a charm, but you'd learned it wasn't always the best method considering you'd fallen pregnant after about eight months of dating.

You didn't bother trying to hide it, you couldn't after you realized you'd been about 2 months late. You had experienced some nausea and vomiting but assumed it was a stomach bug that you couldn't kick and Jesse magically avoided. With the hustle and bustle of Jackson and all the tasks you just simply not noticed when you didn't bleed.

Jesse had came into the house after a long day on patrol and found you curled in a ball on the bed, hysterically crying. He held you, trying as best as he could to calm you down. And eventually you did. Hours later you were curled up against him on the bed while he played with your hair and peppered you with kisses. He validated your fears and listened intently as you articulated your feelings about the situation. He had talked about the future in a way that made you feel hopeful. That night as he drifted off to sleep with his arms wrapped tight around your frame, the realization hit you that you didn't mind having a child as long as he was with you on the journey.

Of course, now, in present day you were alone. And the gunfire had yet to cease. And you didn't know if Jesse was alive or dead.

You screamed out as you pushed, feeling like hours had passed and time was dragging on. You were doing as Maria said, listening to your body but it proved difficult as the pain was nearly too much to bare.

"I want Jesse" You cried for the 15th time as the labor progressed, clutching the arms of the women who had joined to help, "I can't do this without him"

You were exhausted and the dusty air in the cellar was wearing on your lungs.

"I know sweetie," Maria was between your legs, popping her head up to coach you. When she appeared this time she rubbed your shaking knees, "And I know it hurts but you're almost there, give me two more big pushes, okay?"

You screamed again, bearing down and pushing hard, so hard that your head began to spin. If you weren't currently writhing in pain you might've felt bad for all the other people in the cellar having to listen to you.

"Push, push —"

Another scream came as you continued to try before falling back onto the small amount of padding behind your head, "–fuck, I can't"

"You have to" Maria shouted, trying to be calm but failing due to the stress, "I can see the babies head, just two more really big pushes"

You groaned trying to reposition yourself as you caught your breath, feeling a tiny hand slide over your right hand that was clutching tight to the blanket.

When you rolled your head to the side you could see Ben, Maria and Tommy's son, was sitting criss cross apple sauce beside you. His too big superhero pajamas enveloping his little body as he gave you a sweet smile.

You couldn't remember if he had been there the whole time, but he was there now, present in the moment and squeezing the top of your hand twice before picking up your hand and making you hold his little one.

"You can squeeze my hand as hard as you want, I'm strong like the hulk" His little voice calming you in a way you didn't expect. You nodded at him through the heavy breathing and another shooting pain.

He watched, eyes wide as you cry out again, the contractions trying their best to coax you through this last stage. You gave his hand a small squeeze, one that you could control and watched him beam with a smile, "See, it's doesn't hurt me"

You're sure you looked crazy smiling at him, sweat and tears keeping your face red and wet.

"Okay babe, here we go, let's do this" Maria coached again, voice shaking slightly.

You did as she said, actively remembering that your right hand was holding a small child's and using your left hand to dig into the adult woman's hand.

Another scream echoed through the cellar and you were panting like a dog by the time it was over. "Give me one last big, big push girl you got this—"

You sobbed in response, quite literally feeling like you may rip in two if you make one more move. The gunfire still echoed from above and you felt helpless.

What if Jesse is dead? What if the infected get in here and everyone dies? What if there's no point in any of this?

At this point Maria's voice felt miles away. And you felt like you were going to pass out from the exertion.

You moved to look at Ben again who was holding a Batman action figure, old with the paint fading and cape torn, clearly well loved in its years before the infected came. His little hand wavering slightly as he held him out to you.

"Batman can help"

Did you believe the 5 year old? Of course not. Did you take Batman in your sweaty hand and squeeze him anyway? Fuck yes.

"I need you to give it your all"

Your all was given about an hour ago when you started pushing. But still you beared down again, grinding teeth and sharp breaths sending spit flying onto your shirt. You clutched tightly to Batman and squeezed your eyes shut.

You were screaming so loud that you couldn't hear when Maria was talking again, you had thrown your head back again, gasping for air when you heard the glorious sound.

The smallest little cry that erupted made the room go quiet. The chatter of others silencing as a collective sigh was released.

You brought your hand up to your face, crying freely against it as you listened to the sound. A sound that you never thought would bring you so much comfort.

Two of the women helped prop you up against a crate with the blanket behind you as Maria appeared at your side, "She's beautiful"

A girl.

She had her wrapped up in a dark blanket, as she motioned for you to take her. When she transferred the baby to your arms you finally got to look at her.

She was covered in birth, bloody and white pieces stuck in her little black hairs. She was small but she looked healthy with chubby little cheeks. Her little fingers were spread, moving slowly as she became accustomed to being outside of you.

"Hi there pretty girl," You cooed, crying right along with her as you held her up to your chest, rocking ever so slightly, her whimpering continuing, "I know, I know"

You pressed your chapped lips to her small head, humming quietly as the women around you helped Maria and got you more comfortable as you delivered the placenta. But you barely noticed, too wrapped up in your own world.

"What's her name?" Ben asked, still sitting beside you on the floor, leaning over slightly to look at the new baby without getting in your space.

"I dunno" You let out a euphoric sigh as you counted her fingers and toes,"What do you think?"

"Well—" He started without a second thought, moving to his knees and leaning carefully against your shoulder to get a better look, "What about Batman?"

"Ben—" Maria started as she cleaned you up, rolling her eyes at her son, but you cut her off, smiling at the little boy.

"I don't know if her daddy will like that name very much" You adjust slightly so he can get a good look at her face, "Is there another name you can think of?"

Ben giggles, bringing his finger to his chin in a mock thinking position, "What about Robin?"

Your heart jumped at the name, you'd heard it before.

"Who's Robin?"

Ben took a breath, surprised at your little-to-no knowledge of superhero's, "Robin is Batman's side kick, he's brave and strong and has superhuman agility—"

It was also the name of Jesse's late mother. Of course, you had never met her but Jesse had told you countless stories. You couldn't believe you'd never thought about the name before.

"I love that name Ben" You cut him off from his spiel of Batman and Robin lore, reaching out and handing him the Batman toy that you had forgotten after the final push.

"Do you think Jesse will like it?" Ben was leaving your side to jump excitedly near his mom who had just covered you with a blanket after cleaning you up.

"I think he will love it"

•

Hours passed and there had still been no one to come and say that it was safe to come out. The gunfire was spread out now, every couple of minutes a new shot ringing out. No one inside the cellar could figure out what that meant.

You focused on the baby, successfully getting her to latch with some help from Maria. It felt so natural having her there on your chest that you had a hard time remembering any of the pain you'd just gone through.

You smiled to yourself, leaning your head back against the wall as your eyes became heavy, blinking a couple times to awake yourself up.

"You did great momma," Maria praised, pushing the hair back behind you as she crouched down, behind her Ben was playing with Batman next to a kid with a toy car, "You should get some rest"

"No I'm okay," You shook your head as if it would fling the drowsiness away, "I wanna stay awake until Jesse is back"

"I know," Maria couldn't hide the pity in her eyes as she looked over you and the baby. She knew how you felt, not knowing if Tommy was okay or not, "How about you just rest your eyes?"

"Promise to wake me when they're back?" Eyes already closing as you positioned yourself to lean against a crate as you held the baby.

You were drifting off before Maria could even respond.

•

When you woke up again you heard hushed voices and the cellar was much quieter than before you'd fallen asleep. You moved carefully, feeling the baby breathing against your chest.

When you opened your eyes you saw Ben jumping around the now empty cellar, not a care in the world. He was talking louder than the others, telling a story about Batman saving the day.

Your eyes shot open as you realized everyone was gone. When you leaned up you could see Maria, Tommy and Jesse.

Jesse.

He had his arms crossed over his broad chest, fingers drumming nervously on his skin as he listened to Maria talk.

He must've heard you move against the crate because he was leaving the married couple and rushing to your side.

As he came into full view you felt a sense of pure relief wash over you at the sight of him so close again. He set his gun down on the ground before crouching down in front of you.

"Hi" He breathed, eyes locked on you before falling to the blanket in your arms.

"Hey"

"Are you okay?" His hand slid against your cheek, cradling your face. You leaned into it, feeling the warmth in the otherwise cool cellar.

You nodded, pursing your lips as you sat up slightly, still feeling a little rough. You glanced at him as he moved to sit at your side. He watched intently as you pulled the blanket down exposing the face of the tiny human.

"You did so good" He gushed, reaching out to touch her tiny hand, before looking to you and pressing a kiss to your severely chapped lips, "You're amazing"

His doting always made you feel like a love sick teenager. But now, the way he admired you and the baby, it made your heart soar.

"Jesse, do you wanna hold your daughter?"

"Daughter?" He blinked, absorbing what you said, staring at the baby in your arm before looking back to you. You nodded, tears pricking your eyes as you watched him hold his arms out.

When you set her in his arms he nearly melted against the wall, moving carefully to get her cozy against him.

You didn't have to coach him on how to hold her, Jesse was an expert on holding babies, making visits to little newborns whenever Tommy announced a new birth in the town.

For the first time since you'd given birth to her, your hands were free and you were able to sit up fully next to him.

"Hi baby," He whispered, rocking her ever so gently, "My girl, it's nice to finally meet you"

You were able to fully look at him without the distraction of the baby in your arms. He looked like hell and smelt of smoke. The shirt that he'd been wearing when he came downstairs so many hours before, was now torn with a large hole near the bottom. His hair was messy and he had new cuts and bruises across his visible skin.

Tommy and Maria appeared in front of you two, watching fondly as Jesse cooed to her.

"You did good kiddo" Tommy smiled, reaching out to ruffle your already messy hair. He looked just as rough as Jesse, blood stains on his flannel shirt and a slight limp when he walked. "She picked one helluva night to come"

"I couldn't have done it without Maria" You smiled, leaning back against the wall next to Jesse so you could peer over at your baby.

"A girl born under a full moon and an attack of infected," Maria hummed, with Tommy's arm draped over her, "This one will keep you on your toes"

You smiled at that, forgetting that all those hours ago that you saw the full moon up on the night sky.

There was a moment of silence that fell in the cellar and you glanced up the stairs where the sun was peeking through the windows of the restaurant and spilling down into the room.

"How did we do?"

Tommy opened his mouth to respond before Jesse was stopping him, looking up at him and then to you, "I'll tell you all about it later"

It was Jesse's way of not ruining the moment. Your moment. He just wanted to enjoy this.

"What did you name her?" Jesse asked, changing the subject as she began to move her fingers around his thumb.

"Oh—Oh!" Ben suddenly entered the conversation, running at full speed across the cellar floor to Jesse, before Tommy caught him and picked him up off the ground, "Can I tell him?"

"Yes Ben, you tell him" You smiled, bringing your hand to Jesse's bicep and impatiently waiting for the little boy to speak.

"So you know Batman right?" Ben asked, hanging from his father's shoulders as he spoke.

Jesse nodded, looking between you and the kid with a puzzled look. Probably wondering what Batman villain Ben had talked you into.

Penguin? Poison ivy? The joker?

"Well he has a sidekick, his name is Robin and he goes around helping Batman fight al—"

Jesse's head snapped to you, finally piecing it together as Ben continued to talk, now hanging upside down from his father's grasp.

"Really?"

"Really," You smiled, cheeks growing sore at the motion. "After your mom"

"—and Batman's sidekick" Ben hollered as Maria and Tommy moved up the stairs to give you some privacy.

You shook your head, giggling at the little boy before you turned back to Jesse who was staring at you with a look you didn't fully recognize.

"What's wrong?"

"I should've been here," Jesse sniffled, moving his head in the other direction where the bloody blankets lay in the corner, "You were scared and you needed me here—"

"You kept us safe" You insisted calmly, hand rubbing slowly on his arm, noticing a large bruise forming that you would ask about later, "All that matters is that you're here now"

He looked back at you, tears staining his cheeks as he continued to cradle Robin in his arms. You didn't let him speak again, worried he would continue to beat himself up. Instead you moved in to kiss him again, tasting the saltiness of his tears as his lips moved against yours.

The kiss covered everything that needed to be said. The fear, the regret, the happiness.

You giggled against his lips when the sound of Robin fussing echoed around the room.

"She's very talkative" You pressed a kiss to his neck before turning your attention to her as Jesse rocked her, falling perfectly into dad mode.

"She's perfect" He sighed, admiring her features as he run a light finger over her forehead.

"She is," You moved closer to rest your head against his shoulder, both of you staring down adoringly at the little one, "I can't believe she's ours"

He rested his head against yours, a sound of complete relief falling from his lips.

"Oh and by the way, that thing you read about orgasming during the pregnancy is false"

"Huh?" Jesse chuckled, looking up from Robin.

"You know, when you said orgasming would help with labor or whatever," You lifted your head to look at him, "It didn't help, like at all"

"Oh—" Jesse's eyes got big as he realized what you were referring to, "I never read that anywhere"

"What?" You laughed, smacking at his leg as to not disturb your baby.

"I just like eating you out"

#jesse the last of us #jesse tlou #the last of us #tlou hbo #tlou2 #young mazino #hbo max #isabela merced #joel tlou #the last of us hbo #x reader #x y/n

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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 · 6 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.

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