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v3lv3ttt · 8 days ago

Text

In The Dark

𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚠𝚘𝚗 𝚡 𝚅𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

↪ don't come at me for inaccuracies okay I haven't read the webtoon for Decelis academy so I'm making my own lmao also dont ask how many times this was rewritten i will cry this took me 4 days

↪ hayoon changes personalities for some reason idk don't ask me i love her anyway this is nawt proof read. cross posted on a03 2/lonefloric and wattpad 2/lonefloric

↪ female reader, pale used meaning sick not white, sorta angsty w/ happy ending

↪ WC: 11k

(Full Name).

You stared at the nameplate on the door, dread blooming in your chest: room 207, your new dorm at Decelis Academy. The brass numbers were polished, almost gleaming in the late afternoon sun, and yet you couldn’t shake the feeling they were glaring back at you.

A cold reminder that this was real. That you were here, starting over again.

Slowly, you stepped into the room, pulling your small suitcase behind you. It had a few things, some clothes, and old books in different languages—a neatly made bed tucked into the far corner. A modest desk, already slightly scratched from obvious years of use.

The closet door stood ajar, revealing a small dresser and a narrow hanging rod—enough space for someone who didn’t plan to stay long. You left the suitcase at the closet door, adjusting your gloves. They were tight against your skin, the fabric thin but necessary. Always necessary.

Sunlight seeped through the half-open curtains as the sun began to set, the sun's rays hitting your face, causing you to hiss in sudden pain. It felt like acid had been splashed on you. Instinctively, you grabbed the curtains and yanked them closed, your room going completely dark.

You let out a shaky breath, pressing a gloved hand to your face. The cool air against your burned skin offered some relief, but your heart still pounded. Stupid. You should’ve been more careful. You hadn’t noticed how low the sun had dipped and how it shone right through the window.

The door slammed open, an excited squeal came from behind you, and fast footsteps approached. You froze as two hands clamped down on your arms and spun you around, coming face-to-face with a girl. She was practically vibrating, dressed in a school uniform and low pigtails that bounced with each movement. Her enthusiasm made you physically recoil, which barely happened due to how tightly she was holding on to your arms.

“You must be the new girl! I’m Hayoon! I live across the hall. I was so excited when I heard someone new was moving in.” She spoke so fast you could barely understand her. “Though it's weird, it's the middle of the year, but who cares! We’re gonna be best friends, I can feel it!”

You stared wide-eyed at the younger girl who kept animatedly chatting and bouncing in her shoes. “Um.. can you let go?”

Her eyes became wide, and she let go immediately, “I’m sorry! I get overly excited sometimes. I’m just excited you're finally here. I’ve been waiting all day.” She laughed, embarrassed, a red flush taking over her face.

You stepped back, putting space between the two of you. Hayoon stared at you silently, her eyes scanning your face. Nervously, you adjusted your gloves out of habit as her eyes took in every detail of your face.

“Whoa…” she whispered, awe creeping into her voice. “You’re… like… really pretty. Like a porcelain doll.”

“... thanks?” you replied slowly. That was a first. You had never been compared to a doll before.

“Where’d you move from? We don’t usually get new students in the middle of the year. Did something happen? Are you, like, running away from something? Ooh, are you hiding a big secret? Wait... if you were, you probably wouldn’t tell me…”

You hesitated, thinking how to answer her without giving anything away. “Just a small town… really small. You wouldn’t know it.” She nodded, seemingly satisfied with your answer.

You shook your head. “No, thank you. I can manage myself.”

“Aww, I wouldn’t mind, really! It’d be fun, we could-”

“I said no.” Your tone was sharper this time, cutting her off. A pout began forming on her lips, “I’d prefer to be left alone now.”

“But—”

“Leave,” you said, voice cold.

Hayoon’s eyes widened, looking like she might cry. Without a word, she nodded and slipped out the door, quietly shutting it behind her. The room fell silent again. You had a feeling that was not the last time you would see Hayoon.

And it wasn’t.

The next morning, she was waiting outside your door.

“Good morning!” she chirped, clearly unbothered by yesterday’s events. “I thought we could walk together.”

You stared at her blankly, ignoring her as you turned and began walking away. But she followed you anyway, happily chatting about her classes she hated and school rumors. Information you did not care to listen to, let alone even remember.

Eventually, she had to head off to her classes, which were down a different hall since she was a grade below you. Before skipping off, she cheerfully announced that she’d catch up with you after class. You hoped not, and that she would finally take the hint that you wanted nothing to do with her.

Class passed in a blur. You didn’t bother making eye contact with anyone. Didn’t speak unless called on. Nobody tried talking to you; instead, they stared, intrigued by a new kid in the middle of the semester.

But when you stepped out of the classroom doors, Hayoon was waiting for you again, this time she was not alone.

She waved excitedly, grabbing your hand and dragging you toward three boys who stood casually leaning against a wall. “Y/Nie! Come meet my older brother and his friends!”

Your brow twitched in mild irritation. Y/Nie?

“This is Jay,” she said proudly, gesturing to a tall boy with a quiet demeanor. “He's my older brother. And this is Jungwon,” she continued, pointing at a slightly shorter boy with cat-like features and dyed blonde hair. He nodded at you, expression unreadable. A sharp pang hit your chest. “And this,” she gestured to the last boy with sleek black hair, “is Sunoo.” He gave you a lopsided grin and waved.

You glanced over the three boys, ignoring how intensely Jungwon was staring at you and how your chest hurt.

“Hayoon,” Jay said, his voice calm but with a hint of warning. “Did you ask if she wanted to meet us before dragging her over?”

Hayoon blinked. “Well… no. But-”

“No, I don’t. Let me go, now.” Her eyes went wide again, and the energy around her faltered.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, letting go of your hand.

You turned to leave, ignoring the awkward silence that followed. You could feel the weight of their stares on your back as you left. The hallway felt never-ending as you tried to find a calm spot with no one else around. Your mind kept replaying the scene with Hayoon. That sudden, unwelcome rush of people. Her excited face. The boys - especially Jungwon with his unreadable expression and the feeling of pain in your chest. They all looked at you like you were something unfamiliar, almost like they already knew what you were.

I don’t belong here.

You could already tell Hayoon wasn’t going to give up easily. There was something about her. A relentless optimism that could wear you down if you weren’t careful. You would need to keep your distance from her moving forward.

Eventually, you found the library. It was quieter here, a small island of peace in the otherwise bustling school. The air smelled of aged paper and dust, muffled footsteps echoing on thick carpeting. Rows of towering shelves stretched endlessly in all directions.

You wandered until you found an empty study room near the back. The light inside blinked every so often. Still, it was quiet. Safe.

You sank into the worn leather chair and pulled out the book you'd started the night before. But the words didn’t seem to make sense anymore. The familiar language on the pages blurred as your mind wandered. Your fingers tightened around the spine of the book, and a strange chill crawled up your spine.

Your mind kept drifting. The lines blurred, their meanings slipping through your grasp like fog. You tightened your gloved fingers around the book’s spine, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. A chill crept up your arms, unprovoked, thin and sharp like a breeze that shouldn’t exist in this sealed, silent space.

Then you could hear footsteps faintly.

Light. Careful. Still too loud in a place like this.

You stiffened as the door creaked from being pushed open.

You didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

“Hey.”

You closed the book, looking at the younger girl. Hayoon had appeared in front of you, her usual energetic smile faltering as she saw the look on your face. She sat down beside you without asking, the space between you feeling suddenly too small. You wanted to get up and move away. Strangely, you didn’t.

“I’m not here to bother you,” she added, eyes flickering to your book. “I promise. I just… I like the library, too. It’s quiet. Feels like you can actually hear yourself think in here.”

You stared at her, wondering again why she kept showing up. Why she wasn’t afraid of you? Why didn’t she flinch at your coldness, your warning tone, your guarded distance?

"I just… wanted to apologize," she said, twisting her hands in her lap, the cheerfulness replaced by a more subdued tone. "I know I kind of, um, rushed things yesterday... and today, too. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable."

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you just stared at the table, trying to decide whether it was worth responding.

Hayoon waited, her gaze fixed on her hands. For once, she wasn’t talking. The silence between you wasn’t hostile, just uncertain.

“…You’re persistent,” you finally said, voice low. Your gloved fingers brushed over the rough edges of your book cover.

Hayoon looked up, hope flickering in her eyes. “I get that a lot,” she smiled, small, shy, but real. “My brother says I don’t know how to give up. Or shut up.”

“He’s not wrong.”

“I won’t talk if you don’t want me to,” she said quietly, taking out her notebook and flipping it open. “You can read. I’ll just sit here to keep you some company.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence. Just the soft scratch of her pencil, and the pages of your book as you tried to focus again. You didn’t feel cornered this time.

Strangely… you didn’t even feel annoyed, but you still didn’t trust her.

After a few minutes of silence, Hayoon looked at you more directly. Her voice was softer. “You’re not like the others here.”

You didn’t answer.

She hesitated. “That’s not a bad thing.”

Your gaze flicked to her, sharp. “You don’t know what I am.”

Hayoon blinked, clearly surprised at the wording. “You’re right. I don’t. But you don’t seem… bad. Just lonely.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. “Lonely, huh.”

Hayoon nodded solemnly. “Yeah. I can tell.”

She tapped the end of her pencil against her notebook and gave a small shrug. “It’s not hard to notice when you’ve felt it, too.”

You stared at her, the bitterness still lingering on your tongue. “What would you know about being lonely?”

Hayoon didn’t flinch. She simply looked at you, quiet, grounded, and honest.

“A lot more than I let people think,” she murmured, barely above a whisper.

The overhead light buzzed faintly and flickered once before steadying. You frowned, not at the light, but at the odd tension pressing in behind your eyes. The familiar anxiety of getting too close to someone setting in. That feeling of being too aware of your surroundings. Like something inside you was stretching, stirring just beneath the surface.

Hayoon didn’t notice. She had gone back to scribbling in her notebook, her pencil scratching softly against the paper.

Your pulse quickened.

Then, again, that sensation. Not a sound, not a voice - just a thought, sudden and intrusive, like a warning bubbling up from inside your own head.

I shouldn’t be here.

Not the school. Not the library. Not with Hayoon. Not here pretending to be normal.

Your chest tightened, and it became hard to breathe.

“Y/N?” Hayoon’s voice broke through the tension. You looked up, startled by how loud your own thoughts had become. She was watching you now, eyes wide. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

You forced a nod, even as your fingers trembled slightly on the edge of the book. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just… tired.”

You stood up quickly, the chair screeching across the floor. Hayoon jumped.

“Huh-?”

“I need to go.” You grabbed the book, cradling it close.

She started to rise. “Wait, don’t-”

But you were already at the door, pushing it open and stepping out into the empty library. The air felt heavier here, the scent of old paper sharp against your nose. It felt less suffocating than the study room.

You kept moving until the rows of shelves fell behind you, replaced by soft conversations and the rustle of students passing by. The weight in your chest didn’t disappear, but it dulled. You rounded a corner and nearly collided with someone.

“Whoa.” Jungwon stepped back, steadying himself. His hand had instinctively come up to your shoulder, but dropped the moment he got a good look at your face. “Hey…”

You froze. His dark eyes flicked between your face, your clenched jaw, and the book clutched tightly to your chest.

He glanced past you into the library, where Hayoon stood looking confused and worried.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, voice low.

“Fine,” you replied stiffly, “I didn’t mean to scare her.” You tried to brush past him, but Jungwon shifted slightly, just enough to keep you from rushing out. You inhaled sharply through your nose in irritation. His scent was warm and vibrant, hitting your nose. Your stomach twisted at the scent. He smelled delicious.

“Scare who?” His voice broke you from your hungry thoughts.

You met his eyes. The sheer calm in them was infuriating.

“It’s just been a long day.” You glared slightly at the boy.

“Y/N!” Hayoon’s voice called faintly from the library door. “You don’t have to leave-” She caught up to you and Jungwon, standing beside you. “I just didn’t know if something was wrong.”

You glanced at her. She meant well. They both did. But kindness like theirs could be dangerous for them and you.

Jungwon noticed the way your grip tightened on the book and nodded toward it. “That from class?”

You shook your head. “No. Just something old. Family stuff.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. “Are you heading out?”

You gave a small nod. “Yeah. I just need air.”

He nodded, stepping aside, finally letting you pass.

I shouldn’t be here.

The familiar feeling crawled up your spine.

I don’t belong here.

“I’ll see you later?” Jungwon asked, slightly tilting his head.

“No,” you said quietly.

Jungwon’s brows furrowed slightly. “Why not?”

You didn’t turn around. “Because it’s better that way.”

Then you left. Not in a rush, but deliberately. You felt his gaze on your back. You felt Hayoon’s confusion. Their concern. It clung to you like smoke.

But you didn’t stop.

Because you couldn’t afford to let them close.

Because you were hungry and you'd gone too long pretending you weren’t.

You didn’t stop walking. Your grip on the book was almost bruising now. Finally, you reached your room—207. The door clicked shut behind you, and you leaned against it, exhaling shakily. You could still feel them. Their eyes. Their confusion. Their care.

It was unbearable.

You dropped the book on the desk, pulled off your gloves with shaking hands, and pressed your bare palms to the edge of the wooden surface. Your reflection in the small mirror across the room stared back at you—colorless, strained. Your eyes had darkened again. Not from tiredness but from hunger.

You clenched your jaw, turning away from the mirror and pulling the curtains tighter. Just in case.

You couldn’t afford to slip. Not here. Not when someone like Jungwon was already paying too much attention.

And Hayoon… She was too kind. Too trusting. You couldn’t let her be the next person to find out what you were. Because if she did—if anyone did—

They wouldn’t see you as lonely. They’d see you as a monster.

Hayoon stood frozen just outside the study room. She stared after the hallway where you’d disappeared, a crease between her brows.

“She doesn’t want anyone close,” she murmured.

Jungwon watched too, lips pressed into a thin line. “She didn’t look okay.”

“She never does,” Hayoon said softly. “That’s the thing. She always looks like she’s barely holding something in.”

He looked down at the ground, thoughtful.

“She said it was just family stuff,” he offered, but it didn’t sound like he believed it.

Hayoon shook her head. “No… It’s more than that. It’s like—” She hesitated, then added, “—like she’s afraid she’ll hurt someone.”

Jungwon’s eyes flicked to her, surprised. “You think she would?”

“I don’t know,” Hayoon whispered. “She’s pushing everyone away.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “And I think she’s doing it to protect us.”

Hayoon turned, eyes searching his face. “What are you going to do?”

Jungwon hesitated. Then shrugged lightly. “Probably exactly what she doesn’t want.”

Hayoon’s smile was faint. “Keep trying?”

Jungwon didn’t answer, but the way his eyes lingered on the corner you’d disappeared around said enough.

You sat in the dark.

Not reading. Not moving. Just breathing through the hunger clawing its way up your throat.

You can’t remember the last time you had a proper meal.. Long enough for the headaches to start, for the shadows in your vision to move when they shouldn’t, for every heartbeat around you to sound like a drum. Every scent around you felt intoxicating, the blood in their veins screaming your name.

You bit your tongue hard enough to taste blood—your own, cold and bitter. Not what you needed. Not what you craved.

It would be so easy.

The thought slipped in like a blade between ribs.

Hayoon. So warm. So trusting.

If you leaned close, if you whispered something kind, she wouldn’t even flinch.

She’d follow you.

You slammed your hand against the desk to stop the thought. The noise echoed through the tiny room.

No.

You forced it away. Every breath was a reminder that you were pretending.

Pretending to be human. Pretending to belong.

But someone was watching too closely now.

Jungwon.

He wasn’t like the others. Quiet, observant. His eyes followed you, not with suspicion, but with… recognition. Like he saw something familiar in you. Like he was trying to connect dots no one else could even see.

That made him dangerous. You couldn’t afford to let him get closer. But deep down, a part of you didn’t want to push him away. And that scared you more than anything else.

The halls were mostly empty this early. Pale sunlight stretched across the floor, filtered through thick curtains.

Jungwon leaned against a pillar outside the dorms, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He’d been there for nearly twenty minutes, waiting.

Waiting for you.

Jay had told him not to push. That if someone wanted space, you give them space. But something about you didn’t feel like space was the answer. It felt like you were drowning quietly, and no one had noticed yet.

So when he saw the faintest shape moving behind the glass doors of the dorm building, he straightened up.

And then you walked out. Gloves on. Eyes hollow.

The cold morning air bit at your skin as you stepped outside, despite the layers you wore. The sky was cloudy, no sun in sight, and possible rain later in the day. The only time you could truly be outside, yet you kept your gloves on.

You hadn’t meant to run into him again. But of course, he was there.

Leaning casually against the stone column outside the dorms, arms crossed, backpack slung over one shoulder. The wind tousled his already-unkempt hair, and his uniform blazer hung open, undone and effortless. He looked like he always belonged—like someone who had never once questioned whether he deserved to stand in the light. Your steps faltered.

You could feel it again—his eyes. Not judgmental. Not curious. Just… quiet. Watching. Trying to understand. And that made you uncomfortable in a way you hated. Not because it was invasive. Because it made something inside you ache.

You kept walking. Not fast. But not slow enough to invite conversation.

Jungwon stepped in beside you anyway.

“Y/N,” he said simply, voice low enough to stay between you.

The bags beneath your eyes looked darker today. Almost bruised. “You look worse than yesterday,” he said gently.

You didn’t respond. Didn’t look at him either.

“I figured you’d want to be left alone,” he continued. “But I also figured… sometimes that’s not what people need.”

You finally met his gaze.

“You think you know me?” you asked, your voice quiet but sharper than before.

Jungwon shrugged, not flinching. “No. But I think I want to.” You blinked. That wasn’t the answer you expected.

You could feel your heart beating faster, not from fear, but from the way his words struck something deep inside you—something still soft, still breakable. You hated that.

“You don’t,” you said coldly. “And trust me, you don’t want to.”

He studied you for a beat longer, like he was looking through the cracks you hadn’t fully patched up yet.

Then his voice dropped. “Maybe. But I think Hayoon was right.”

You frowned. “About what?”

He offered a small, almost sad smile. “You don’t seem bad. Just lonely.”

Your chest twisted. That word again. Lonely.

You swallowed hard. “You should stay away from me.”

“Why?” he asked simply.

You didn’t have an answer you could give him. Not one that wouldn’t sound like a threat. Not one that wouldn’t taste like blood.

So you just said, “Because it’s safer.”

And this time, you did walk away.

But Jungwon didn’t move either. He just watched you go, a flicker of determination in his eyes.

Like he wasn’t giving up on you.

Not yet.

Jungwon stayed rooted in place long after you disappeared down the stone path, your shoulders hunched slightly beneath your coat, head low like the weight of something invisible was pressing down harder than gravity. He didn’t chase you. Didn’t call out. But his gaze didn’t leave until you were completely out of sight.

The silence returned. Birds stirring in the distance. The rustle of dry leaves blowing across the courtyard tiles.

He finally exhaled.

You had said it was safer if he stayed away.

But safer for whom?

Your shoes crunched softly against the gravel as you walked, each step heavier than the last. The ache in your chest hadn't dulled. It never really did anymore.

Lonely.

That word again.

You didn’t know how he said it like that—so casually, yet without pity. Like he wasn’t afraid of what it meant. Like it was something you could just name and not shatter from.

You hated that he might’ve been right.

You hated more than it mattered.

Because Jungwon was the kind of person who noticed things no one else bothered to. The way your hands always stayed covered. How you never ate with anyone. How you flinched, just slightly, when someone got too close.

And now he was watching the one thing you’d built so carefully—your distance—start to fracture.

You’d felt it in the way his eyes lingered, not with suspicion, but with… understanding. Or at least the desire to understand.

And that was so much worse.

Later that day, Jungwon found himself wandering the second-floor hallway near the library. He told himself he wasn’t looking for you. He was lying.

He paused when he caught a familiar silhouette at the far end of the corridor, sitting alone on the bench.

You.

Gloves still on. Knees pulled up slightly. A book open in your lap, but your eyes weren’t moving over the words. They were distant.

Jungwon stayed still for a second. He thought of Jay’s voice again—Don’t push it, you’ll just scare her off. But he also remembered your expression earlier that morning. The way your voice cracked just slightly when you said it was safer.

He didn’t announce himself this time. Just walked slowly to the bench and sat beside you, keeping a respectful space between.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you wasn’t tense this time. Just… there.

Then, you finally spoke.

“You always follow people around like this?”

Jungwon tilted his head, looking at the window instead of you. “Only the ones who look like they’re disappearing.”

You studied his face—the soft curve of his jaw, the slight crease between his brows, the way his eyes stayed on you even when you tried to stare him down. He wasn’t afraid. That bothered you. Or maybe it didn’t. You weren’t sure.

Jungwon leaned back on the bench slightly, his hands tucked into his blazer pockets. “Hayoon’s worried about you.”

That name made your chest tighten. “She always is.”

“She also kind of hates me.”

You let out a quiet breath. Not quite a laugh, but not not one either. “She doesn’t hate you. She just thinks you’re reckless.”

“And you?” he asked, glancing sideways. “What do you think?”

You were quiet. Then you said, “I think… You should’ve left me alone.”

“But I didn’t.”

You looked at him again. He was close enough to hear your breathing, close enough for you to notice the faint freckle near his collarbone, just under the fold of his uniform. Close enough that the cold wall you kept between yourself and everyone else began to crack.

“You still can,” you said, but softer now. Not as cold. More like a warning. Or maybe a plea.

Jungwon shook his head. “I don’t want to.”

You exhaled slowly, the way you did when trying to calm the hunger down. It stirred sometimes around him, but not violently. Not like it usually did. With him, it quieted. Listened.

“You don’t even know what I am,” you whispered.

He turned to you fully this time. “Then tell me.”

The words stopped in your throat. No one had ever asked that and meant it. Not even Hayoon. Not really. Everyone just danced around it, pretending that the darkness wasn’t pressing against your skin from the inside out.

You stared at Jungwon, searching his eyes for fear. But there wasn’t any. Just… this frustrating, unwavering steadiness. As if nothing you said could shake him.

As if he’d already decided to stay.

You looked down again. “I don’t know if I can.”

“That’s okay,” he said. And when he stood, his voice was quiet but sure. “I’ll wait.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Could only listen to the sound of his footsteps fading down the hallway until he disappeared around the corner like a promise you weren’t sure you deserved.

But the warmth of his presence lingered.

And for once, the silence didn’t feel like drowning. Just breathing.

The dorm was silent. Even the wind outside had died down, leaving only the faint ticking of the old wall clock and the occasional creak of settling wood.

You sat curled in the farthest corner of your bed, knees hugged to your chest, your blanket draped over you like a shroud. The gloves were still on.

They always were.

The air was cold. Or maybe that was just you.

You stared at the wall, but you weren’t seeing it. Not really.

Your thoughts were tangled, twisted around him again—Jungwon.

How he had sat beside you this morning without saying a word. How his voice was never demanding, never loud. How he looked at you like you were a mystery worth being patient for, not something broken.

And worse—how that made something ache in you. Something more dangerous than hunger.

You pressed your gloved hand to your mouth.

It wasn’t just that he was kind. It wasn’t just that he noticed things others ignored. It was the way he made you want to be seen.

And that was terrifying.

Because caring about him meant letting your walls crack. And letting your walls crack meant risk. Risk of him getting too close. Risk of you hurting him.

You swallowed hard and shut your eyes.

And still… still, the thought of his voice—calm, steady—lingered like warmth on your skin.

"You look worse than yesterday."

"But I think I want to know you."

You buried your face in your knees, trying to breathe past the tightness in your chest.

You didn’t get to want things like that.

You didn’t get to let your heart beat faster when he smiled at you.

Because you weren’t safe.

Not for him. Not for anyone.

The hunger inside you wasn’t just a metaphor. It was real. It was sharp. It was growing. And no amount of blankets, locked doors, or distance was going to be enough if you lost control again.

You’d seen what you could become.

And the terrifying part?

You were starting to think his heartbeat sounded beautiful.

You clenched your fists inside your gloves and whispered, “Stay away from me, Jungwon.”

But even as you said it, part of you hoped he wouldn’t.

A knock broke the silence.

You froze.

Another knock—softer this time.

You stood slowly and opened the door just a crack.

“Hey.” Hayoon’s voice was light, but her expression was careful. “You didn’t come down earlier. Figured you were either dead or sulking.”

“…Or both,” you muttered.

She gave you a small grin and held up a plastic container. “I brought snacks. I made these terrible rice balls, and I need someone to suffer with me.”

You stared for a second. Then opened the door.

The common lounge was mostly empty, the rest of the students either in their rooms or off-campus for the weekend. A single lamp cast a gold glow across the beanbags and mismatched couches. Someone had left popcorn on the table, long since gone cold. The hum of an old movie played from Hayoon’s laptop, half-forgotten as the two of you sat cross-legged on the rug.

It felt normal. Almost.

You sat on the floor, legs crossed, while Hayoon dramatically gagged over her own cooking.

“I swear, I followed the recipe!” she said, holding up one of the rice balls like it personally betrayed her. “It’s the seaweed’s fault. It’s always the seaweed.”

You let out a breath—not quite a laugh, but closer than anything you’d managed all day. “It’s not that bad.”

“You’re lying to me, but I’ll allow it,” she said, plopping down beside you. She nudged your shoulder lightly. “You’ve been weird lately.”

You offered a faint smile. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Hayoon studied you for a beat longer but didn’t press. “You’ve been tired a lot lately.”

You shrugged. “Guess I don’t sleep well.”

“Nightmares?” she asked gently.

You hesitated. “Something like that.”

Hayoon reached over and nudged your shoulder with hers. “You don’t have to say everything. But I’m here. Just so you know.”

That made something in your chest twist. “Thanks.”

She smiled. “Also—don’t take this the wrong way—but you really need to eat more. I’m pretty sure your wrist is the same width as this highlighter.”

You snorted, genuinely amused. “I’ll work on it.”

A beat passed. On screen, the characters were laughing. It sounded too loud all of a sudden. Too alive.

Then, Hayoon cursed softly and jerked her hand back.

You turned sharply.

She had cut her finger on the edge of a chip bag. A shallow nick, but enough to draw blood.

Red.

Your entire body stiffened.

It hit you fast. The scent. The warmth. That awful pull inside you—sharp and instinctual, worse than hunger, worse than thirst. Your pupils dilated without your permission.

You sucked in a breath and looked away, your gloved hand clutching the blanket with bone-white knuckles.

“You okay?” Hayoon asked, frowning. “Y/N?”

“—I need to go,” you whispered.

You stood too quickly, heart hammering, mouth dry, and teeth aching.

Hayoon blinked in surprise. “What? Did I do something—?”

“No,” you said too fast. “I just… forgot something.”

And you were gone.

Gone before she could stop you. Gone before she could see the way your eyes had flickered—briefly, terribly—not human.

But Hayoon didn’t sit back down.

She looked at the tiny cut on her finger. Then toward the hallway you’d disappeared down.

And for the first time… she didn’t feel confused.

She felt worried.

And maybe—deep down—she was starting to understand.

Hayoon couldn’t sleep. Not because of homework. Not even because of your strange behavior earlier. She just had this feeling. Like something was tightening under the skin of her world—and you were at the center of it.

The signs had been there for a while. The gloves you never took off, even in warm classrooms. The way you avoided sunlight. Your constant fatigue, the way you disappeared during meals. And that moment in lab last week—when Sunoo cut his finger with a scalpel and you flinched, hard, like it physically hurt to be near.

Hayoon had brushed it all off before. Had told herself there were probably a dozen normal reasons. But lately… something about you had shifted. You weren’t just distant. You were unraveling.

So when she saw your light flick off just past midnight, she got up. Quietly. Carefully. She padded down the hallway in socks, heart thudding with something she couldn’t name. Guilt? Fear? Something close to both.

She hadn’t meant to spy. She really hadn’t.

All she wanted to do was leave a bracelet—just a dumb thing she’d made during club time. Woven thread in your favorite colors. Something to say I’m still here, even if you don’t say anything. Something to remind you you weren’t alone.

But when she reached your door, the knob turned under her hand.

It wasn’t locked. Where could you be at this hour? It was way past hours, and everyone was required to be in their dorms. Against her better judgment, Hayoon slowly began to wander the halls in search of you.

As she passed the faculty restroom—always locked, always unused—she heard it.

Gagging.

Wet, strained breathing. The clatter of something breaking against porcelain. She hesitated, unsure. But the sound—desperate, painful—made her move. She knocked.

“Hello? Are you okay?”

Silence.

And then a low, almost inhuman voice.

“Go away, Hayoon.”

Y/N.

Hayoon’s stomach twisted. “Y/N, it’s me. What happened? Are you—”

“Please,” your voice broke. “Just go.”

Something about the way you said it made her ignore every warning bell. She picked the lock with a hairpin from her braid. Click. The door creaked open slowly.

What she saw stopped her cold.

You were curled over the sink. Blood smeared at the corner of your mouth, eyes glassy and wild. Your gloves were off—your hands trembling as they gripped the basin, nails digging into the ceramic.

And your fangs—clear, unmistakable—were still bared.

The empty IV bag near the trash was torn open. Stolen from the infirmary. Hayoon’s eyes locked onto it.

For a second, neither of you moved. Then you looked at her. And the horror in your expression shattered her heart.

“You… weren’t supposed to see this,” you whispered, voice hoarse and cracked. “I didn’t want—I never wanted—”

“Y/N…” Her voice came out too soft. “You’re… you’re a vampire?”

You nodded slowly, shame pooling behind your eyes like stormwater.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out. “I didn’t hurt anyone. I swear.”

Hayoon stepped forward without thinking.

“You’re bleeding,” she said quietly, grabbing a towel and holding it out, even though her hands shook. “And you look like you’re about to pass out.”

You stared at her. Waiting. For fear. For rejection. For screaming.

But it didn’t come.

She didn’t run.

“I’ve been suspicious for a while,” she admitted, kneeling beside you as you slowly slid down to sit on the tile floor. “But... this isn’t what I expected.”

You laughed—dry, empty.

“I’m a monster.”

“No,” she said fiercely. “You’re my best friend. And whatever this is… We’ll figure it out.”

Hayoon sat beside you. Then she did something that made your knees nearly give. She picked up your gloves and pressed them gently into your hands.

“I think… I’ve always known something was different,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean you’re alone in it.”

Your chest tightened so hard it hurt.

“Why aren’t you running?” you whispered.

Hayoon just looked at you—fierce, heart full. “Because monsters don’t cry when they think their friends are going to leave.”

You couldn't look at her—not for more than a second. Not with the shame clawing through your throat like barbed wire. You pulled the gloves back over your shaking hands, hiding what you could, even though it was far too late for hiding.

Hayoon just sat there, cross-legged on the tile like it was the most normal thing in the world. Her braid was falling loose. Her eyes didn’t look afraid. They looked… heartbroken.

“You weren’t supposed to find out like this,” you mumbled, voice rough.

She tilted her head. “So you were going to tell me eventually?”

You hesitated. “I… I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” she said softly, “that’s kind of what I figured.”

The room still smelled faintly of blood. Your hands curled into fists inside your gloves. You couldn’t stop shaking, even though you weren’t cold.

Hayoon reached for the IV bag near the trash but stopped herself. “So… that’s what you drink?”

“Only when I’ve have to,” you said. “It’s leftover donor blood from the infirmary. They don’t really check the dates. It’s expired. Useless to everyone else.”

She blinked slowly. “You’ve been surviving off expired blood bags this whole time?”

You shook your head. “No. It’s been a long time since I’ve actually drank anything.”

“So you’ve been starving this entire time?” Her voice cracked. “Jesus.”

You flinched at the sympathy. It hurt worse than disgust would have. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

Hayoon met your eyes, dead serious. “I’m not telling a soul. I swear on every embarrassing diary I’ve ever written.”

A weak laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Hayoon’s smile was sad but real. “So, is this why you’ve been avoiding Jungwon, too?”

Your face dropped.

She smirked faintly, even as her eyes searched your face. “You don’t think I’ve noticed? The way you look at him like he’s the sun and you're not supposed to burn.”

“I can’t… I can’t be around him,” you whispered. “Not like this. It’s dangerous.”

Hayoon didn’t speak for a long time. Then she looked at you again—softer this time. “You care about him.”

You said nothing.

“And he definitely cares about you.”

Your head dropped forward, resting against your knees. “That’s the problem.”

Hayoon let out a breath through her nose and stood slowly. Then, to your surprise, she extended her hand toward you again. Not to fix anything. Not to pull you up. Just to be there.

“I can’t tell you what to do about Jungwon,” she said gently. “But I know you. And you’re not a monster. You’re scared. You’re starving. And you’re trying harder than anyone I’ve ever met.”

You stared at her outstretched hand. And after a few seconds, you took it.

For once, the silence between you wasn’t heavy with fear or secrets.

It just was.

The library was quiet. Dust floated like stars in the evening light slipping in through the stained glass windows.

You sat cross-legged on the floor between the stacks with Hayoon, a half-finished history worksheet splayed out between you. Your gloves were still on, but your jacket was off for once, and your hair was down. You were starting to breathe easier around her again. Maybe it was the way she didn’t flinch anymore. Maybe it was because she knew and still stayed.

Hayoon nudged your ankle with her knee. “You spelled 'Ming Dynasty' wrong again.”

You glanced at the paper and let out a quiet sigh. “Do I look like I’ve had the luxury of focusing in class lately?”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Fair.”

You scribbled a correction while she fidgeted with the threads of the bracelet on her wrist—the one you’d returned to her a few nights ago, quietly knotted around her doorknob with a single word folded into the braid: Thank you.

Hayoon leaned her chin into her palm and stared at you for a beat. “You seem... better today.”

You didn’t answer right away. But eventually, you nodded. “A little.”

“Still staying away from him?”

The words made your stomach twist. You didn’t need to ask who. “It’s safer.”

“For him, or for you?” she asked.

You looked up at her. “Both.”

Before she could reply, the creak of old wood echoed near the front of the library. Footsteps. Calm. Familiar.

You froze.

Then his voice. “You two always study in the shadows like this?”

Jungwon.

He was already walking down the aisle between shelves before either of you could respond. A crooked half-smile on his face, but something softer in his eyes. His uniform jacket was unbuttoned, tie loose like he’d just come from training. His hair slightly messy.

You felt your pulse stutter. And you hated how much warmth his presence stirred in your chest.

Hayoon glanced between you and him with raised eyebrows, clearly suppressing a smirk. “Did you follow us here?”

Jungwon shrugged, gaze flickering from her to you. “I came to find a book. Didn’t know you two had taken up residence in the back corner of the map section.”

Hayoon rolled her eyes but stood, stretching with an exaggerated sigh. “Well, I need to return something up front. Try not to set anything on fire while I’m gone.”

You shot her a look. She just grinned and vanished around the shelf, leaving you alone with him.

Jungwon’s gaze didn’t waver. He came closer but stopped at a respectful distance away, crouching beside your pile of books. “You’ve been avoiding me again.”

You looked down at your gloved hands in your lap. “I’ve been busy.”

“Y/N.” His voice was softer now. “Don’t lie to me. ”

The words wrapped around something inside you—tight and vulnerable.

“I’m not good for you, Jungwon.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me,” he said, voice low.

You looked up then, really looked. And there was that same gentleness in his eyes. That same maddening patience.

It scared you more than anything else.

Before you could speak, Hayoon’s voice rang out from the other end of the aisle. “I hope you’re not traumatizing her with your feelings, Jungwon.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

Hayoon popped back into view with a stack of new books. “Just saying. She’s emotionally fragile and might combust if you flirt too hard.”

You groaned, shoving a book over your face. “I hate both of you.”

Jungwon laughed—low, quiet—and for a second, you let yourself forget the hunger.

Forget the danger. Just for now.

He laughed softly, and your heart betrayed you again—jumping slightly at the sound. You turned back to your half-finished worksheet, trying to ignore the way his presence made the quiet corner feel warmer.

Jungwon shifted a little, then leaned against the side of the shelf. “Can I join you?”

You looked up, blinking. “You want to help us study?”

“Technically,” he said, crossing his arms, “I just don’t feel like sitting alone. But if you need someone to pretend to care about historical trade routes, I can fake it convincingly.”

Hayoon looked between you two again, something unreadable in her expression. But then she shrugged. “Sure. But you have to quiz her on all the dates I already tested her on. Fair warning—she’s not great with numbers, only foreign languages.”

You gave her a flat look. “Betrayal. In front of my enemy.”

Jungwon grinned, pulling a thick textbook from the top of the pile and sitting cross-legged across from you. “I’m not your enemy.”

“That’s what enemies say.”

His gaze met yours over the rim of the book. “What if I said I’m on your side?”

Something in your chest cracked a little.

Hayoon cleared her throat. Loudly. “Help me with this paragraph, will you Y/N?”

You leaned over to the book she had opened in her lap, her finger pointing to a passage. “It says, ‘The die is cast. ’”

“You translated that really fast.”

You blinked. “What?”

He nodded toward the textbook between you. “That Latin passage. You barely looked at it before translating it to Hayoon.”

You tried to laugh it off. “Lucky guess?”

Jungwon tilted his head, unconvinced. “You did the same thing with the old French last week. And that weird Greek root in bio. Do you… just know a lot of languages or something?”

Your pencil stilled in your hand.

Hayoon, sensing your sudden hesitation, nudged your knee with her foot—subtle, but grounding. You exhaled.

“A few,” you admitted, voice a little too quiet. “My family… moved around a lot.”

Jungwon raised his eyebrows slightly. “Like military?”

You shook your head. “Not exactly.” You kept your eyes on the page, not really seeing the words anymore. “Just… a lot of different places. Old places. I picked things up.”

It wasn’t technically a lie. Just not the full truth.

Hayoon stepped in smoothly. “She’s basically a language sponge. I once caught her reading a Greek Mythology—in Greek— for fun.”

You shot her a grateful glance.

Jungwon still looked curious, but the corners of his mouth tugged into a smile. “That’s kind of amazing.”

You shrugged, half-embarrassed. “It’s not that impressive.”

“It is to me,” he said simply.

You froze.

His words were so soft, so earnest, you didn’t know what to do with them. You felt the old ache in your chest again—the one that warned you to pull away, to disappear before it got too close. Before he got too close.

You forced a small smile. “I’m just good with dead things.”

“Languages, I mean,” you added quickly, but your voice cracked just slightly on the word dead.

Jungwon didn’t say anything right away.

Then he set his book down gently and leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, voice quiet.

“I don’t think there’s anything dead about the way you talk when you care about something.”

You looked at him—and for a second, the world tilted sideways.

Then Hayoon dropped a book too loudly onto the table and made a point of clearing her throat again.

“Alright, scholars. Back to the study session before I file for emotional overtime.”

The spell broke.

But your heart didn’t stop racing.

Once again, during a late afternoon, you and Hayoon settled in at your usual spot in the library—an old, worn table tucked away between towering bookshelves. The librarian had moved a small table over after noticing how often you and Hayoon sat back there. Hayoon was animatedly sketching in her notebook while you flipped through a worn Chinese novel, the two of you finally finding a quiet moment to just.

That’s when Jungwon appeared, as if summoned by some invisible thread.

“Hey,” he said, sliding into the empty chair beside you without waiting for an invitation.

Hayoon blinked, her pencil pausing mid-sketch. “Again?” she mouthed to you, eyes narrowing slightly.

You shrugged quietly, too used to his unexpected appearances to react.

Jungwon didn’t seem to notice the tension. “Mind if I join?” he asked, looking between you and Hayoon.

Hayoon’s eyes flicked toward him, then back at you, silently pleading.

“Sure,” you said, forcing a small smile.

Jungwon settled in, pulling out his own book but clearly more interested in the conversation than the pages.

Minutes passed. Then half an hour. Then another unexpected visit a few days later—this time during your lunch hour with Hayoon, Jungwon casually leaning against the wall as if he belonged.

Hayoon’s patience was thinning.

Later, as Jungwon excused himself to get a drink, Hayoon leaned in, lowering her voice.

“He’s like a shadow,” she muttered, irritation flickering in her eyes. “Every time we get some space, he just... pops up.”

You glanced at the door Jungwon had just exited. “He means well,” you said softly.

“Maybe,” Hayoon sighed. “But I swear, if he doesn’t give us a break soon, I’m going to start charging rent for all the ‘visits.’”

You chuckled, grateful for her lightheartedness despite the underlying frustration.

Sometimes, you thought, even the kindest people didn’t know when to back off.

The three of you had found yourselves near the edge of the school courtyard, where the stone paths twisted between the trees, leading toward the old greenhouse. It wasn’t a spot students usually loitered in—overgrown, half-forgotten—but Hayoon had insisted on coming here today, claiming the sun was finally tolerable—warm but soft—and you needed fresh air more than anything. Still, you kept your umbrella open, a shield against even the faintest rays, even as you sat safely in the shade. Even if her eyes never stopped watching you too closely.

Jungwon had come along without being invited. He just... appeared. Like he always did lately. And somehow, you didn’t stop him.

The three of you sat in a triangle under the shade of an elm tree. Hayoon was flipping through her notes, Jungwon was tossing pebbles into the pond nearby, and you were doing your best not to think about the way your chest felt tight. The hunger had been manageable this week. Quiet. Sleeping.

Jungwon, as usual, had arrived unannounced, slipping into the circle you formed like a shadow settling naturally into a corner. You didn’t stop him. Somehow, you didn’t want to.

The three of you sat loosely in a triangle beneath the elm’s sprawling branches. Hayoon’s pencil scratched quietly on her notebook. Jungwon idly tossed small pebbles into the nearby pond, watching the ripples fade with a distracted smile. You sat stiffly, your fingers clutching the handle of your umbrella as your thoughts churned. Your chest felt tight — a dull ache you’d been trying to ignore all week. The hunger was quiet lately. Manageable. Almost asleep.

Until it wasn’t.

Jungwon stood and stretched.. His foot caught the edge of a loose stone hidden under the grass. He stumbled just slightly, barely enough to break his balance. His hand shot out to steady himself and scraped sharply against a jagged branch lying nearby.

A sharp hiss escaped him. A few droplets of blood bloomed against the pale skin of his palm.

The scent hit you instantly.

Your head snapped up. The sharp copper tang—so rich and alive—screaming your name.

Your throat burned. Your pulse thundered.

Before you even realized it, you were on your feet, pulled forward by something primal and unstoppable. The world around you blurred—wind turned to static, the rustling leaves faded to silence—as your senses sharpened to a painful clarity. All you could hear was the thrum of blood beneath his skin. Your body ached to reach out, to taste, to feed.

The umbrella slipped from your fingers and landed with a soft thud on the ground.

“Y/N—!” Hayoon’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and alarmed.

Jungwon turned to look, still near the branch, confusion flickering across his face. And then his eyes locked with yours.

The hunger screamed louder.

But beneath it, a different voice—calm, desperate—whispered, Stop.

Your fingers froze just inches from his wounded hand.

Your eyes widened as the fog lifted enough for you to realize what you almost did.

Terror blossomed across your face like wildfire.

Your hands trembled uncontrollably.

You stumbled back, your senses screaming in pain as your body finally realized it was in the sun. Every nerve was on fire.

Jungwon didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. He just stared, wide-eyed but steady.

Hayoon was already moving—rising from the grass and stepping quickly between you and him, her posture protective but gentle.

“Y/N,” she said carefully, voice low but firm. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Just breathe—”

But you were already running.

Your shoes scraped harshly against the stone path as you fled, breath ragged, gloves clutched to your chest like a fragile shield. You didn’t dare look back. You didn’t want to hear their voices calling after you, didn’t want to face the fear and confusion you’d glimpsed in Jungwon’s eyes.

Because you had already seen it—clear and merciless—in your own reflection.

The door to your dorm clicked softly behind you, sealing you off from the world—and them. Outside, faint voices and footsteps echoed down the halls, but here inside, the silence was suffocating.

Days passed in a blur of restless nights and shadowed corners. You didn’t answer Hayoon or Jungwon. Their knocks went unanswered, their worried voices fading into distant memories. You hid beneath layers of fabric and darkness, gloves never far from your hands, a fragile shield against the chaos inside.

Because the hunger was no longer just a dull ache.

It had become a wildfire—roaring, burning, impossible to ignore.

Every time you thought of Jungwon—his calm gaze, the way he reached out when you faltered—the craving twisted tighter inside you. It wasn’t just blood you wanted. It was him. His warmth, his presence, the sharp pulse of life that called to something deep in you.

Your emotions and your hunger were tangled, feeding off each other like a vicious cycle.

You could feel it in every quiet moment: your heart pounding with something far more dangerous than just need. It was fear, too. Fear that the feelings you were trying to bury would drag you under.

You began to avoid mirrors, afraid to face the glowing eyes you knew were always watching, waiting beneath your skin. The memory of that moment—when your instincts nearly betrayed you—haunted every breath.

And when a note slipped under your door, Hayoon’s message, “Please come out. We’re here. You’re not alone.” your fingers trembled, but the weight on your chest only grew heavier.

You wanted to reach out. You wanted to escape this prison of your own making.

But the hunger—fueled by something you could barely admit—kept you trapped.

Wrapped in darkness, you whispered to the empty room, I can’t lose control. Not him. Not now.

The halls felt emptier than usual. Each step echoed louder without Y/N’s presence to soften the silence. He had been to her dorm more times than he could count, knocking gently, calling her name, hoping for even a glimpse of her.

But nothing.

Her door stayed shut. The light off. Like she’d disappeared completely.

He hated this—the distance between them growing, the unanswered questions swirling in his mind. Why was she shutting them out? Was it fear? Shame? Or something worse?

Every memory of her—her quiet strength, the way she flinched when he got hurt, the subtle vulnerability behind her guarded eyes—pulled at him. It was like he could feel her hunger, the storm raging beneath her calm exterior.

He clenched his fists. I won’t let her face this alone.

No matter how many times she pushed him away, he’d keep trying. Because somewhere deep down, he believed she needed him. And maybe—just maybe—he needed her too.

The silence in your dorm room had been suffocating—thick and unyielding, like the walls themselves were closing in on you. Days had passed since you’d fled the courtyard, since the hunger had nearly taken you over completely. You’d locked yourself away, hiding from the sun, from your friends, from the truth gnawing at your insides.

But tonight—something restless stirred inside you. The craving, the ache, wasn’t just hunger anymore. It was something deeper, more complicated. You tried to push it down, tried to bury it beneath layers of fear and denial. But it clawed at you relentlessly. The memory of Jungwon’s blood—the warmth, the sound of his breath—it haunted you. And with it, the feelings you refused to name.

You glanced at the clock. Midnight. The hallways would be empty. The world is quiet. Safe—maybe.

Trembling, you slipped out from under the heavy blankets. Your body ached with exhaustion, but your mind was racing, wild. Your gloves felt like armor, but even they couldn’t shield you from what stirred beneath your skin.

Heart hammering, you cracked open your door. The corridor stretched out like a dark river. Every sound felt amplified—the distant drip of water, the faint rustle of leaves outside, the quick beat of your own pulse.

You moved forward, each step a test of your will. You tried to breathe slow, steady, but the air felt thin, sharp in your lungs.

Halfway down the hall, just as your resolve wavered, a shadow detached itself from the darkness.

“Y/N?”

The single word shattered your fragile calm.

You whirled around, eyes wide and searching.

Jungwon stepped into the dim light, his expression unreadable but his gaze unwavering.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said quietly, a tremor of worry in his voice. “You’ve been gone for days.”

The raw ache inside your chest tightened painfully. You clenched your fists, the skin around your nails white.

“I—” you started, then stopped. How could you explain the darkness that had swallowed you? The hunger that made your blood feel like fire? The fear that you might hurt him, or lose yourself completely?

“You’ve been avoiding everyone,” he pressed, stepping closer, voice low but urgent. “And now you’re out here… alone.”

Your breath hitched. The truth was clawing its way up your throat, begging to be told. But so was the fear—the kind that screamed to stay hidden, to keep the secret locked away forever.

His eyes searched yours, unflinching.

“Y/N,” he said softly, “what are you?”

Your throat closed. You wanted to run, to hide behind the walls you’d built. But his presence was a tether you couldn’t break.

“I—” You swallowed, voice barely steady. “I’m nothing.”

“No,” Jungwon said, voice low but firm. “You’re not nothing. And you don’t have to be alone in this.”

The hunger twisted sharper inside you, your gloves slipping from your fingers as panic flared. You met his gaze, trembling.

“Fine,” you said, voice breaking under the weight of the secret. “I’m a vampire.”

His eyes widened — not with fear, but with something deeper. Hurt. Confusion. A fierce determination.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice cracked. “I could’ve helped you.”

You shook your head, backing away, shame and terror flooding you.

“You don’t understand. I’m dangerous. I’m barely holding on.”

Jungwon stepped forward, desperation bleeding into his voice. “I don’t care about what you are. I care about you.”

But you were already turning, fleeing through the halls, tears blurring your vision.

“Please… stay away.”

Your footsteps faded, leaving Jungwon standing alone in the cold silence, torn between hope and heartbreak.

He didn’t follow you.

Not because he didn’t want to—but because the look in your eyes, the way your voice cracked when you said “Please… stay away,” had rooted him to the floor. He stood there in the corridor long after you were gone, the echo of your retreating steps like a ghost’s whisper in the dark.

His hands curled into fists at his sides. His heart thundered. A vampire?

It wasn’t shock that hit him. Not really. It was everything else—the puzzle pieces that suddenly made sense. Your cold skin, your silence, the gloves, the umbrella even in the shade. The way you recoiled from warmth but stared at him like you were starving. The way you’d disappeared. How terrified you’d looked after the courtyard.

He’d guessed it. Or maybe some part of him had always known something wasn’t normal. But hearing you say it…

Hearing the fear in your voice as you ran.

He leaned against the stone wall, breath shallow, staring at the empty hallway like it could offer him answers. But all he saw was the flash of your glowing eyes. All he heard was the tremble in your voice. I’m barely holding on.

Jungwon finally moved. Slowly. Like every limb weighed more than it should.

He made his way toward the edge of campus, the trees whispering above him as he walked blindly into the dark. His mind spun in circles, torn between the urge to chase after you and the fear that he’d already pushed too far. You were scared—of yourself, of hurting him. But all he wanted was to pull you back, to tell you he wasn’t afraid.

But maybe you needed space.

Maybe you needed him to be brave for you, even when you were too afraid to ask.

He looked up at the stars, cold and distant, and whispered into the quiet night, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The dorms were too quiet.

It had been three days since the courtyard incident. Three days since you vanished behind your locked door, and Jungwon stopped showing up uninvited.

Hayoon had knocked. Once. Twice. Every day. She left snacks outside your door, a cup of tea that went cold by morning.

But she never got a reply.

The silence was unbearable. Not just because she missed your sarcastic mutters and odd little quirks, or the way you’d sigh like everything was exhausting—but still show up anyway.

She noticed how Jungwon looked the day after—quiet, distant, like he’d been punched in the gut and still hadn’t caught his breath.

Hayoon bit her thumb, pacing in the library where she used to sit with both of you. The sunlight from the windows filtered in, but she stayed in the shadowed corners, restless. Her notebook lay open, but she hadn’t written anything in the last twenty minutes.

When Jungwon entered, she didn’t even pretend to be surprised.

He didn’t sit. Just leaned against the bookcase beside her, arms crossed tightly.

“She’s still not talking to you either?” Hayoon asked, watching him carefully.

He shook his head. “I saw her last night.”

Hayoon froze, anger bubbling in her chest. “You what?”

Jungwon exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “She left her room. I think she was trying to run. I— I stopped her.”

Something in his voice made Hayoon’s stomach twist. “What happened?”

“She told me the truth.” His voice was quiet. Almost broken. “Or enough of it.”

Hayoon straightened slowly, heart sinking. “And?”

Jungwon looked at her then, like the weight of it was crushing him. “She’s a vampire.”

“I already knew,” Hayoon said quietly.

Jungwon blinked at her.

“I found out myself,” she added, voice shaking a little. “I caught her in the unused faculty bathroom with a bag of expired blood. She starves herself for long periods.”

“She was afraid,” Jungwon said. “Afraid of hurting me. Hurting anyone.”

Hayoon closed her eyes. She could still see Y/N’s face that day. The look of hunger. Of guilt. Of shame.

She opened them again. “She’s not a monster.”

“No,” Jungwon agreed, “but she thinks she is.”

Hayoon looked out the library window, toward the stretch of trees beyond the courtyard. Toward the place where everything had broken.

“I’ll see her tonight,” Hayoon said with determination. Jungwon raised a brow at her.

“How is that going to work?”

“You’ll see.”

That night, she went to the dorms, blanket over her shoulders and quiet fury in her chest. Not the kind directed at Y/N—but at the fear that kept you hidden. The shame that curled its claws into your spine and whispered that you didn’t deserve to be seen.

Wrong.

Hayoon reached your door and knocked once, firm. “You’re not dying in there,” she called. “Metaphorically or literally.”

No answer.

“Don’t make me kick this in.”

There was a shuffle. Then, silence.

“Y/N,” Hayoon said, softer now. “I know he knows. Jungwon told me.”

Another beat of silence.

Then, the soft click of the lock.

The door cracked open, and Hayoon’s heart hurt at the sight. You looked like a shadow of yourself—eyes red-rimmed, lips pale, body tense like a bowstring. You didn’t look dangerous. You looked broken.

“You came,” you whispered.

“You idiot,” Hayoon muttered, brushing past her and into the room. “Of course I came.”

The dorm was dim, the curtains drawn tight, the air stale. Notes were scattered across the desk, some half-ripped. You had been spiraling. Alone.

Hayoon turned to face you. “You can’t keep doing this.”

You leaned against the wall, looking down. “I almost bit him. You saw it. I wanted to.”

“But you didn’t,” Hayoon said sharply. “Because you’re still you. You fought it.”

“I ran.”

“And you didn’t hurt him. That counts.”

Your laugh was hollow. “You don’t get it. The hunger—it’s not fading. It’s worse. Especially with him.” You dragged a shaky hand through your hair. “I think it’s because I care about him. I want him. So now it’s not just thirst. It’s an obsession. Emotion. I can't separate them anymore.”

Hayoon took a breath and crossed the room.

“Love doesn’t make you dangerous, Y/N. Being alone does.”

You looked at her then, really looked. “I’m not safe, Hayoon.”

“Then we make you safe,” she said. “We figure it out. Together.”

A moment passed, heavy and still. Then your chin trembled, and she turned away.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not,” Hayoon said quietly. “But you are. And I think that scares me more than anything.”

The silence stretched.

Then you finally nodded.

Hayoon stepped forward and pulled her into a hug.

This time, you didn’t pull away.

Hayoon left shortly after, promising to be back soon.

Not long after she left, a note slipped under your door. You could recognise that messy handwriting anywhere.

"Meet me at the greenhouse. You don’t have to speak. Just come if you want to understand."

There was no date. Just now. Or never.

The ache in your chest stirred like a waking animal. Stupid boy. Stupid feelings. Stupid... hope.

The sky was deep blue, barely tinged with purple when you left. You wore the gloves again, not for protection but for familiarity—something solid, grounding.

The walk to the greenhouse felt longer than it should have. Every creak of the path, every rustle of the trees made you tense. Made you want to turn back.

But something pushed you forward.

And there he was.

Jungwon stood under the rusted arch of climbing ivy, his back to you at first, leaning against the old stone wall. The breeze moved through his hair, and he looked… tired. Not physically, but like someone who had been carrying questions too long without answers.

He turned before you could speak, like he sensed you there.

Your breath caught. The space between you both tightened, even though no one moved.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low, careful.

You didn’t know if the thrum in your chest was fear or something far more dangerous.

“I thought…” You started, then faltered. “You’d be mad.”

Jungwon tilted his head slightly, eyebrows drawing together. “Mad?”

You looked down. Your fingers curled into the sleeves of your coat. “For running. For lying. For—everything.”

He shook his head slowly. “I’m not mad.” A pause. “I’m trying to understand.”

That hurt more than anger would have.

You took a step forward, the gravel crunching softly beneath your boots. “You don’t have to,” you murmured. “You shouldn’t.”

He looked at you like you were made of glass and wildfire all at once. “But I want to.”

Something in you buckled at those words.

The moon filtered down through the trees, soft silver against his skin. You didn’t realize you were trembling until you noticed your gloves shifting. Not from cold—from restraint. Always restraint.

“You don’t get it,” you whispered, voice cracking. “It’s not just about hunger. It’s not just about what I am. It’s what I feel when I’m near you.”

Jungwon’s expression didn’t falter. If anything, he stepped forward.

“What do you feel?”

You hesitated, the answer burning the back of your throat like fire.

“Like I’m losing control,” you admitted. “Like I’m not safe to be around. Like I’m walking a tightrope with no end, and if I fall, it won’t just destroy me.”

He was close now. Not touching you, but close enough that you could feel his presence like heat against your skin.

His voice dropped to a whisper. “Then let me be the net.”

Your chest clenched. “Don’t say that. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Why do you think I keep showing up, Y/N?” he said, louder now. “Even when you avoid me. Even when you disappear.”

“Because you’re curious,” you shot back. “Because I’m strange and different and you like puzzles—”

“Because I care about you!” His voice broke on the last word. “Not some version of you I made up. You. All of you. Even the parts you hate.”

You stared at him, the world spinning slowly out of focus.

The hunger inside you pulsed like a second heartbeat—but it wasn’t just blood it ached for. It was closeness. Warmth. His hand in yours. The feeling of being seen without being hunted.

Your throat felt tight. “If I let myself love you, I might destroy you.”

He stepped forward until there was barely space left between you. “And if I let you go, I’ll destroy myself wondering what we could’ve been.”

You closed your eyes.

The wind rustled around you. A branch creaked somewhere far off. And your pulse roared in your ears.

You opened your mouth to warn him, to push him away again—but instead, you whispered, “You shouldn’t have come.”

“But I did,” he murmured. “And I’m not leaving.”

His hand reached out—tentative, trembling—and barely brushed your sleeve. You didn’t stop him.

For a moment, you both stood in silence. The distance gone. The danger thick in the air. The truth lay bare between you like an open wound.

You weren’t sure who leaned in first—but suddenly his breath was close, his warmth bleeding into yours, and for the first time in days, the hunger inside you quieted.

Not gone.

But listening.

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #jungwon x reader #yang jungwon #jungwon fluff #jungwon angst #enha x reader #enhypen x female reader #jungwon x you #jungwon x y/n #jungwon x female reader

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welcome-to-the-drive-in · 2 months ago

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Chapter 1: Pink Luggage, Southern Heat

The sun was just starting to kiss the Atlantic horizon as I stepped off the Greyhound bus, my little pink suitcase wheels clicking on the cracked pavement of the Outer Banks. My heart fluttered like a hummingbird on a sugar rush, equal parts excitement and nerves buzzing through my veins. Five foot tall, curves in all the right places—my stomach soft and real, my boobs big and unapologetic, and my little chubby butt tucked neatly into my high-waisted pink shorts—I looked like a Malibu Barbie dropped straight into this wild, salty world.

Honestly, the ocean breeze smelled like freedom, but also like challenge. I wasn’t just any girl moving in with her grandma—no, I was Madea’s granddaughter. And Madea was a whole mood. A hurricane wrapped in a Southern drawl, who didn’t do fuss, nonsense, or untied shoelaces. Living here meant I had to blend the Malibu pink with the Outer Banks grit, and that wasn’t gonna be easy.

My phone buzzed with a new text: “You here yet, Princess? Madea’s porch swing is waiting. Don’t keep an old lady waiting.”

I smiled and replied, “Pulling up now. Hope she’s ready for Barbie with a little bit of soul.”

The neighborhood sparkled like it was plucked from a coastal magazine—painted beach houses with white railings, palm trees bending in the salty wind, and lawn flamingos that somehow fit perfectly in this southern-meets-california vibe. But the charm was raw, not polished.

I reached the house, a two-story pastel blue beauty with pink shutters and a porch wide enough for three swing sets. Madea was sitting on the front porch, rocking in her chair with a stern look that softened the moment she saw me. Her gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun, her eyes sharp but welcoming.

“Well, if it ain’t my Malibu Barbie,” she said, standing to meet me with arms wide open. “You better not come in here looking like no city slicker trying to play dress up.”

I laughed, shaking out my curly ponytail. “Madea, you know I’m realer than real. And I brought my whole vibe.”

She shook her head, grinning. “You got enough pink for the whole beach, baby girl. But let’s see if you got the grit.”

The door creaked open, and the scent of warm cornbread and cinnamon filled the air. The house was a blend of Southern charm and a splash of Malibu pink accents—rose gold picture frames, fluffy cushions with sequined flamingos, and a massive basket of handmade quilts on the couch.

After setting down my suitcase, I peeked into what would be my room. It was like a Malibu Barbie dream come to life—soft bubblegum pink walls, a plush white shag rug, a vanity decked out with every shade of pink lipstick and nail polish, and fairy lights twinkling above the bed.

My closet was a whole vibe: rows of pastel dresses, high-waisted skirts, cropped tops in every shade of pink and lavender, racks of delicate jewelry sparkling under the light, and a corner dedicated to bikinis and silky robes. I ran my hand over the satin sheets and smiled.

“This is going to be alright,” I whispered to myself.

But just as I started unpacking, my phone pinged again. It was a message from a local Kook girl named Tia, who I’d met through Madea’s friends at church: “Welcome to the OBX. You ready for your first beach party? Rafe Cameron will be there. Heard you’re Madea’s granddaughter. Watch out—he’s trouble, but he’s cute.”

My heart skipped. Rafe Cameron was infamous—a wild Cameron with a reputation as hot and dangerous as the ocean during a storm. I knew I shouldn’t care, but I did.

Madea walked in, her eyes narrowing when she saw the message. “You listening, baby? Those Kooks can look pretty on the outside, but inside, it’s all claws and teeth. Don’t get caught up in their games.”

I nodded but felt a flicker of excitement. Maybe this wild new world had a place for a Malibu Barbie with roots deeper than the pink gloss on her lips.

That night, I lay on my bed, scrolling through my Malibu-inspired playlist—Nicki, SZA, Chloe x Halle—letting the beats drown out the distant sound of ocean waves. Outside, the stars shimmered like the glitter on my nails, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Madea’s voice drifted through the house, calling out, “Barbie, you better get some rest. Tomorrow, the OBX is gonna test you.”

And I was ready.

#rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #rafe imagine #malibu barbie #madea #tyler perry

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haddonfieldwhore · 2 years ago

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cold nights part 2 - cm punk

cm punk x gender neutral! younger! reader

word count: 2.9k part one here

warnings: age gap, trainer x student, language, out of character/unrealistic but it’s fiction, some parts loosely inspired by real events

summary: a follow up to cold nights

a week had passed since the altercation backstage, as well as the start of your relationship with punk. currently you were tangled up in punks bed, safe in each others embrace as the sun began to peek through the curtains. you’d been brought home to chicago by the ppv tonight that punk was supposed to be on the card for, but plans had changed with his suspension. while you were still travelling with the company, it had turned into more a vacation than a business trip as you weren’t set to take part in the ppv either. you stirred awake as your phone rang on the dresser, and you felt punks arms tighten around your waist as you tried to get up to answer it.

“i’ll be right back,” you laughed quietly, and he allowed you to leave the bed and walk over to the dresser. you squinted at the brightness of the screen as tony’s name flashed across it, but then the screen went blank, the call ending before you could answer it. deciding to call him back later, you padded back over to the bed, admiring punks sleeping form, his arms still open for you to lay between. crawling back into his embrace, he groaned softly as he pulled you tight against him, tucking you under his chin.

“who was that?” he asked. you sighed contently at the warmth that radiates off his body as you placed a soft kiss to his clavicle.

“tony. he hung up before i could answer it,” you explained, and he seemed to tense slightly. he took a deep breath, before he spoke again.

“there’s something i have to tell you, before you hear it from someone else,” he said quietly. “my contract with aew has been terminated.” you pulled away from him slightly to look at him, trying to process what he’d said.

“how are you feeling about it?” you asked. you weren’t blind; you’d known that punk had had previous issues with other talent, and you weren’t honestly sure how happy he had been in his recent months with the company.

“i-“ he paused for a long moment, like he was trying to decide on an answer. “i will be fine. do i wish things had gone differently? yeah maybe. but i’m not going to apologize for standing up for myself and not taking any bullshit from some of the children who i’ve had to deal with.”

“so… you’re okay? i mean-“ you were trying to wrap your head around everything. surely something else must have happened besides what you saw between punk and jack. he smiled, a bittersweet feeling in his chest, and leaned forward to kiss your forehead.

“i��ll be fine. besides, i managed to walk out with the best thing in aew so-“ he was interrupted as you placed a kiss to his lips, a smile on his face as he returned it.

“they’re gonna realize that they made a mistake letting you go. they need you a lot more than you need them.” punk kissed you deeply, the gesture like a thank you without words.

your phone rang again, and punk sighed as you slithered out of his arms to go answer it. tony’s name appeared on the screen for the second time, and you slid the green arrow to accept the call.

“hello?” you answered.

“hi, y/n. is now a good time to talk? i know it’s early but i’ve got a busy day,” tony asked. you looked over at the clock on the nightstand, which read 8:06 am, and then over to punk who was sitting up now leaning against the headboard. the duvet had bunched around his waist, exposing his bare torso, and you tried not to get distracted by his tattoos as he watched you with an affectionate look in his eyes. you snapped out of the trance he had you in, remembering you were still on the phone with your boss.

“yeah, now is fine.”

“i think this might be a discussion better had in person. can you meet me at the venue in an hour?” tony asked, and you had a funny feeling you knew what it was about, but wanted to hear tony’s side of things.

“yeah- i’ll be there.”

“thank you. i’ll see you soon.”

“thanks tony,” you replied, before the call was ended. you placed your phone on the dresser again, before turning back towards punk, who looked at you expectantly. “tony wants to talk to me in person. wonder who it’s about?” you said teasingly, and he smiled at you, before it faded.

“wonder what he couldn’t say over the phone,” he said, and you hummed in response.

“i guess we’ll find out.”

•••

you felt eyes on your back as you walked through the halls of the venue. even this early before the show, many of the talent were already there, and it seemed like tensions were high. you weren’t sure who was aware of punks release from company, so you didn’t intend to mention it, hoping to just speak with tony and get back to your boyfriend. you were nearing tony’s office when you heard a voice call out after you.

“hey- didn’t expect to see you here. if you’re here who’s keeping punk in line?” matt jackson’s voice rang out. you shook your head, intending to try to be in and out without adding to the drama. albeit the repercussions had already been dealt; at least to punk. you wondered what became of jungle boy, if he received any kind of punishment, but realized it didn’t really matter.

“i’m not his keeper,” was all you said, continuing on your path to speak with tony.

“guess you really can’t teach an old dog new tricks- he’ll always be the problem,” nick taunted.

“sounds to me like the only one who has a problem right now is you guys. i’m just here to talk with tony. so unless you’d like to be the reason he’s kept waiting-“ you trailed off, before backing away and rounding the corner, approaching the door to tony’s office. you knocked, entering when you heard him call out a friendly “come in”.

“you wanted to talk to me?” you began, trying to be professional, despite the fact that you were talking to the man who had fired your boyfriend. you understood to an extent; it was a business, and tony had to do what was right to protect it and his employees, but that doesn’t mean punk was entirely to blame for what had happened.

“yes, please have a seat,” he gestured to a chair, and you obliged, looking at him expectantly. “now, i know you are aware of what transpired last week, and i know you’re not stupid, so you understand that there has to be consequences for the type of actions that were displayed. i know that you and cm punk are close, and as you train under his instruction i feel it is my obligation to tell you that i have terminated his contract, effective immediately,” he explained in carefully rehearsed phrasing.

“only his contract?” you asked, knowing that truly it was none of your business if jack was also fired or not, but you were curious.

“for now, no other involved parties have been terminated, but they will remain suspended until a decision is made,” he explained. “an announcement will be made later today, but i felt you deserved to be told face to face. i would have liked to extend the same courtesy to the rest of his trainees, however as they are not here in chicago i won’t be able to. i will be calling them individually after this meeting.”

you fiddled nervously with your hands in your lap, going over everything he said in your mind.

“as for who will take over your training going forward, that will be decided at a later-“ tony began, but you interrupted him.

“that won’t be necessary,” you began, before taking a deep breath. “with all due respect, i would like to request that i be released from my contract,” you stated, and your boss looked disappointed.

“may i ask if there is any other reason that has led you to this decision? you have a bright future here; i am sure phil would not want you to throw it away over this, as i am assuming his departure has something to do with it? did he put this idea in your head?”

“he doesn’t know i am asking for my release. he’s probably gonna be mad at me when i get home,” you laughed, tony raising an eyebrow at the word ‘home’, but he didn’t interrupt.

“i will be honest with you tony, i was aware of his termination before i came here. he told me himself,” you explained. things may not have always been perfect, but you still had respect for tony and wanted to be truthful. “he is not the only reason, but i can’t lie and say that’s not a part of it. cm punk is the reason i wanted to be a part of this industry, and as much as i have enjoyed it, i don’t think i would feel right continuing my training and my career without him. i’ve had my disagreements with some of the talent here, maybe i follow a little too closely in his footsteps, but i think the best thing for me personally, is to leave, rather than risk my personal relationship with punk causing any drama backstage. i hope you can understand.”

tony seemed to think on what you said for a few minutes, before he spoke again.

“if this is what your truly want, i will agree to it. but i have to ask first, if there is anything i can do to make you change your mind?” you shook your head.

“i’m sorry tony, but this is what’s best for me.” he sighed heavily, before standing and extending a hand out for you to shake.

“consider yourself released. i will get the paperwork and legal side of things handled later this week. it has been a pleasure to have you in this company, and down the road should you change your mind, you have my number,” tony smiled sadly. you stood up as well, shaking his hand firmly.

“thank you tony.”

“you’re welcome. he is lucky to have you in his corner, and i wish you both the best.”

“i’m lucky to have him,” you replied.

“well then you truly make a good pair. thank you for your contributions to aew- should you decide to come back someday i know you will do well.”

“goodbye, tony.”

you grabbed your bag and exited the office, walking down the hall and towards the exit of the venue. you nearly bumped into the young bucks again on your way out, but no words were exchanged this time as you pushed past them, ready to leave this part of your life behind.

•••

punk was sitting in the living room of his apartment when you got back from meeting with tony, and he smiled at you as you walked over and sat next to him.

“hey,” he greeted you with a soft kiss.

“hey,” you responded, a little nervous about how he was going to take the news that you had essentially quit.

“what did tony want?” he seemed hesitant to ask, but anyone in this situation would be curious.

“he wanted to personally tell me that he had fired you. he would’ve told everyone you train at once but i’m the only one in chicago right now,” you explained. you decided there was no benefit in telling him about your encounter with matt and tyler, leaving that detail in the past.

“i guess he’ll have to decide who is gonna take over training you all from now on.” you decided just to bite the metaphorical bullet, no use in dancing around the truth any longer.

“i asked him to release me from my contract and he agreed.” punk looked at you in surprise.

“you didn’t have to-“

“aew isn’t the place for me anymore. i can’t pretend you being fired isn’t a part of my decision to leave, but as you know better than anyone it’s not a perfect place - and i’m tired. you are the reason i fell in love with wrestling, and it would feel wrong to continue without you.” punk stared at you, his eyes full of adoration. “i enjoyed my time in aew - for the most part - but i don’t want to deal with the backstage drama anymore, whether it has to do with you or not.”

“will you try to sign with another company?”

“will you?” you countered, since you didn’t have an answer.

“i don’t know- i’ve kind of burned a few of those bridges,” he laughed, and you smiled, pushing his chest lightly. “honestly i don’t know.”

“i don’t either. i meant what i said, i know i haven’t done this for that long but i’m tired. it might be nice to take a break for a while, and just live a normal life for a bit.”

“that does sound pretty nice. this … normal life- do i get to be a part of it?” he asked playfully. you smiled, kissing him deeply, smiling into the kiss.

“i should hope so - i still didn’t get my heater fixed and i kinda need a place to crash until i-“ he interrupted your joke with another kiss, softly tackling you down until he lay over you on the couch.

“you are certainly an unpredictable little thing, aren’t you?” he stared down at you with a smile on his face.

“i like to keep you on your toes,” you smiled back, pulling his face down to kiss him again, getting used to the idea of spending everyday like this. you may be out of a job, and you may have made some enemies with your allegiance to punk, but you couldn’t help but feel like the winner in this situation. the two of you toppled over and you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach as he hovered over you, his arms on either side of your head supporting his weight.

“it sounds like we’re gonna have a lot of free time on our hands,” he smirked, kissing you deeply, and you lifted your hips to press against his.

“i know you want to wait…” you trailed off as he kissed you again.

“i think we could get into a little bit of trouble, don’t you?” he spoke next to your ear, sending a shiver down you spine.

“you seem to be pretty good at that,” you teased, thankful that he didn’t take offence to it as he kissed your neck.

“are you saying i’m a bad influence?” he teased. your words caught in your throat as he bit down harshly on your collarbone, unable to form a cohesive thought. he laughed lightly, sending a vibration through your chest.

“yeah, but i think i kinda like it,” you laced your fingers through his dark hair that had begun to grow long at the back, pulling his face up to kiss him hard, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip.

“yeah? well i think you’re not so innocent either- “ he groaned as now it was your turn to place kisses down his neck, leaving a dark hickey on the skin beneath his jaw. “fuck.” he exhaled, hips digging into yours again as you left behind another love bite.

“i have to be honest, i’m really glad my heater stopped working,” you joked, but it was true; you may have not ended up together when you did if it hadn’t happened.

“i’m glad you called me that night. who knew this is where we would be a few weeks later.”

“i certainly had no idea. i never thought you would even look at me twice, and i think i was in denial about how i felt,” you admitted. punk sat up off of you, and before you had a chance to mourn the warmth of him on top of you, he pulled you into his arms again, leaning against the arm of the couch. you tucked your face into the crook of his neck, his stubble tickling your skin as you placed another soft kiss to his jaw bone.

“believe me, i looked more than twice. i don’t know what the hell i did to deserve you, but i must have done something right,” he replied, holding you close to his chest as you lay on top of him on the couch.

“however we ended up here, i’m just happy i get to call you mine,” you leaned up to kiss his lips softly, and he smiled.

“that’s the sappiest shit i’ve ever heard,” he laughed, but he couldn’t help smiling like a fool in love. “but yeah, me too.” punk kissed the top of your head, and despite the fact that it was still early in the day, you felt yourself drifting off to sleep.

“can we stay like this for a while?” you asked sleepily, your eyes fluttering closed. punk laughed softly, his chest shaking slightly with the vibration.

“sure, sweetheart,” he smiled warmly, and you quickly fell asleep. despite all of the drama in the last week, you managed to make it out the other side with the man you loved next to you, and you were more than content with that.

#cm punk #cm punk x reader #cm punk imagine #cm punk fic #phillip brooks fic #phillip brooks x reader #phillip brooks #aew #wwe #wrestling imagine #wrestling #wrestling fic

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roryslilwife · 29 days ago

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♡vacation with your super hot bf rory peters♡

♡content warnings : bf!rory peters x gf!fem!reader, fluff AND smut, making out, dry humping, oral, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), praise, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, drinking ♡

♡18+ MDNI♡

sex between you and rory back home was already paradise, but sex when you two were actually in paradise? even better. no time limit for how long you wanted to make love and stay in bed together afterwards, no interruptions. it was absolutely perfect.

from the second you walked into the ultimate suite rory surprised you with, he didn’t waste any time in getting your clothes off, leaving you in nothing but your soaked panties as he dragged your hips up and down his clothed cock.

he cursed under his breath, taking handfuls of your ass and groping the flesh there as you whimpered against his lips. he wouldn’t stop grinding your cunt against him until you’ve came at least two times, leaving behind a sticky mess as rory kissed you until both of your lips were aching with need.

he’d wake you up with his head in between your thighs, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore paired with the cries of his name was like music to his ears. shower sex was always a must, but not before returning the favor.

rory could never get used to the sight of you on your knees for him. someone who he held up to the highest standard going down just for his pleasure, the idea alone had him painting your lips in record time. getting ready and leaving the suite was nearly impossible since rory couldn’t keep his hands off of you, especially when you came striding out of the bathroom looking like a world class model in your flowy dress and sandals, the sight of you alone making him believe you couldn’t be real.

“you’re just so beautiful, i can’t help myself..” he whispered, making your lips part as you felt the head of his cock enter you slowly. as time goes on, you’re pleading with him to fuck you harder, but instead he shushes you and tells you there isn’t any rush. “m’gonna take my time, and you’re gonna take it the way i give it to you, yeah?” all objections would die in your throat the second he had his fingertips pressing hard circles into your clit. of course, you’re walking to the bar on shaky legs with the help of rory’s arm wrapped around waist as he acts like he didn’t just rearrange your insides ten minutes prior.

he chooses a dark spot in the tavern for the two of you to sit at, ordering you both bottomless drinks until you’re giggling in his lap and he’s drunkenly leaving sloppy kisses along your jaw.

you two barely make it back to the suite in a fit of laughter, your sandals tucked tightly between rory’s arm as you pulled him inside. of course, the length of your dress counteracted with your tipsy state and you’re flying to the floor with a small smack! you’re laughing too hard to feel any pain, your boyfriend sobering up for a second in order to rush down and check on you. “i’m okay, i’m okay!” you reassure him, pulling him down on top of you as you kiss him deeply. that’s exactly how you two end up having floor sex, rory insisting for you to be on top so you weren’t scraping yourself up on the stone surface.

you rode him until he was digging his fingers into your skin, his jaw falling slack as he filled you up with his seed. rory nearly lost all brain function when you kept up your ministrations, unintentionally overstimulating him as he groaned, his dark eyes rolling to the back of his head while you trailed wet pecks up his neck from his chest. rory has to hold you in place, pulling you tight against his chest in order to regain control and keep you from milking him dry. “holy fuckkk,” he drawls out, cradling your head, “you’re insane.” it isn’t long before he’s picking you up bridal style, laying you down gently in the plush comforter before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

the next morning, you’re waking him up with breakfast in bed, having already made a full recovery from last night. you’re hand-feeding him his fruit, both of you just basking in each other’s prescence while the birds sound from outside the balcony. “i don’t want to go home.” you sigh, your head now resting against rory’s chest. he hums groggily, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “so then we won’t. i’ll extend the reservation.”

♡authors note : an anon asked me if i would do halloween or fall themed fics (which i will be doing for sure)/ but it inspired me to write this summertime vacation fic with rory peters. hope you enjoy♡

♡roryslilwife♡

#18 + content #smut #fluff #rory peters #fanfiction #rory peters x reader #final destination 2 #horror #jonathan cherry

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venactricisfics · 5 months ago

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Bucking Tradition: A Yellowstone Fanfic

Chapter Thirty-Eight

More Chapters

I groaned as I woke up. My head was spinning but I found myself tangled in Ryan’s arms. I pulled the blanket up over me as I slipped under the blanket. I pressed my body against his.

“Morning, baby,” he kissed my forehead, “you feeling ok?”

“I’d feel better if the room wasn’t spinning,” I said with a groan.

“Why don’t you take a hot shower and I’ll make breakfast?” he said softly.

“Can’t we just stay in bed all day?” I buried my face in his chest.

Ryan chuckled, his fingers trailing lazily up and down my spine. “Tempting, baby. Real tempting. But you need something in your stomach after last night.”

I let out a dramatic sigh, nuzzling deeper into his chest. “Fine. But only if you bring me coffee in bed first.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “Deal. But after that, shower, food, and then maybe—just maybe—we can crawl back under these covers.”

I peeked up at him with a playful smirk. “You promise?”

His lips curved as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Cross my heart, baby.”

“Fuck,” I groaned, rubbing my temples.

“What’s wrong?” Ryan asked, standing from the bed and pulling his lounge pants up over his hips.

“My sister’s in jail, and I have to figure out how to get her out without it turning into a goddamn media circus,” I sighed, throwing the covers back and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.

Ryan watched me with a mix of sympathy and amusement.

“I’ll take that coffee,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “But looks like we’re rainchecking that lazy day in bed.”

—----

I rode with Jamie to the police precinct, the morning sun glaring off the pavement like it had a personal vendetta against me.

“I guess you were her one phone call,” I muttered, pushing my sunglasses higher on my face. “Why is it so fucking bright out here?” I grumbled.

Jamie exhaled, already looking exhausted. “What happened?”

I crossed my arms. “Some dumb bitch from California was all over Rip like a cat in heat,” I said. “Then she decided to run her mouth, told Beth she’d enjoy watching her fuck Rip.” I glanced at Jamie, watching the inevitable reaction flicker across his face. “Then the bottle crashed, a fight broke out, bouncers got involved, Lloyd threw a punch, and now here we are.”

Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose. “Christ.”

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” I said, shifting my weight. “So what’s the plan? Or are we just leaving her in there to cool off?”

“The longer she’s in there, the more likely the press is gonna catch wind of this,” Jamie said.

“You’re the attorney—do whatever legal magic you can to get her out of it,” I shot back.

“Legal magic only goes so far,” he replied. “Have you seen that woman’s face?”

“It didn’t look too good after Beth was finished with her,” I said dryly. “Didn’t get a good look at her before, so maybe it’s an improvement.”

“Aggravated assault isn’t just gonna disappear,” Jamie pointed out.

“Maybe she will,” I answered. He shot me a look. “She’s from California, Jamie. She’s not sticking around long enough to press charges.”

“Let’s go face the beast,” Jamie muttered as he held the door open. “But I’m doing all the talking.”

“Fine, lawyer boy,” I said, stepping past him. “But you’re taking me to breakfast after this.”

I followed Jamie down the hall into a sterile waiting room, the sharp scent of antiseptic filling the air. I gave a tight smile and nodded as Jamie took the lead, speaking with the officers like the seasoned pro he was. I settled into the chair beside him, crossing my legs as I tried to ignore the unease creeping up my spine. We were waiting for Beth to be brought in, and I wasn’t sure which would be worse—the confrontation with her or the fallout of whatever mess she’d gotten herself into this time.

The door swung open, and she was pushed inside, eyes narrowing as she locked onto us. "My heroes," she drawled, the mockery in her tone unmistakable.

"Knock when you’re done," the officer muttered, giving us one last look before he left the room.

Beth didn’t wait long to make her move. "Of course, the two of you are together," she said, sauntering over to the table across from us, her steps deliberate, like she was walking down a runway.

I bit my lip, trying to keep my mouth shut. Jamie was the one with the legal mind. He was doing the talking, not me.

"Boy, you’ve really fucking done it this time," Jamie said, his smirk never fading.

Beth rolled her eyes, tossing her hair back. "What’s the big deal, Jamie? I got into a bar fight in Bozeman. It should be on a t-shirt in the tourist shop."

Jamie’s expression remained unfazed. "I don’t think the Montana Board of Tourism is too fond of the locals beating the shit out of tourists."

Beth’s lips curled into something close to a grin. "That’s why I called you." She shifted her gaze to me, sharp eyes cutting through the tension. "You two can find the rug to sweep this under."

I scoffed. "I don’t think there’s a rug big enough to cover this one."

Jamie glanced at me before turning back to Beth. "It’s a county attorney issue now," he said, voice steady but laced with frustration.

Beth’s expression shifted slightly, but she didn’t bite. "Your best bet," Jamie continued, leaning in, "is to hope this woman’s got a plane to catch or she’s too hungover to press formal charges."

Beth raised an eyebrow. "This is your legal advice? To just sit here and hope?"

I shrugged, not sure how else to put it. "Sounds like it’s the best option."

Jamie’s eyes hardened, his voice dropping low as he looked directly at Beth. "If she doesn’t file charges," he said, with a pointed pause, "and that’s a big fucking 'if' considering the grapefruit on her forehead, then I’ll ask the County Attorney to show some mercy. And I’ll cite your diminished capacity to control your fucking emotions." He grabbed my arm then, standing with the authority of someone who was done playing games. "Let’s go, we’re leaving her here to ‘hope.’"

Beth smirked at our backs, unfazed.

"No matter what," Jamie added, "if this reaches the press, it’ll be a huge embarrassment for our father."

“Not your father,” Beth responded, “your father can’t be embarrassed by you anymore.”

I stopped mid-step, turning to face her. "You mean our father," I said, making the distinction clear as I motioned between the three of us. "You can’t change that, no matter how much you might want to."

Beth’s eyes narrowed, her smile twisting into something bitter. "Here’s what’s gonna happen," she said smugly. "I’m gonna go back to my cell and take a nap. While the two of you sit on the steps, waiting for that bitch to show up, and convince her not to press charges."

I raised an eyebrow. "How do you expect us to do that?"

"Don’t care," she snapped. "You two are smart. Figure it the fuck out. It’s not really my problem."

Jamie knocked on the door again, his patience already running thin. I rolled my eyes as we turned to walk back down the hall. This was far from over, and I had a sinking feeling that whatever happened next, we weren’t going to be able to dodge the fallout for long.

The door clicked shut behind us, and I stayed close to Jamie, feeling the familiar weight of silence settle between us. He didn’t say anything, but I could feel it—the sting. The distinction Beth had made, as if Jamie wasn’t family anymore, just a pawn in her game. It wasn’t just cold; it was cutting.

Jamie knocked firmly on the door of the detective in charge of the case. "You got this Dutton assault case?"

"Yes, sir," the detective replied, looking up from his desk.

"Why no charges against the complainant?" Jamie asked, his voice crisp, the lawyer in him fully awake. "It was a bar fight, wasn’t it?"

"It was one hell of a bar fight," the detective said, sounding more amused than concerned.

"There’s no self-defense in a bar fight," Jamie countered, leaning in slightly. "Which means the victim is also a defendant. Is she coming in?"

"I’m waiting for her now," the detective answered, glancing at the door like he was expecting a knock at any moment.

"We’ll wait with you," Jamie said, not missing a beat.

I took a seat beside him, my thoughts still lingering on Beth’s words. I’d never really watched Jamie work—at least not like this. In the courtroom, sure, he was brilliant. But when it came to anything else? He was as clueless as they came. Maybe it was his charm, or maybe it was his stubbornness, but it always seemed like he could talk circles around people, yet struggle to read the room.

"Sounds like breakfast is turning into lunch," I muttered, leaning back in the chair.

The detective, shifting awkwardly between paperwork and the conversation, finally glanced over at me. "You do trick riding, don’t you?"

I blinked, caught off guard. "I… uh, yeah," I said, trying to keep my tone light. "I’ve been off the circuit for a few years, but I still do shows every once in a while. Though it may be a little longer between shows since I’m helping our dad more with the ranch. He’s in Helena right now."

The detective nodded, clearly processing, but his expression was hard to read. I couldn’t tell if he was genuinely interested or just trying to pass the time. Either way, the silence that followed felt even heavier than before.

I glanced down the hall when I heard the distinct click of heels on linoleum. I nudged Jamie, my voice barely above a whisper, "That’s the bit—" I paused, catching the detective’s eye before continuing, "That’s her."

"Wait here," Jamie said, his tone low but firm. "It’ll fuck this all up if she sees you."

I rolled my eyes but kept my voice in check. "Fine, big lunch, huge. Getting dessert too," I muttered under my breath as the door shut behind them. I sank back into the chair, tapping my foot impatiently against the floor, the waiting gnawing at me.

A few minutes stretched on like an eternity. I almost didn’t notice the woman as she stormed past me, her heels echoing harshly against the floor, but I exhaled when I saw her head straight for the door, not sparing a glance.

The tension in my chest slowly eased as I watched her exit.

"You saved me a ton of paperwork," the detective said with a half-grin as he walked out of the room, Jamie following close behind.

"No problem," Jamie replied, his tone nonchalant, but the glint in his eyes told a different story. He didn’t wait for any more words. "Let’s go."

We lingered in the precinct, waiting for Beth to finally saunter out like she owned the place.

"Disorderly conduct?" she snapped at Jamie the second she saw him. "Way to go."

"You're welcome," Jamie replied dryly, unfazed as ever.

"Now I gotta spend my spare time picking up trash on the highway," she grumbled, falling into step beside us. "Which car is yours?"

Jamie hit the unlock button. "I can’t take you back. I have to go to Helena."

Beth scoffed, motioning toward me. "You’re taking her home. We have the same home."

Jamie didn’t bother arguing. "Fine."

I slid into the backseat, already regretting every decision that led me here. I could’ve spent the day in bed with my cowboy, wrapped up in something a hell of a lot better than Beth’s bad mood. Instead, I was stuck in the back of Jamie’s car for what was bound to be a fan-fucking-tastic ride home.

Beth glanced back at me, then her gaze shifted, narrowing in on the back seat. Her expression darkened when she spotted the toddler’s car seat strapped in.

"What the fuck is that?" she demanded, her voice sharp as a blade.

Jamie barely flicked a glance in the rearview mirror. "What is what?"

Beth pointed, her voice rising. "The baby seat. What the fuck is that for?"

Jamie’s face went white as he finally registered it, the air between them thick with something unspoken.

Beth’s eyes locked onto him, suspicion morphing into something colder. "Do you have a child?" Her voice was quieter now, but no less dangerous.

Jamie hesitated. Froze.

"Do you have a child, Jamie?" she repeated, softer this time, but with an edge that cut through the silence.

Jamie swallowed hard, hands tightening on the wheel. "A boy," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Beth’s entire demeanor shifted—her face contorting with something between rage and grief. Anger for what had been taken from her. Desperation for what she’d never have. Regret.

"God gave you a son?" she whispered, almost to herself. Then her expression twisted, and she turned on him with full fury. "You had my womb cut out of me, and God gave you a fucking son?!"

Before I could react, she lunged at him, her nails digging into his arm as the car veered wildly.

"Beth! Stop!" I shouted, throwing myself between them, trying to pry her off before we ended up in a ditch.

The tires screeched as Jamie slammed the brakes, the car jerking violently to a stop on the side of the highway. Beth threw the door open before Jamie could say a word, stumbling out onto the gravel shoulder, breathing hard.

"Let me guess," she spat, spinning back to face him, her voice trembling with rage. "That broodmare of a fucking campaign manager?"

Jamie exhaled slowly, gripping the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. "Yes."

Beth let out a bitter, humorless laugh, wiping at her face. "I saw her coming." Her voice cracked, the weight of everything pressing down all at once. And then, without another word, she turned and stormed down the highway.

Jamie threw open his own door. "Beth, stop." His voice was different now—raw, pleading. "Taking you to that clinic is the greatest regret of my life."

Beth slowed but didn’t turn around. Her shoulders rose and fell with heavy breaths. Then, finally, she glanced back, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

"Of all the shit you’ve done in your forty-three years on this planet," she said, voice dripping with venom, "that is really saying something."

"Just fucking stop!" I snapped, unable to take the back-and-forth any longer.

Beth did stop—but only to deliver one last blow. She turned fully, her expression unreadable except for the dangerous glint in her eye.

"I’m gonna take him from you," she said, her voice eerily calm. "Kiss him goodbye, Jamie, because he’s as good as gone."

And then she kept walking.

Jamie stood frozen, his breathing ragged, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Get back in the car," he told me, his voice tight, controlled—but I could hear the fear underneath. Not just fear of Beth. Fear of what she was capable of.

Fear for his son.

"She won’t hurt him," I said, though I wasn’t sure if I was trying to reassure him or myself. "I won’t let her. She just needs to cool off."

Jamie let out a bitter laugh, his knuckles going white around the steering wheel. "I’ve given her over twenty years to cool off."

Then, with no warning, he let out a guttural scream and slammed his fists against the wheel, the car shaking with the force of it.

I said nothing. There was nothing to say.

Beth wasn’t done. And Jamie knew it.

Jamie shifted the car into gear, his grip tight on the wheel as the engine rumbled beneath us. His foot pressed on the gas, the car lurching forward as Beth continued her march down the center of the road.

For a split second, I thought he was going to do it.

The tension in the air was suffocating, thick with years of resentment and wounds that never quite healed. Beth didn’t stop. She didn’t look back. She just kept walking.

Jamie didn’t either.

At the last second, he yanked the wheel, swerving as Beth darted farther off to the shoulder. Gravel sprayed as the tires cut against the road, the car jerking slightly before he corrected it.

Beth didn’t flinch. She just kept going.

Neither of us spoke after that.

—---------------

The silence followed us all the way back to the ranch. When Jamie finally pulled the car to a stop, he exhaled, his fingers flexing against the wheel before he shifted into park.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said, voice quieter than before. He glanced over at me, the weight of everything still lingering in his expression. "Raincheck on lunch, okay?"

I nodded, pushing open the door. "Yeah."

But as I watched him drive off, I knew I’d be cashing in a lot of those rainchecks soon enough.

I walked down to the barn, my boots crunching softly against the dirt. Unfamiliar cars were parked along the path, their presence a stark reminder of what today was.

Then, it hit me.

Monica and Kayce were laying their son to rest.

The ceremony was meant to be a private, traditional Native service—one we weren’t meant to witness. It wasn’t for us. It was for them.

I understood that, at least in part. This was what Monica wanted. She didn’t want a sea of mourners watching as she buried the son she had only held for an hour. She wanted to grieve in peace, away from the weight of expectation and the unspoken condolences of people who could never truly understand.

I could give her that.

So I stayed back, slipping into the cover of the trees. Close enough that, if Kayce needed me, I’d be there. But far enough that, for now, this moment belonged to them.

“Nobody told me,” Dad’s gruff voice came from behind me.

I didn’t turn around. Just kept watching.

“He didn’t tell anybody,” I murmured. “I just… knew. The way I always know what’s going on with Kayce.”

Dad exhaled, his presence heavy beside me. “Should we get closer?”

I shook my head. “I think this is how they want it, Dad.”

So we stayed back, silent sentinels in the distance, watching as they lowered the tiny casket into the earth. The weight of it—of everything—settled over us like the thick Montana sky.

When the ceremony ended, I walked with my father toward the gravesite, our footsteps slow, measured.

Chief Rainwater approached first, extending his hand. “John.”

Dad hesitated, glancing at Rainwater’s outstretched hand. “I’m not sure of the protocol.”

Rainwater gave a small nod, understanding. “You can go be with your brother, Miss Dutton,” he said, his voice steady but kind. “He needs your strength now that his is faltering.”

I nodded and stepped past them, my boots sinking slightly into the fresh earth as I reached the grave.

Tate stood there, his gaze fixed on the ground. He was nearly as tall as me now—still a boy, but on the cusp of something else. Something heavier.

I pulled him into a hug, and he didn’t resist.

“How are you doing?” I asked softly.

His voice was quiet, unsure. “I don’t know yet.” A beat of silence. Then, “I always wanted a brother.”

I swallowed, my throat tight as my eyes flicked from the fresh mound of dirt to the place where Lee was buried.

“You have one,” I told him, voice thick with meaning. “He’s just with mine now.”

“I barely remember him,” Tate admitted, his voice small.

I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “When you’re ready, I can tell you all about him.”

“We both can,” Kayce added, his voice rough but steady. He looked at Tate, then toward Monica, standing silently by the grave. “Let’s give your mom a minute to say goodbye.”

Without another word, we turned and walked back toward the barn. The ground felt uneven beneath my feet, though I knew it wasn’t.

“Kayce…” I started, but the words caught in my throat. What could I say? There was no string of words that could soften this kind of grief.

I had lost a brother. I had lost a mother. But it wasn’t the same. None of it carried the weight of what Kayce was feeling now. Because he had lost them, too—and now, he had lost a son who never even had the chance to live.

So I just walked beside him, silent. Sometimes, that was all you could do.

—--

I led my horse out of the barn, the familiar weight of the reins in my hands grounding me. The sun hung high in the sky, warm against my face, a stark contrast to the heaviness lingering in my chest. I focused on the motions—guiding my horse up the ramp, securing the latch on the trailer—letting the simple routine steady me.

We were headed to help the Poison Creek group with branding. They were short-handed, and after the past few days, I needed this. Hard work. The kind that left you sore and sunburned but reminded you that something was still alive in the world.

Shrugging out of my jacket, I climbed into the backseat of Rip’s truck, sliding to the middle to make room for Ryan beside me. His shoulder bumped mine as he settled in, his presence warm and solid. Rip threw the truck into gear without a word, and we rattled down the dirt road toward the Poison Creek ranch.

When we arrived, we got straight to work, guiding their cattle into the corrals, sorting them one by one. The scent of dust and sweat filled the air as we wrestled calves to the ground, the branding iron hissing as it met hide. The work was quiet, almost reverent, the kind of ritual that had been done for generations. And by the time we were finished, my body ached in a way that reminded me I was still here. Still moving. Still breathing.

“You get you a plate?” I asked Ryan softly as he sat chatting with the other cowboys chatting.

“Yeah, baby,” he grabbed my hand and pulled me into his lap.

I rested against Ryan, letting his warmth seep into me as the steady hum of conversation surrounded us. The long day of work had settled into my bones, but here, with him, I felt lighter. His fingers traced lazy circles over the back of my hand, grounding me in the moment.

“You doin’ okay?” he murmured, his breath tickling my ear.

I nodded, exhaling as I let myself relax against him. “Better now.”

He pressed a kiss to my temple, his grip tightening just a little. “Good.”

The fire crackled nearby, casting flickering shadows across the gathered cowboys as they swapped stories over full plates. The scent of mesquite smoke and slow-roasted meat filled the air, mingling with the dust still clinging to our clothes. For the first time in days, I felt like I could just be.

“I love you, you know,” I whispered in his ear.

“I know,” he said with a smile.

Colby shot us a look. “When are y’all gonna stop making goo-goo eyes at each other?” He raised an eyebrow. “How long’s it been now?”

“I’ve been in love with him since I was sixteen,” I said, smirking. “But it took him a few years to figure it out.”

Ryan chuckled, squeezing me closer. “I knew, baby. It was just about timing.”

Colby snorted. “And figuring out if you were crazy enough to take on everything that comes with dating the boss’s daughter.”

I tilted my head, grinning at Ryan. “Yeah, guess you had to decide if loving me was worth the risk.”

Ryan’s fingers brushed over mine, lazy and familiar. “Baby, loving you was never the question. Surviving it? That was another story.”

Colby barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s the damn truth. Ain’t a man alive dumb enough to cross your dad—except maybe this one.”

Ryan smirked, his grip tightening around me. “I’d do it again, too.”

I leaned back against his chest, sighing. “Yeah, well, took you long enough.”

Colby rolled his eyes. “So what was it? Some big romantic moment? A grand realization?”

Ryan shrugged. “More like me finally pullin’ my head out of my ass.”

I laughed, tilting my head to press a kiss just beneath his jaw. “Better late than never.”

Ryan glanced at Colby, a grin tugging at his lips. “It was your birthday, man. First one after you joined up.”

I smiled at the memory. “The night I threw myself at you in the barn.”

I didn’t bring up the part where he let me go—not at first. It didn’t matter anymore. That moment had been a detour, not a dead end. We found our way back, and that was what counted.

Teeter raised an eyebrow. “How long you been working here, baby?”

“Just over ten years, I guess,” Colby answered with a shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal.

“That’s a long fucking time,” Teeter mused, smirking.

I glanced at Ryan, my smile softening. “It doesn’t feel like a long time,” I murmured. “Feels like we’re just getting started—like there’s still so much ahead of us.”

Ryan’s grin turned playful. “Good thing you ain’t one of them barrel racer girls,” he teased. “That would feel like a fucking eternity.”

I rolled my eyes, laughing. “Shut up and kiss me, cowboy.”

I leaned into him, my heart racing—just like it did the first time. No matter how much time had passed, that feeling never faded.

#yellowstone fanfiction #ryan yellowstone #ryan x oc yellowstone #yellowstone #yellowstone tv #yellowstone smut

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promptodiary · 8 years ago

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admin note

anyone who paid extra-close attention might have noticed the diary entries went from 191 to 199~

i’d like to acknowledge that this was intentional! assuming i can find the time/energy, i have a little something planned for the future.

in the meantime, i’m going to go back to hibernating for the summer (◕‿◕✿)

#admin #mod post #it's very hot #i hate it a lot #i'm allergic to my cats and wake up with a nose full of snot #when people say they like summer i'm just like 'sorry but WHAT'#because they're obviously fucking aliens or something #A L I E N S #it's 6 in the morning i've been up all night #gonna go tuck myself into bed real tight #and then wake up half-cooked because my room is a freakin' oven

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house-of-lovin · 2 years ago

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legally binded - 4

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

masterlist | series mast. | prev part | next part

Chapter 4: Family Bonding, Festivals and Feelings?

Summary: After getting caught in some hot waters with the press, you are forced into an unexpected agreement with America's sweetheart, Jenna Ortega to save your career.

Warnings/Tags: dual!pov, famous!reader, mentions of hard substances, intoxication, mature language, real people (do not read if any of these makes you uncomfortable)

(this is all fiction!)

Note: Things are gearing up 😮‍💨 (ik i said i was gonna take a break, but i couldn’t help myself, now ill take a break lol, happy readin!)

Word Count: 6k+

“No one’s going to get cancelled — it’ll be fun.” Colin Jost smiles curtly on your flat screen TV.

You sit on the bed with a spoon hanging from your lips, an eye on the bright screen having just finished watching a rerun of Jenna’s SNL episode. You made sure to buy it as soon as it was available; locking yourself away in your room.

Currently, you are watching this week’s episode of SNL and Colin and Che are giving their weekly news update.

“Las Vegas is opening up a pop-up vaccine site in a strip club and don’t worry the strippers say the vaccine comes with singer and actress Y/N L/N. This time she’ll be the designated driver – I heard she’s on a tight leash.”

Your smile instantly drops.

“Speaking of Y/N,” Colin bounces off, reading off the cue cards. “Did you see her last week sitting in the audience during Jenna Ortega’s episode… hey, I wonder if they’re a real thing.”

Colin and Che share a knowing glance, “Nah.” They say in unison then move on to their next bit.

Scowling, you turn the TV off, practically throwing your bowl of cereal on the side table.

You supposed you can’t be too mad – all too familiar with the snide jabs and harmless jokes from others in the industry. This is what you signed up for, right?

Whatever, you’re sure people are loving it.

It’s been a whole week since you left New York and you haven’t spoken to Jenna. It seems how you two acted back in the Big Apple was a success because it got your managers to back off, for now. You didn’t see a reason to contact the actress so you let the silence pass — you see when she posts on social media.

You don’t have time to think about it because Coachella weekend is coming up soon. For the first time since Vegas, you will be working and you have been itching – wanting nothing more than to dive head-first into work mode.

It’s what you do best.

You are invited to do a guest performance on a big producer’s set for the festival. It would be your first ever time performing at Coachella but you were privy to the culture of the festival, having gone as an audience member to support your musician friends.

“Hey, you got a minute?” Link pops his head in your door, holding a phone up.

–

“Please don’t do this.” Your pleas go underheard.

“I don’t know why you keep trying, the answer is the same Y/N.” Link rolled his eyes, pointing to a house.

“I think this is the one.”

You scan the two-story typical American home tucked away in the boroughs of suburbia up in the desert, otherwise known as Coachella Valley.

Or well, Jenna’s parent’s house at least.

After Link had dropped the most terrible news; you had to be seen with Jenna in Coachella. Liv and Jake had instructed your team to drive you to stay with Jenna as you prepare for the festival – it was convenient they said.

Convenient my ass.

“Relax... Marcus will be back to pick you up, he’s gonna drop off your bags at the rental house.”

“Why can’t I just go with you then?” You ask.

“Liv said to drive you to this address. Jenna gave explicit directions to drive you here.”

You frown pulling on a loose thread on your sweater.

What could Jenna possibly want that she’d want you here? She looked pretty upset at you, the last time you talked.

You really don’t have it in you to fight with her, again, especially after the long drive from L.A. up to the desert where you thought — you’d be staying in your villa for Coachella weekend.

“Now go see the girl, please.” Link reaches over to open the door.

When you step out, the car is already driving speedily down the street not even giving you a chance to change your mind. You hear a flurry of voices from the side of the house but it sounds far away. Toy cars and trollies litter the grass yard.

Slowly, you walked up her porch, your shoes scraped as you ascend the concrete steps. Hesitating for a brief moment, you realize: Jenna is inside. Well duh. But the thought of her on the other side of the door has your heart dropping out of nowhere. You see flashes in your memory of her frown as you explain why you have to leave New York so soon.

Unspoken words as she says ‘well I thought–’

What did she think?

You would probably never know.

The door opens with a creak breaking you out of your thoughts.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” Aliyah leans against the doorframe, smiling.

You laughed, “Yeah, we do.”

She doesn’t say anything else and just yells over her shoulder, “Jenna, she’s here.”

Then walked off.

“Hi…” Jenna appears, leaning on the doorframe with a hand.

She scans you for a brief moment; not having seen you since New York, a week ago. She had to make sure you’re still alive because she hasn’t heard from you since then.

You also practically ghosted her.

After feeling guilty about how she left things with you, Jenna sent you a text the next day, asking if you made it back to Los Angeles safely.

You liked her message with a thumbs up.

A thumbs up! Not responding would have been better, the actress bitterly thought.

“Hey.” You greet. “How are you?”

“Fine. You?” She answered quickly, smile sealed tight like an envelope.

“I’m… good. Yeah. Just working.” You answer honestly.

“Oh really?” Jenna asked.

“Yeah, something for Coachella actually.”

Jenna raised her brows in surprise. “Like what?”

You send a tight-lipped smile, “It’s a surprise. People don’t know I’m here yet.”

Jenna can’t fight her excitement; giddy about being in on a secret. But then she remembers that she’s supposed to be annoyed at you and not fascinated.

“Why haven’t you texted me?” Jenna sighed, her voice dropping to a lowly whisper, in case someone was walking by.

You raised your brows, surprised by her question. “Oh… um. I’ve been busy like I said, just working, trying to keep my head down and all that.”

“Are you sure that’s it?” She asked accusingly.

You missed her tone and shrugged, reassuring her, “Yeah. Of course.”

“But, I heard you were busy this week too, filming another movie with Barry Keoghan and The Weeknd?” You changed the subject, hoping to talk about something else. She takes the bait after scanning your eyes for a second.

“Yeah, it was just a short role. But it was a lot of fun. Abel actually talked about you.”

“That’s great, I’m happy for you Jen… and yeah he’s an old friend.”

“Sung your praises pretty high, I had to make sure he was talking about the right person.”

You chuckle, “Oh okay, I see how it is.”

Your laugh caused a sudden warmness to manifest in Jenna and she couldn't help but join along. “Come on, my family has been dying to see you again.”

“Really?” You asked, stepping inside her childhood home. “So you think I made a good impression?”

She turned to look back at you, surprised that you care. “Maybe… don’t let it get to your head, though.”

You laughed as you followed her through the house. “Is that jealousy I hear Ortega? Scared you won't be the only movie star around?”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Shut up. You’re an idiot.”

“An idiot that may have impressed your family?” You cocked your head and grinned wide.

“Yeah, yeah. Like, I said. Don’t let it get to your head. They could care less about celebrities and Hollywood. They’re pretty grounded.”

You shrugged, looking at the various family pictures hanging on the wall. “It’s fine. There’s only one Ortega I want to impress anyway.”

You’re not sure where that came from and it seemed Jenna shared the same thought because she raised her brows at you – but didn’t comment.

Jenna blocks you from walking when you reached the sliding glass door. “What?”

Jenna chewed her lip anxiously, “My family can be a lot. In numbers and in the other sense too. There’s a lot of us.”

“Oh… that’s okay.” You answered. A bit confused as to why she is telling you this. When you see her genuine concern your gaze softens. “Jenna, relax. I can handle the family… and I can charm anyone’s socks off.”

She relented, rolling her eyes at your joke. “Okay, okay.”

"Wait..."

Jenna turns around.

"Why am I here exactly? At your parents, that is. Link told me that you gave my driver instructions to bring me here."

Jenna bites her lip in contemplation. "Um—like I said my family wanted to see you again and I heard you were going to Coachella anyway so you know, two birds one stone."

You nod, accepting her answer.

Jenna opens the door for you two to step out.

–

Sounds of laughter rang around as you and Jenna sat in lawn chairs in her parent’s backyard.

“What are Timothee Chalamet and Zendaya like in real life?” Markus – Jenna’s brother leaned forward to ask.

“Markus!” Jenna scolded and threw her brother a glare.

The actress blushed as she sat beside you but all she felt was the vibrations of your laughter, indulging her brother’s question.

Jenna can’t help but wonder if you have other family members that spend time with you like this. You look so carefree and genuinely happy; comfortable around her family — after knowing you for a couple months now; she guesses it’s a no.

“They’re cool. Just like everyone else to be honest. Especially, Timothee, sweet guy but he’s a bit of a typical frat bro.” You joked, “And Zendaya, well. She’s just as amazing as everyone says she is. Great work ethic, it’s inspiring when you work with someone passionate like that – makes you want to be better and work harder.”

Jenna’s sisters are eating your story up. Secretly she knew they enjoyed the tales of celebrities and pop culture. It’s nearly impossible to live your life without seeing a public figure pop up on an ad on your phone or on the side of a bus stop on your drive home.

Jenna is barely home enough to be able to have moments like this where she can humour her sister's questions. But they all had their own lives to live. She's has been looking forward to this break for a while, knowing it was coming up after her long week in New York.

She still can’t describe New York.

Something seems to have shifted between you two by the end of the week. But she didn’t know if it was for the better. The two of you have this constant push and pull; where everything is fine one moment, then one of you says something and it turns tense and weird as you both stay silent or you just completely blow up on each other.

Jenna didn’t know if she had it in her to try to decipher what these restrained responses she gets from you could possibly mean.

You are an enigma; a defensive, hot-headed asshole that grinded every gear the actress had.

“Do you like Zendaya, buddy?” You bounced her niece in your lap, enjoying how the baby grabbed at your fingers.

But then Jenna turns around and you act like this. Sweet, protective, charming.

How are you the same person?

She can’t fight her smile as she watched the adorable sight.

Jenna didn’t know you were good with babies.

“I think Z would think you’re just the most adorable thing. Oh my god, Jen, can I send her a picture of us?” You turned to her, with a bright smile.

Jenna didn’t know when you started calling her by her nickname but she certainly won’t say how she enjoys how it sounds when you say it. “Uh–sure, if it’s okay with my sister.”

“Zendaya’s gonna have a picture of my baby on her phone? Uh yes!”

Jenna laughed, nodding. “I’ll take the picture.” She took your phone, opening the camera.

“What are you doing? Get in here with us." You asked with an adorable scrunch in the nose, surprising Jenna.

“Oh, I just thought— okay.” She swallows her growing grin, sliding in beside you.

Her sisters share knowing glances.

You happily scooted in, pressing your chest to her back.

Jenna is suddenly reminded of her you and her, alone in her dressing room.

She presses back into you.

“Say, cheese guys!” Jenna clears her throat.

With big bright smiles, you placed your head above her shoulder to get in the frame, repeating, “Cheese!”

Even her niece seemed to be enjoying the attention as she smiled brightly and toothless while standing on your lap with her chubby legs. Jenna snapped a couple for good measure, checking over the pictures. The three of you are squished together as she held it in portrait; you all looked cute Jenna can admit.

Like a little family.

What?

“Oh Jenna, send me that, please. I want to post it on my Instagram.” Her mom spoke up already reaching for her phone.

“Okay, okay.” Jenna rolled her eyes but sent herself the pictures first before airdropping them to – everyone – who begged for it.

“This is adorable, I think I’m gonna make this my lock screen.” You grinned, staring at the photo. She sees you typing a message, indeed sending it to the actress like you said you would. “Just for your niece.”

Jenna felt her heart skip a beat. “Are you saying you’re gonna crop me out the photo?”

“No… but now that’s a good idea, thanks.” You mocked with a smile.

“Mom, how did you already post that picture so fast?” Mia asked.

–

“Don’t be mad.” Jenna begged.

“Mad? Jenna. This isn’t what I signed up for.” You pinched the bridge of your nose.

The two of you were standing in her driveway, in a discord of course. Jenna just forced you into another situation that you wanted no part of.

“You just told Link to call off my driver and now you’re saying don’t be mad. Of course, I’m mad! Why did you say yes to your Mom, Jenna.” You sighed, dropping your hand limply.

“I didn’t know she’d insist.” She groaned walking closer, “She said that you shouldn’t stay in that big house by yourself for the weekend when there is room here, next thing I know she’s forcing me to ask you in front of everybody.”

"I'm sorry." She grabs your arm. “Link said you might be mad.”

You stare at her for a couple of moments. Their hearts are in the right place, you guessed. Eventually, you rolled your eyes and sighed. “Thank you I guess… I appreciate that the sentiment.”

Jenna smiled in relief, “Yeah, of course.” Then scrunched her nose in thought. “We actually really don’t have the room so I don’t know where she’ll put you.”

She should have known. This is so typical and cliche; sharing a bed trope? Please, can the universe be any more unoriginal?

“Mom, are you sure?” Jenna whispered as she peaked her head out the small awning of the door – making sure you can’t hear.

��Jen, go to sleep. We have a packed day tomorrow. Everyone’s coming over for the game.”

Tomorrow is sports night and her uncles, aunts, cousins and grandparents are set to come over. It was a weekly tradition for the extended family to host a gathering to watch the game every Friday; with Jenna’s busy schedule, she hasn’t been to one in months. She’s grateful this one is hosted at her house but then inwardly sighed because she should probably warn you about that too.

“Mom…” She pleaded in a whisper.

“Goodnight and be responsible. I trust you two.”

“Mom!”

Jenna dropped her head in defeat as she listened to her Mom’s footsteps dwindle further away.

“Hey, you should probably get in there before all the hot water runs out..”

She turns, seeing your freshly showered figure. For a moment, Jenna finds herself stuck. You’re rubbing a towel on your wet hair as grey sweats hung lowly on your hips and she was desperately trying to avert her eyes from the small patch of you skin exposed.

“I already showered.”

“Oh okay.” You shrugged walking over to grab your phone.

“Which side do you prefer?” You asked absentmindedly,

“What?” Jenna blinks away.

“Of the bed. Which side do you prefer?”

“Oh. The left.”

“Thank god. Every bed I’ve had to share I’ve had to fight for the right side. You’re perfect.”

Jenna watched as you jump into your preferred side, getting comfortable under her covers.

She doesn’t know why she feels a mismatched thump fall out of rhythm with her heartbeat at seeing you in her bed.

“Alright, are you gonna be weird about sharing a bed? ‘Cause I can just take the couch or call my driver to pick me up. I can get a hotel room or something.” You sighed sitting up.

Jenna furrowed her brows, “What no. Can you please stop jumping to conclusions?”

“I’m not.” You mumbled but don’t argue further. Jenna gets in beside you.

“You satisfied now?” She throws out but it sounds just shy of playful and maybe even flirtatious – definitely not how she meant for it to sound.

“Uh– sure.” You replied sliding the blanket up to your chin as you tried to get comfortable again.

There’s that weird tension again, Jenna thinks and she thinks it’s starting to annoy her.

“Okay, what’s your deal?” Jenna crossed her arms, turning to you.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“Why are you being so weird?”

“I’m not.” You sat up to face the other actress.

Jenna frowned, “Yes you are. You have been since New York. Did I do something? Because you still haven’t told me why you just left town like that.”

“I told you. Jake wanted me back for Coachella. Why else would I have just left all of a sudden?” You explained.

“I just– I just feel like you’re not telling me something.” She admits, a bit insecure. “I, at least, thought we’re friends now and when I didn’t see you in the crowd or the dressing room after SNL I was a bit… disappointed? I don't know if it’s dumb but you really did calm me down before my monologue and I wanted to thank you over dinner. But, yeah–”

Jenna looks away, missing your guilty frown. “Jenna… it’s not dumb. God, I feel like an asshole.”

“Well, sometimes you can be.”

You laugh but it’s dry. “I’m so sorry. I–I should have been there.”

You grab her hands. “Look at me, please.” It gets her to look up, the light from the lamp is bouncing off your eyes making them look softer in the dim light. “I promise, I’ll always be there for the important moments from now on. Before, during and after – we are stuck together until the foreseeable future, so.”

Jenna snorts, looking down at your hands. You begin to rub lines with your fingers on her open palm making her shiver. “Yeah, I guess we are.” She whispers.

She doesn’t know when she makes the bold move to intertwine your fingers. But for the first time since SNL, you two hold hands and this time you don’t pull away. But she doesn’t miss the questioning glint in your eyes as you look down. Jenna ignores the attention and squeezes your hand to make you look at her again.

“You mean it though?”

Your eyes soften. “I mean it.”

–

“Where’s Y/N?” Mia asked over the breakfast table.

“Rehearsals,” Jenna mumbled sleepily shoving spoonfuls of food in her dry mouth – still trying to wake up.

When the actress had awakened, the sun was high above the horizon and the desert heat was already inching inside her cracked window. But she woke up, alone.

Differing from how she went to sleep the previous night with you barely pressed up beside her as you laid with your backs to each other. Jenna only found herself un-tensing after hearing your breathing fall into short even exhales.

When she turned over to grab her phone this morning, you had sent a text:

Sorry for not waking you up. You sleep like a rock but I had to go to rehearsals. I’ll be back by 3 :)

She couldn’t be too annoyed at the smiley face you leave with your occasional messages.

“She’s performing?” Mia asks shocked.

Jenna nods, too tired for words.

“The crowd is gonna lose their minds.” Aliyah laughs. “With who?”

“Won’t say.” Jenna muttered bitterly, thinking back to her incessant begging; you never caved.

“Okay… can we talk about it, now then?”

“Talk about what Mia,” Jenna sighs dropping her fork on her plate.

“You and Y/N.” She says like it’s obvious.

“There is no me and Y/N, it’s all for the cameras. Remember the NDA I had to beg you guys to sign?” The actress rolls her eyes.

“Then why were you so upset after New York?” She challenges; tired of her sister’s silence over this whole situation. There’s no way she’s just unaffected by this.

“Mia drop it.” Her mom says.

“No. I’m serious, she’s literally staying under our roof, sharing a room with Jenna. And no one is still saying anything? Am I the only one who thinks there’s something going on?”

“Yes.” Jenna says quickly.

Mia rolls her eyes, “You still haven’t answered my question, Jen.”

Jenna crosses her arms, sitting up. “Of course I was upset. She just left town without a warning, if we didn’t catch her in the lobby she was just gonna a send a text. A text! Anyone would be upset at that — but it doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

But her sister doesn’t buy it. She opens her mouth to refute but their Dad swoops in saving the day. “Leave your sister alone, Mia. I’m sure whatever is going on with Y/N and Jenna – they can figure it out themselves.”

Jenna groans, “Dad, not helping.”

He shrugs, sitting at the head of the table with his own plate of breakfast.

Eventually, her family scatters to their own corners of the house to get ready for the day. Her other family members would be arriving soon and the actress had to start getting ready. Crap, she forgot to warn you about game night because you left so early. Jenna decides she’ll send you a text after she gets out of the shower.

With the raucous of the day, Jenna forgets to send the text. Her cousins arrived much earlier than anticipated and she was already getting pulled out to living room to talk about her upcoming projects. She gets so lost catching up with her cousins that she doesn’t realize when you arrive.

"Jenna, your novia is here." One of her aunts shouts making her head snap up to you as the front door opens. "Oh wow, and she's brought the whole store!"

Jenna's jaw drops as you walk in, holding multiple large bouquets of different arrangements of flowers. "Y/N?"

"Hey!" You peek your head out from the large flowers. "These are for your family... but I may have overestimated how big these were and Link refused to help me."

"Oh god, these are beautiful Y/N." Jenna's mom gets up from her seat, grabbing as many flowers as she can. "You didn't have to..."

"Oh, it's nothing, really. You guys are letting me stay here, I just wanted to express a little gratitude." You duck your head, all timid now.

Jenna knows it's not nothing. Those flowers cost a fuck ton, she would know she gets gifted those whenever she has an event.

"Well, gratitude expressed. I don't even know where to put these. Mia, Aliyah help the girl, please!"

The two sisters grab all but one smaller bouquet from your hands, walking away with smug smiles.

"Jen, get up," Aliyah whispers in passing as all the women and Jenna's dad filter over to the kitchen to view the gorgeous flowers.

She still hasn't moved from the couch and briefly, she thinks she can feel her cousin's smirking at her reaction.

"You got my family flowers?" Jenna asks dumbly, walking over slowly; ignoring everyone's eyes on them.

"Uh—yeah. Sorry if it's a bit much. I wasn't sure what everyone liked so... I got them all." You scratch your head with a bouquet in hand, catching Jenna's eye.

"These are for you..." You smile, holding out a smaller albeit more personal? flower arrangement. It felt like Jenna, somehow.

“I picked it out myself.” Your smile turns shy.

Like, if she were to walk into a flower shop and see this bouquet, she would instantly grasp it and never let go.

We still talking flowers?

"Thanks..." Jenna mumbles, grabbing the flowers; your fingertips touching sends sparks down her arm.

"Um—you're back early..." Is all she manages to say.

“Yeah… they didn’t need me for a long time so I decided to come back.” You explained, glancing at the new faces in the room. “Uh– what’s all this?”

The actress sends you a sheepish smile, “Family game night, we watch the game every Friday and cook some barbeque, it’s a whole thing. I forgot to text you, I’m sorry. You can call your driver back if this is too much.”

You laugh, squeezing her shoulder. “And miss out on great food? No, thank you.”

Jenna scans your eyes for the truth, “Are you sure? I know this isn’t exactly your scene so I understand.”

“Jen.” Your hand slides down, softly grabbing her hand. “I can’t even remember how long it’s been since the last time I had a home-cooked meal. I’m so in.”

You squeeze her hand for good measure. “Guys close the door.” Someone shouts.

Jenna doesn’t let you drop your hands this time because she’s already gripping them, pulling you to sit with her cousins – introducing you.

She ignores the giddy feeling in her chest that you want to stay.

You don’t say anything even when you’re both sitting and she’s still holding your hand.

–

“Who are you performing with?” Jenna tugs on your arm.

You squint to see her through your sunglasses. The Californian sun was making its presence known today and there are crowds of people everywhere as you tried to find some shade. It’s just past 6 PM and people are already starting to get rowdy – before all the good sets are even on.

Fish nets, sparkles and bedazzles are all you see in the sea of people and you just know you’re at Coachella.

“I can’t say…” You fight the smile on your face, finding her begging adorable. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“But Aliyah knows! I heard you whisper it to her.” She glares back at her sister standing a fair distance away from you two – who was talking to Mia and her boyfriend.

“I didn’t tell her anything, Jen. We were just fucking with you.” You laugh, sliding your hand in hers.

An unspoken comfortableness has formed between you two. Light touches are a new development in this… situation Jenna had with you.

Whether it was knees touching under the dinner table, walking shoulder to shoulder on your daily walks around the neighbourhood (there wasn’t much to do as Coachella weekend approached) or leaning her head on your shoulder as she slept when you two watched TV before bed.

And now, it seems like things have escalated to a new level of comfort where you two willingly linked fingers whenever you walked anywhere. Neither of you make a peep when someone eventually reaches for the other’s hand.

“Rude…” She pinches your side making you flinch away from her.

Jenna’s immediately tugging you back closer.

“Hey… I can’t get an injury before my performance. I’m legally binded to a contract.” You state.

Jenna snorts, “I thought you were friends with the performer? Are you really not gonna tell me who it is?”

“Nope and sure we’re friends but, I’m still contractually obligated to the festival and all that.”

“Come on Y/N!” She groaned unconsciously stepping closer to you. ��I’ve been so nice to you, I haven’t called you an idiot all day!”

You laugh, “Is that supposed to win me over?”

“You tell me? Is it working?” The laugh dies in your lips when she tits her head in question.

Jenna misses the gulp you take because she was leaning closer, trying to find your eyes behind the dark-tinted glasses you had on.

“No…” You replied with a vacant tone.

Jenna steps back when the sun blinds her eye. “You’re no fun.”

“I don’t know what to tell you… you’re gonna have to wait like everyone else.”

“Speaking of everyone else, I’m surprised we’re not surrounded by your groupies.” Jenna eyes the group of people hovering not too far away.

You snicker, “They are not my groupies. I barely know those people but it happens at every music event. They flock over like geese. I let Link handle them.”

Jenna frowns, “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“What?” You look down.

“That you can’t even enjoy yourself at a festival without someone hovering over your shoulder.”

Since Jenna’s started this PR relationship with you her fame’s only increased overnight. She hates to say it but Sarah was right, being associated with you has only made her more famous and well-known. She felt like a Kardashian or Tom Holland who couldn’t even step out of their own homes without a camera being shoved in their faces.

It’s getting so bad that Jenna has security with her everywhere she goes. She stopped driving herself to places. A headline even dropped that you two are official and serious now and that you have met her family; paparazzi tried to camp at her parent’s house until they called the police.

“Sometimes.” You answer honestly, shrugging. “But it’s part of the job.”

Jenna’s frown deepens, looking around. “This is not part of the job. At least not what I’ve seen.”

“Yeah, but we learn to deal with it, right?” You nudge her shoulder. Seemingly unbothered that made Jenna bothered for you.

“How?” Jenna couldn’t help her curiosity.

“Surround yourself with people that genuinely care about you. That still picks you even after all your fuck ups. Only got me about three of those, so I try to keep them close.” Then you let out a sad laugh, “I make it very hard for them sometimes, though.”

Jenna looks at Link as he holds a bored hand up when a girl tries to walk up to you. Then he’s shooing her away and whispering to both of your security guards.

She wants to fight the urge to say that you have a fourth person in your corner with her.

Instead, she says:

“I think you got a good one with him.” She nods to Link.

You follow her sight, “Yeah, I do... He’s usually right about most things too.”

“What do you mean?” She looks up in questioning.

Maybe Jenna’s not so bad? Flashes in your memory but you don’t tell Jenna. “Nothing.”

Jenna squints her eyes. “Fine… keep your secrets.” Tone a playfully bitter.

Eventually, you, Jenna and her sisters walk around aimlessly from set to set, taking pictures and enjoying the atmosphere. Jenna would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying herself right now. Somehow you all managed to find an empty corner by the Artist section of the performances which meant you had loosened up a bit.

Jenna decided she liked it when you’re smiling, carefree and happy.

It suits you better than your permanent scowl.

You’ve been so stressed this last week, taking phone calls and Zoom meetings. She tried not to express her concern at seeing how you obsessively fretted over some project, consuming you some nights.

Jenna knows obsessive. She knows anxiety. This was different.

She finds herself with more questions than answers when it comes to you.

Why are you so closed off all the time? Is this how you work all the time? Where did this recent streak of bad behaviour start? Is there more to it than what you’re saying?

Are you okay?

But Jenna can’t find the right words to ask, so she doesn’t.

Only offering her warm pressure on top of you to hopefully lull you to sleep when you both drift off in her childhood bed.

Somewhere along the evening, she finds herself close to you.

You've loosened up as the days progressed and somehow, you and Jenna have found yourselves wrapped up in each other's arms as you danced.

Jenna had her back pressed firmly against your chest; her head tucked under your chin as your arms wrap around her waist from behind; hands linked as you jammed along to the music.

“The Met Gala’s coming up.” Jenna speaks up after a few moments of silence. “I’m invited.”

“Me too.” You reveal. She perks up, looking back at you.

“Yeah?” She smiles, pleased with your answer.

“Mhmm. I’m actually a co-chair this year.” You send an embarrassed smile.

She turns in your hold, jaw-dropping. “You are?”

“Yeah… why do you think I’ve been taking those calls all week? I was getting ready for the Met.”

“I thought that was for Coachella?” She snorts but can't help but ask, "Do you ever stop working?"

“Says you. Miss Scream Queen.” You tease making her roll her eyes.

“Be my date.” She says all of a sudden. “and walk the carpet with me this time.”

You raise your brows at her bluntness. This time?

You remember the last time she said those words and a tiny part of you prayed she meant it differently this time. But you can't fight your smile because you couldn't even say no if you wanted to — overwhelmed with the sudden want, to show off the girl in your arms. “I would love to be your date.”

Jenna's eyes sparkled with delight, beaming at you widely.

"Great! I'll talk to Enrique and Thom Browne about it."

"But I'm a Prada Ambassador?"

"I'll handle it." She nods with finality.

But before you can say anything, Link slides in with a whisper in your ear and a knowing smirk in Jenna’s direction.

“Hey, I have to go.” You whisper into her ear, pulling away but Jenna tightens her grip.

“Wait.” She steps forward – much closer than she means to.

“Yeah?” You asked softly and suddenly Jenna can’t hear the loud thumping of the bass anymore.

“Good luck and break a leg.” She says in a whisper.

Her hand reaches up to brush your neck still looking into your eyes. Jenna feels the same overwhelming pressure in her chest that she’s recently felt around you and gives into her sudden impulse; leaning in, parting her lips; meaning for them to connect to your cheek but instead swerve and slot in between your lips instead, in a moment’s haste.

She feels you tense for a moment before giving in, cupping her cheeks too. Kissing her back. Jenna loses it a bit, not expecting your lips to feel so soft and smooth and perfect against hers. Jenna can't help but tilt her head to the side, allowing your lips to press harder.

She feels the same electricity from your first meeting – when you shook her hand. The same electricity she tries to fight off every time she's near you. Except this time, it's by tenfold.

Jenna is so lost in you that she can’t even hear her heart beating loudly in her ears anymore — only feeling your thumb softly stroking her jaw.

The sound of coughing breaks you two apart.

“Sorry but Y/N we need to go.” Link sends a sheepish smile but he's trying to fight his grin at having a front-row seat to the show.

When Jenna pulls away she looks deeply into your eyes searching for some kind of indication of your feelings.

You smile shyly, squeezing her waist and rubbing her back. “I’ll find you after the show?”

“Yeah…” Jenna whispers, still staring into your eyes.

“I’ll find you!” You yell over her shoulder as Link drags you away.

“Holy shit, finally!” Mia slides in beside her.

Jenna doesn’t have the energy to shrug off the arm Aliyah throws over her shoulder as she brings her fingers up to her burning lips. “I don't know why I did that...”

“Oh my god, you’re an idiot. The both of you.” Mia rolls her eyes walking back to her boyfriend.

Jenna looks around, blinking, immediately catching the phones held in the air capturing her moment with you.

She walks off, following her sisters.

Unbeknownst to you and Jenna, a headline is about to drop:

New developments in Y/N L/N's Vegas case. Caught with cocaine! Las Vegas PD makes no official comments on possible charges or arrests. But is this the end for the bright star?

The strip club and vaccine bit with Colin and Che is from a real line in one of their segments LOL.

yall happy now?

@alexkolax @ladey @jjsmaybank20 @werewoofrobinbuckley @chealsib @fanboy7794 @la-douleur-ne-finit-jamais @zelload @natashadeservedmoree @orang3-ish @friedryes @canyonyodeler @nahnahnahwhatt @be-missed @jjuncidio @fearstreetsoloyouandurmom @oksana-moods @theirishmanronan @r-ude @wokethefuxkup @bandaidss @skate-to-breathee @user173781 @frasersgf @natblidaclexa @justafoolinlove @bring-mecoffee @slu7her @haughtsauce21 @wheesunsangel @cyberexpertalienspy-blog @jennaortegasfootrest @zaza11sblog @omega-horus @heroofdeath11 @selluequestrian @justalittledissociation @imaloserbby @catswag22 @sorexhera @smjmgko @acutenobody @raven-ss @canceldevvi @sweetaimu @rockwyn @rwndsana @cheesybacon1 @cvluswnt @secretbackrooms @vixen1006 @zhasmindoesntknow @namesduntmatter @ulicebld @rozmrazaradelfinow @icarly23 @cartierdreamx @thenextdawn @annalestern

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega imagine #wednesday netflix

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balkanradfem · 3 years ago

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I'm in a mood to sew a shirt. I have these old bed sheets I got from a roommate, they were torn at one spot, but the rest of it is good, and it's a lot of great sewing fabric. I've never made a shirt from scratch before, so I'm very excited!

The 'property of no one' shirt is my favourite, most cozy shirt I own, so I want to make a replica of that. All the tools I have are thread, needle, and scissors. I wasn't going to measure or draw anything, so I just placed the shirt on the fabric and cut around it, it was okay if my new shirt is a little bigger.

I easily stitched the front piece and the back piece together, and was just about to comment on how 'suspiciously easy' this process is, when I sewed the sleeve in wrongly for 3 times. 3 times!!! I was laughing at myself the third time, because I almost had it right, and then, I sewed the thing inside-out. What we learned: the shirt needs to be inside out, but the sleeve on the correct side, then tucked inside the arm hole, so it’s inside the shirt, and then sewed in. It was a great piece of knowledge to gain.

This already looks like a shirt! I didn't even work on it for long, and it's already a wearable item! I'm normally too lazy to actually finish the raw edges, but this time, I would do it properly. And this is my favourite way for a shirt to finish, let's look at how it's done:

You cut out a strip of cloth that is twice as long as your shirt is wide, and then you sew the edges of it, so it forms a loop.

Then you flip half of the fabric up, so the fabric is doubled, and the seam is hidden. Then is the tricky part (tricky for me); you put your shirt inside out, and tuck the strip inside, so the raw edges are all together:

Then you just sew all the raw edges together and pull the shirt back to the correct side and there you go! This is where the massive feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment kicks in!

Also don't think I've been doing this on the floor, hurting my back. I've been on my bed half lying down lol. Hand sewing can be done in any position that feels comfortable. I've done the sleeves in the same way (the strips are different length but for real who is gonna notice?) and all I was left with was to finish the collar, which I also did in the exactly same way but it ended up looking off and weird:

I mean what is that? It's like there's either too much fabric, or it's supposed to be cut so that the part facing the neck is smaller than the outer part. So not really knowing how to fix it without re-doing it, I cut out little triangles out of the collar and sewed it so there was less fabric floating around, and it immediately looked a lot better:

I later went to check on youtube how other people did it, and they all did the exact same thing as I did before fixing it, only ironed it out and it looked perfect, which infuriated me because it's unfair to require an iron to make a shirt look normal, but also, they were all also using stretchy fabrics so maybe that was the trick. I do not feel wise about this, but will definitely look more into it the next time.

So this took maybe 5 hours of work but I couldn't be more satisfied, the shirt is incredibly warm, warmer than all my other cotton shirts, and it's so cozy I feel like I'm in a soft cloud and it doesn't feel tight or uncomfortable anywhere! I will not be buying shirts anytime soon, this is so satisfying to be able to do.

#hand sewing #sewing a shirt #diy #tutorial #repurposing old fabric #life skills #anti capitalism

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scenetocause · 3 years ago

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the way you write lando and max is so viscerally them that it gives me butterflies every time please don’t ever stop pressing keys on a keyboard thank you

heh i cannot. actually process praise because i am very mentally unwell but thank u anon here is a ficlet of them being hungover

Obviously, it was a terrible idea to get drunk at the F1 Arcade party. Firstly because everyone knows who they are and secondly because Max gets the worst hangover anxiety known to man and they're in a hotel and now he's agitating while Lando's trying, like any reasonable person, to become one with the mattress in the hope it will somehow stop his head hurting.

"Stop, look-" he grabs for Max, blindly. "C'mere."

Taking advantage of being bigger than Max these days to pull him down into the pillows probably is a little bit unfair but Lando can't deal with the way he's frantic-scrolling his phone. "No one's gonna have taken pictures of you checking my arse out or whatever, it was dark. And anyway, you do that normally, why are you worrying about-"

"Because," Max looks a bit tearful, from the way they're pressed very close, faces almost touching. "I can't remember what I did or how we got back and that's - fuck, I need to sort myself out."

Oh. Oh. It's not anxiety, not really or at least if it is it's about bigger things than Lando ordering them an Uber. It's that every brush with racing stuff reminds Max he isn't a driver anymore, lets him pick at himself and see every bit of his body and mind that's changed as a problem, not a success. Turns Max Fewtrell, happy and healthy on a sabbatical into a negative compared to Max Fewtrell, lost and spiralling in racing. Puts himself back in the place where it was his fault, where there's another reality he could go back to and prod and poke at it until something else happened.

Lando opens his arms, pulls Max close, lets him snuggle in. It's weird, that their size difference is the other way now and Max is so tiny, tucked against Lando's chest with his face in the crook of Lando's neck.

"Do you want avocado toast or, like, proper greasy breakfast?" Lando's trying to get his body as moulded to Max as possible, which he could justify as being like, Max's weighted blanket or something but is mostly just because there's never going to be a time when being in bed with Max, in just their boxers, isn't going to be exciting to him.

Max makes a humming noise. "Probably the avocado. It's your off-season though, you pick."

There's just enough movement between them that Lando manages to get a hand on Max's arse, so he can get their hips in line for some not-exactly-rutting but like. Just knowing their dicks are in the same place, reassuring more than horny.

"We're getting McDonalds," Lando decides. The hotel probably does Deliveroo and if not, they'll eat it sitting on Max's car's bonnet because he hates the smell getting in the seats.

Formalities over, he gets back to the real task of tracing circuit maps on Max's lower back and sucking his earlobe and pushing his leg between Max's until Lando can roll them over, be on top of Max while he's gently, like, ravishing him or some shit.

Max lets it happen, moans and arches his back when Lando sucks his nipple, bites at the chest hair he's kind of jealous of. By the time he pulls Max's boxers down he's basically all the way hard and a few seconds of Lando mouthing at the tip of his dick gets him the rest of the way there.

It's salty, velvety, nice. Max has a pretty dick, pink and easy for Lando to swirl his tongue around, hold in his mouth more than sucking, heavy on his tongue. He always ends up having to use quite a lot of hand but that's ok because Max likes it and it's not long before his balls are tight, under Lando's palm and then Max comes in his mouth and lets him keep going, basically making out with Max's dick as it softens.

By the time he's satisfied, wriggles back up the bed to drape himself on Max, he's kinda but not very surprised that Max is crying. Not a lot, just enough to say it was intense for him and sometimes Max doesn't have the words for whatever he's feeling. Doesn't matter, they'll work it out together, once Lando's head feels less like it's in a bear trap.

"Thanks, Bob." Max kisses him on the forehead and it's almost as good as paracetamol. "I'll get you back when we get home, yeah? Blowie in the streaming chair."

That's the best suggestion Lando's heard all morning, so he just unlocks his phone and shoves it in Max's hand, Deliveroo open. "I wanna double sausage muffin."

"Sure you do, buddy," Max says while squeezing his arse and. Ok, yeah. He does.

#emptyhalf fic

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jackrrabbit · 5 years ago

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Spoiled Rotten /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Request: What if Overhaul fucks spoiled rich reader because her dad owes the yakuza money and in exchange Kai takes the daughter as a form of payment using her as his personal stress doll whenever and wherever he wants making her into his perfect little doll

A/N: While I was writing this my roommate asked if I was okay bc cause I kept stopping to fan myself and blush lmaooooo god I’m such a brat. I did change the concept up a bit, hope that’s fine!

This is dedicated not only to the OG requester but also to everyone who read the excerpt I posted a while back and told me they couldn’t wait to see the finished product!! Love you guys ❤️

Tags/warnings: threats, dubcon/coercion, dom/sub, brat taming, degradation, exhibitionism, restraints, mentions of forced prostitution, verbal & physical harassment, kidnapping, kinda breath play?, long

The first thing you notice when you come to are voices. Multiple people talking to each other, speech overlapping in patterns you can’t make out. They’re quiet—not whispering for your sake, but quiet because you’re still half knocked-out and you can barely hear.

The second thing you notice is the pounding in your head and the lingering smell of something sweet spread over your nose and mouth.

The third thing you notice is the fact that when you try to blink your eyes open, your lashes brush against something soft and dark. You’re blindfolded…and gagged, and your hands feel like they’re cuffed behind your back. From what you can sense around you, it seems like you’re hunched in a kneeling position with your cheek flattened against the floor and your bare feet tucked under your backside.

At least you’re still in your nightgown. You can feel the frilly silk of it, a useless barrier between your skin and the cool air, and it reminds you of how you got here in the first place.

A loud noise in the night. Your father’s voice pleading. A heavy thump. The door to your bedroom banging open and a strange man holding you down to your bed…lifting a sweet-smelling rag to your mouth…telling you to “take a deeeeep breath, princess.”

“Hey, I think she’s waking up.”

An invisible hand fists itself in your hair and you whine in pain as your upper body is lifted off the floor. Once you’re properly upright, you hear squeaking, shoes against concrete, and the heat and breath and presence of someone behind you. Something rustles at the back of your head—you’re too scared to move so you stay still—and then the blindfold is being lifted off your face.

Once it’s gone, you have to blink for a moment even despite the low light of the dingy room where you’ve…apparently…been kidnapped. By the freaking yakuza. And for some reason, they’re all wearing bird-beak masks.

You close your eyes, almost wishing they hadn’t taken the blindfold off. You’d prefer to live in blissful ignorance of how decidedly unclean the floor is. How dare they let your face touch it? What happened to honor among thieves?

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Against your will, your eyes flick up to the speaker. He’s the only one sitting, and somehow that gives him a position of power among the others. The leader?

Unsettling golden eyes rest on yours, and you realize he’s waiting for your answer, so you slowly move your head from side to side.

“Didn’t know about daddy’s bad habits, huh?” This time the person speaking is behind you, the one who untied your blindfold, a thin man with lank, greasy blond hair. He’s the one who drugged me, you remember in a surge of panic, and you try to stand up away from him only for him to step on the chain that connects your handcuffs, jerking you back and pinning you—painfully—to the floor.

“Careful, Setsuno. I told you not to leave marks. Let her talk.”

“Got it, boss.” The blond—Setsuno—fumbles at the back of your head and then he’s pulling the gag out of your mouth.

You open and close your mouth a few times to stretch out the stiff muscles. “Oh. My. God. Was that polyester you just took out of my mouth? Do you have any idea how bad synthetics are for sensitive skin? I’m totally going to break out.”

A hush falls over the little room. You could hear a pin drop.

“…Are you complaining about the quality of the fabric we gagged you with?” the leader asks after a second.

“You may be yakuza, but you don’t have to act like savages,” you reply primly, aligning your knees together and sending a proud look off to the side.

“Ohh…little princess deserves better, does she?” Setsuno coos. He edges closer to rub his cheek against yours and laughs when you cringe away from him. “Boss, you shoulda seen her bedroom. All pink and frilly, looked like royalty lived there. Bet they treat you like a real princess at home, huh? No wonder your daddy’s in debt.”

“Daddy isn’t—“

“Your father…took out loans from my gang. My men came last night to collect,” the leader says, drumming his fingers over the armrest of his chair impatiently.

He’s wearing plastic gloves. Why is he wearing plastic gloves? Immediately your mind is spinning, imagining all the different gruesome possibilities of what they’re going to do to you. “That’s ridiculous. My daddy doesn’t need to borrow money—“

“Clearly he does, because it looks like he pissed it all away on his daughter.” The leader’s eyes are cold enough to make you shiver—although maybe that’s just the icy temperature of the floor soaking through your nightgown.

“He had a couple payments overdue, so we stopped by to ask nicely for him to pay up,” Setsuno says, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Didn’t find too many valuables in your house, but then we got our hands on a real treasure.”

“Don’t touch me—“

“You don’t seem to understand the position you’re in,” the leader says. “When I made my contract with your father, he understood that obligations like these are inherited. Since he can’t pay his debt, you’re going to be working it off in his place.”

Working it off? You swallow. Somehow you don’t think he’s talking about your little part-time job as a receptionist at your daddy’s company. “You can’t make me do that.”

“I’m not sure you’re getting the gist, princess,” Setsuno hums. “What we’re gonna do is we’re gonna put you in a room, and then men are gonna give us money, and then we’ll let those men fuck you. All that money’s gonna go toward paying what your daddy borrowed. Sound good?”

For the first time since you can remember, you’re shocked speechless. They’re going to…what? But you’re a quick thinker, and instead of letting these filthy, awful gangters boss you around, you raise your chin haughtily to look directly into the leader’s eyes. “I don’t think so. If Daddy’s the one who got himself in debt, you can make him whore himself out to pay it back. You can’t hold me responsible for something he’s done.”

Another brief silence, and then you hear a whistle echo out from the corner of the room (and you try not to look toward it, reminding yourself that this can only get worse if they know how scared you are). “She’s got a mouth on her, Overhaul,” someone says.

Overhaul. So the leader’s name is Overhaul. How ridiculous; it sounds like a villain’s name.

“Aww, princess,” Setsuno says, and once again his voice is too close for your comfort. “Little spoiled princess doesn’t know how to shut her mouth and suck it up when things don’t go her way? Well…you’ll learn.”

You don’t want to know what he’s talking about, although if you thought about it for more than a second it’d be obvious. You suck in a harsh breath and the cool, damp air stings against your dry throat. “You can’t just make me—“

“Ohh, I think we can. See, if your daddy’s been spending all of the Shie Hassaikai’s money on his precious daughter, don’t you think you owe a little too? Like, this dress—“ you jump as Setsuno’s hand tugs on the thin, floaty silk— “was bought with Overhaul’s money, so it belongs to him, right?”

You keep quiet, not wanting to prompt him to go further, but when his hands stroke up over your waist to grope your breasts in full view of everyone else in the room, you don’t really have to guess.

“And, y’know, your daddy’s been keeping you nice and healthy with Overhaul’s cash, making sure you grow up into such a pretty girl…” Setsuno’s voice is a purr in your ear as his hands squeeze your tits almost lovingly, then pinch your nipples through the fabric. “So hey—if you think about it, this tight little body…belongs to Overhaul too. Isn’t that right, sir?”

You squirm in place as best you can but with the metal cuffs digging into your wrists, there’s nothing you can do to get away from his touch. You’re desperate enough to shoot a terrified glance up at the leader—surely there are rules about treating an innocent girl like this, even for the yakuza—but he looks as unmoved as before. “Get her out of my sight. We’ll give her a rest for the next few days, and then…”

“No!” you yelp, too panicked to keep up the pretense of confidence. “I won’t, I can’t do that, please don’t make me—“

“Shhh. You’ll get used to it, princess. And if you don’t…” Setsuno’s hand combs though your hair and then trails down your neck, tracing the path of your spine between your shoulder blades. “…well, you won’t really have much of a choice, will you?”

And then he’s tugging on your cuffed hands, pulling you to a standing position, but you wriggle away from him and do everything you can to stay planted on the ground so they can’t take you away from here, away from the only man who is capable of stopping this. Overhaul. “Please! I’m— I can work it off another way! I’ll be useful— I’ll—“

Overhaul leans forward a fraction in his chair, and you wonder if you’ve caught his interest. “What, exactly? How do you think you can be useful to me?”

You bite your lip and wrack your brains, not knowing whether the question is rhetorical. What skills do you have that would be valuable to them? Suddenly all the knowledge you’ve gained in your short life seems so meaningless. You’re a decent receptionist (well, decent is a stretch), but if Overhaul wanted someone to answer calls for him you’re pretty sure he would’ve asked.

Why did you spend your life learning such impractical skills? The four-year weekend course you took on horseback riding jumps to mind and you want to hit your head against the wall. Why didn’t you ask your father to sponsor a class in something that would actually matter in the long run? And what would even be useful to these people? Accounting? Bookkeeping? Extortion?

There’s nothing valuable you can offer. You’ve wasted your life, and now you’re going to pay for it. Seriously, the only thing you’re actually good at is keeping your boyfriends (or, rather, the men you cycle through once a month) happy until the novelty wears off and you get bored and move on to the next lovesick target—

—wait. Keeping your boyfriends happy. That’s a skill, isn’t it?

Once, a little bit after you turned eighteen, you’d had a rather illicit conversation with one of your more sexually adventurous friends about being a sugar baby. Your friend had just secured a very generous benefactor, and you’d been so intrigued by all the designer purses and vacations to Cabo that you’d almost considered trying it for yourself. She’d even helped you set up a profile on Seeking Arrangements that listed your physical features and interests, but you’d blanched when it came time to post photos.

“But why do men even like this?” you'd asked your friend after your picture-less profile received its dozenth unsolicited offer. “Rich, successful guys shouldn’t have so much trouble finding girlfriends that they have to resort to paying for sex.”

“It’s a power trip,” she’d replied. “Most men never get the chance to have a woman who’s willing to do and be whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. You’re his ideal girlfriend, his therapist, his wife, and his stress relief all in one.”

At the time, you’d decided against it, deleting your profile and telling your friend you’d rather just keep taking advantage of your real father doting on you than have to fake orgasms for rich men in their 50’s. But back then, you’d had a choice; now that you’ve been kidnapped by a gang who wants you to get fucked by a bevy of strangers to pay off a debt you’ve never even heard of, you no longer have the privilege of a way out. Or, at least, the options are a lot less appealing than before.

You tilt your head back to Overhaul, eyeing him for the first time with real scrutiny instead of prideful disgust. Judging from what you can see of his face under the ornate bird mask (and again, what is with the freaking bird masks?), he’s fairly young, mid-twenties at the oldest. Short, sort of wavy dark hair (you’ve always had a thing for dark hair), a trim suit and tie, and those eyes. Like he can read your mind just looking at you.

He’s…handsome enough, you have to admit to yourself. But it’s not just that. There’s something pristine about him, something untouchable that commands discipline. He’s clean. You and him are probably the only clean things in this hovel of a room.

“Well? I’m waiting,” Overhaul says.

And now that you’ve got the idea in your head, it’s almost too embarrassing to meet his gaze. But you can do this; you have to do this. At least it’ll be your choice, and—you’re hoping—it’ll be better than the alternative.

“I could be yours,” you tell him, taking pride in the fact that your voice isn’t breaking.

His eyes narrow and you think god, his eyelashes are long. It’s not fair. Men never appreciate having long eyelashes. What is he thinking? Is he going to kill you for even suggesting it? But it’s too late now…you have to dig yourself a little deeper if you don’t want to go through with their original plan for debt fulfillment.

You force your muscles to relax, knowing this’ll be impossible to pull off if you’re tense and biting down on the words like they’re going to choke you. If you’re going to make him believe it, you have to make yourself believe it too. “You… This job must be hard. Even for a—a powerful man like you, it has to be stressful, right? Always looking out for the interests of the gang instead of your own…needs.”

Overhaul doesn’t move, but you’re so focused on him it would be impossible for you to miss the way a single muscle in his neck flexes. You’ve hit a nerve.

You take a cautious step toward him, trying to channel the sexually-liberated vixen you consider yourself when you’re not in your nightgown surrounded by men who could murder you with their bare hands and not miss a minute of sleep. “You’re always giving, aren’t you? Looking toward the future of the gang? Doesn’t it get frustrating when—when a pretty thing is in front of you and you don’t even get…a little taste of her?”

Oh god, you can feel the humiliated heat rushing to your cheeks. How can you be saying this? You’ve played the role of seductress plenty of times before, but never in such a risky situation. You just have to keep moving toward him and hope it feels authentic enough to convince him.

“You’ve worked hard. And…like he said, my—my body belongs to you.” Now you’re close enough to Overhaul and he hasn’t stopped you, so you lower yourself onto the floor, knees bumping softly into the cold surface. Kneeling between his legs.

Overhaul stares down at you, gaze as sharp and cold as before—and you’re sick with anxiety, so scared you can feel your hairs raising up on end—but if he wanted you to stop, he would have said something, right? So you shuffle a little closer and nuzzle your cheek over the inside of his clothed thigh like a kitten, then raise your head up to him to give him your best bedroom look, the one that says, I want you. I need you. No one but you. The look no man has ever been able to resist.

“…You deserve something to yourself, sir,” you murmur.

There’s a collective intake of breath as every person in the room simultaneously realizes what you’re offering. Overhaul’s expression doesn’t change, but once again, a tendon jumps out white under the skin of his throat and there’s a creak of latex on leather as his grip on the arm of the chair tightens.

“Damn,” Setsuno says under his breath from behind you. Someone whistles. You’re pretty sure you hear the word ‘slut’ being tossed around, but there’s reverence behind it.

“And what makes you think you’re so valuable?” Overhaul asks.

You close your eyes to ground yourself for a second. He’s interested, you know that much. You’ve never really had to convince someone to want you, but there’s a first time for everything. Besides, you only have to look at him for a second to know he does want you, which isn’t a surprise. Who wouldn’t?

“I’ll do anything you want, be anything you want,” you tell him, echoing your conversation with your friend back then. “Take out your anger on me if that’s what you’re into. When you’re tired of me, you can consider my debt paid and let me go.”

“And?” he prompts.

‘And’? And what? You’re offering yourself to him, your body and your mind—what more can he possibly ask from you? You cast your thoughts around, wondering what else you have to give him. “And…and I’ll do it willingly. You, um—you look like a man who appreciates obedience.”

And that’s it. Your last shred of pride is gone. Not only are you offering yourself up to a man to use as his personal stress doll, you’re saying you’ll be compliant every step of the way. Knowing yourself, you’re pretty sure that’s impossible, but you just need to make him believe it long enough for you to find a way out of here. You can pretend to enjoy getting fucked by a gangster a few times. You’ll live.

But you’re naive. And with the stream of thoughts pushing through your head, you never really consider one thing, one essential thing: how you look pleading up at him in that pale pink nightdress—soft, pure, immaculate against the filth of the underworld, the only clean body that Overhaul’s seen in a long time.

And you’re right. He is a man who appreciates obedience.

“Willingly…so you’d be willing to prove it.”

Your head jerks up and down in response. Yes! He’s taking the bait, now I just have to get him alone and—

“Then demonstrate.”

When a moment passes and you don’t move, Overhaul tips his head to the side, gaze still locked on you, and gestures vaguely at his lap. You blink and then shy back, shrinking under the hungry gazes of the onlookers. “You can’t mean—in front of them?”

“And here I thought you were going to be obedient.” There’s no mercy, no amusement in his voice. No hint of humanity.

So he’s serious. He wants you to give him a blowjob in front of—how many? one, two three, four—four other men!? Your first instinct is to jump back away from him and your next is to slap him for even suggesting it; you can actually hear the jingle of your cuffs as you attempt to raise your hand. You’ve gotten a little kinky before—blindfolds, vibrators, maybe a hand tied to the bedpost with a Hermès scarf once or twice, but this is a whole different level. And the way they’re all looking at you…like they’re itching to see you brought down. How absolutely disgusting.

But Overhaul’s waiting for your answer, and you know full well that you’re not going to deny him.

“O-Of course.” You lean forward over the seat of the chair so your face is just inches from his lap. “Um. My hands...?”

They’re still cuffed behind you, but it seems like they’re going to stay that way when Overhaul gives a curt shake of his head. “Use your mouth.”

Once again, you’re stunned into silence. How are you supposed to—? Without your hands? It doesn’t even seem like he’s going to undo his pants for you. It’s like he wants to humiliate you…oh, wait. As soon as the thought crosses your mind, it’s clear that’s exactly what he’s trying to do.

You give him another doe-eyed glance, bidding him to at least undo his belt, but he remains unmoved. Bastard.

After aiming another glare at him (because as obedient as you’re attempting to be, you’ve never been good at concealing your emotions) you lean deeper in and take the stiff leather of his belt between your teeth, gently easing it out of the buckle and trying to ignore the mixture of earthy and metallic tastes it leaves on your tongue. It takes a few tries, but eventually you’ve got the tail of the belt out of the buckle and you pull your head back to guide the metal down until the belt is hanging open from its loops.

A rush of accomplishment surges through you when you get it open, and then you want to slap yourself. Accomplishment? From doing this with your mouth like an animal—like a dog? You can hear laughter and mocking encouragement from the men watching, but you steel yourself and dip back in to get Overhaul’s pants undone. The button is tricky, especially with your face nudging into the hard muscle of his abdomen through his shirt, but somehow you manage to tug the fabric slit over the button and then—delicately, delicately—clamp the zipper between your teeth and peel it downward.

“Oh, she’s good,” someone says from the background. Setsuno. You look up warily, but Overhaul’s eyes haven’t moved from you.

Now that you’ve got his pants open, you’re face to face (literally) with what you’re going to have to deal with. The outline of his cock is bulging the fabric of his boxers outward, and he’s not even half erect. You snatch a look back up at him—and damn it, you have to stop doing that, because every time you look into those golden eyes and that stupid bird mask you feel like a lamb looking at a bird of prey right before it snatches you from your safe little lamb-house in the meadow and—fuck, you just have to get on with it.

So you dip down and mouth over him through the fabric, spreading the flat of your tongue over the length of his thick cock. Your mouth feels like you’ve been eating cotton (probably because they drugged you earlier) but you force yourself to salivate, letting drool spill over your tongue and dampen his boxers. When you duck and spread your lips down on the place you can feel the tip stretching out, you know the friction must feel good, because despite the lack of even so much of a deep breath from the man above you, his cock is getting harder.

You nudge your mouth over the tent between Overhaul’s legs again, letting the heat of your breath wash over him—but when he doesn’t do anything, you pull back and blink up at his face. Does he expect you to get him off through his underwear? You could, but most of your moves depend on skin-to-skin contact. There’s no way you can get his cock out with your mouth like you undid his pants, so…what? “Are—are you going to take it out?”

Overhaul brings a gloved hand to his face to rub absently at one of the straps on his mask. “…Beg,” he tells you.

Your mouth drops open and you reel back from his lap like he asked you to lick the dirt off the floor. What!? He can’t seriously expect you to—to beg him to put his dick in your mouth when you’re clearly disgusted at the whole situation. When he doesn’t give any indication of retracting the statement, you can’t help the mocking sneer that forms over your face. “Please, sir,” you spit, and a deaf man could hear the spite in your voice.

Now, that gets a reaction. Overhaul’s eyes flash and you take a certain degree of pride back at the anger you’ve clearly inspired in him. But it’s extinguished as soon as you see it, and then he’s reaching down to cup your chin, tilting your head back and rubbing his thumb over your lower lip.

“I think you can do better than that, princess,” he says, and you can hear your own mocking tone reflected back in his voice. “Unless you’d like me to give my men a turn?”

This, more than anything, scares you. He must be able to feel the way your spine goes stiff, adrenaline rushing, your fight-or-flight instinct kicking in at the prospect of what he’s threatening.

“Each of them, one by one. Between the four of them, I think they could cure that smart mouth…although they might just break you in the process,” he continues, and then his thumb is pressing into your lip, into your mouth, and you loosen your jaw to let him in. You can taste the rubbery latex of his gloves and the other men mutter agreement, encouraging their leader to turn you over to them, and you want to cry.

But you hold the tears back. “Please, sir! Please, please may I s-suck your cock sir? Please!” Your voice is more terrified than obedient, but that’s probably what he’s into anyway. When he doesn’t say anything, you babble on, unwilling to let yourself get gangbanged by a group of men who could probably wreck your pussy in a single round. “Please, please, Mr.—Mr. Overhaul, um, boss? M-Master?”

“Sir will do just fine,” Overhaul says, apparently satisfied, and he pulls his hand away from your face to free his cock from his boxers.

You let out a hot sigh of relief and angle yourself back toward his lap so you can zero in on his cock (and, hopefully, do a little to block out how sickeningly degrading all of this is: how easy it is for him to threaten you; how he has all the power and you have none; how the men around you are goading you, taunting you and calling you things that should get their mouths washed out with soap). You can focus on this, and this, at least, you’re good at. You’ve always been good with your mouth.

It’s a nice dick, too, you have to admit to yourself as you stare at it. Perfect length, girth, and a thick, cut head that you know just by looking that you’re going to have to stretch your jaw to get around. All his hair is neatly trimmed and groomed, and he even smells good, clean and fresh like soap. You’ve never been in front of a dick that didn’t smell like day-old ball sweat, so this is a first. It’s got a nice upward curve, too, and there’s a bead of pearly precum oozing out of the tip. The kind of cock that’s made for penetrative orgasms—

No. Fuck. You cannot be thinking this. You cannot allow yourself to lust after a gang leader who thinks of you as little more than an interactive sex doll. A tingle of blood rushes to your cheeks as you feel wetness pool in your panties and you adjust your stance, shuffling your thighs apart under the pretense of getting closer and hoping Overhaul doesn’t notice.

If he notices, he does the merciful thing and keeps quiet (which makes you think he has no idea you’re feeling the way you’re feeling, because he’s probably never chosen to do the merciful thing in his life). He does, however, shift one of his knees farther apart to accommodate you as you crawl close enough to him to get your head all the way between his legs.

So now you’re staring up at that unfairly pretty cock and wondering how the fuck this is supposed to start, but—best just get on with it. Pretend it’s not him, pretend it’s…no, wait, pretend it is him, it is Overhaul, the same bastard who’s looking down at you like you’re trash, except pretend you’re in control. Because no matter how many orders he gives, once you’ve got his cock in his mouth he’ll have to be the weak one. Right?

Lightly, slowly, you trace the tip of your tongue in a wet path up the underside of his cock, sliding up from the hilt to caress every bulging vein with all the delicacy and accuracy of a surgeon. When you reach the tip, you flatten your tongue to curve it around that bulbous head and then slip it off, the suction providing a wet smacking sound as your skin leaves his.

The breath of his barely-heavier exhale ruffles your hair and you relish the knowledge that he’s getting impatient. Yes. The bastard can wait.

You kiss the tip of his cock, barely moving your lips around the slit, only enough to let your tongue flick out against the precum and gather the bitter liquid up in your mouth. And then—right when he’s getting annoyed, when you can tell by the tension in his body that he’s five seconds away from shoving your head down to fuck your face—you duck closer, relax your throat, and swallow.

Like a fucking python. Or so you’ve been told.

The exhale that escapes him isn’t light this time. You can almost hear the barest hint of a groan under his breath, but you’re more focused on holding down your gag reflex as you let that heavy cock hit the back of your throat. Once he’s all the way down (or at least as far as you can get him), you rock yourself back an inch and then take him deeper, forcing yourself to hold still so he can feel the walls of your throat convulse around him, sucking him in, dry-gagging on the mass that’s filling you up.

“Fuuuuck,” you hear someone whine, and it’s not even Overhaul. It’s one of the men watching, and you feel a perverse mixture of hatred and arrogance rise up in you.

Overhaul’s cock is too big for you to properly moan around it, but you give it a go anyway so he can feel the vibration of your voice through his skin. You’re rewarded with a tangible twitch with it sitting on your tongue, and—oh—your mouth is watering out of where you’re clenching down on him at the back of your throat.

Spittle slips out over your lower lip and onto your chin, but you ignore it in favor of jerking your head up and down in fractional strokes, trying your absolute best to get yourself down to his base but knowing that he probably doesn’t give a shit anyway, not with how good your throat feels around what you’re capable of stuffing in.

What were you saying about ‘valuable’, sir? you think, and then you pull your head off his cock, so slow it’s almost cruel, sucking your cheeks in and hollowing out so those wet walls are rubbing up on every millimeter of his skin. When you reach the tip, you savor it, letting your tongue do the dirty work and looking up at him through your lash extensions before you release him with a nasty wet pop.

“Holy fuck, can I have her next?” one of the other men says, but you and Overhaul are too focused on each other to even look and see who’s talking.

His gaze is trained firmly down at you, and—no way, damn it—he looks bored, like he could be waiting in line at the DMV instead of getting sucked off by you, a girl who’s been complimented by every man she’s ever been with (including her first) on her bj technique. You know he’s feeling it—he can fake calm, but he can’t fake the way his cock’s throbbing under your tongue as you lick up the shaft. Still, now that you’ve got it in your head that Overhaul’s not going to make a sound, all you can think about is forcing him to moan. Let him look weak in front of all his little lackeys.

With renewed vigor, you lap up the length of Overhaul’s cock in sloppy dabs, leaving strings of saliva dripping off your mouth and his cock only to slurp them up, audibly, wiggling your tongue over the tip when you reach it. And that, that gets him, because you feel more than see the buck of his hips into your face as he hisses out a curse.

And—oh dear, maybe you shouldn’t have done that—because the next thing you feel is Overhaul looming forward over you, hand gripping the back of your head, and is he going to force you down? You hate that—so you take the initiative, tilting forward to take him into your mouth again, head bobbing up and down so quickly that your hair is falling all over your face, but it’s okay, because he’s got you, he’s got you, got his hands combed through your hair holding it out of your face, pulling so lightly it barely even hurts, but it does hurt, and he’s guiding you up and down on his cock and it’s hitting the back of your throat every time, and—and it hurts.

You really shouldn’t have done that.

“Take it deeper,” Overhaul instructs, almost encouraging, although you’re not given the option to pull off because he’s holding you down, pushing you firmly toward the base of his cock. You sputter around it, gagging, and you’re almost fucking choking, and he won’t let you up.

God, you’re not—not breathing, you can feel your throat choking down on him—“breathe through your nose,” he says, and this man, this villain has no idea what he’s fucking talking about, because you’re trying, eyes stinging and then you can feel tears down your cheeks. You try to squirm back on your knees, but somehow the combined force of every muscle in your body is outmatched by his single hand on the back of your head—and—and—you squeeze your eyes shut, relax, open your throat as much as you can and—

Overhaul forces your mouth down to the hilt.

Fuck, is he going to keep you there? You can’t, you can’t—if you could move, you’d be shaking your head and begging him to let you stop and as it is you’re whimpering around his cock. Your throat is making gagging noises and you’re crying, actually crying, actually fucking crying on a man’s dick. So this is what it feels like to be used?

“Good.” There’s something lower and darker in Overhaul’s voice, a husky undertone from the growl he’s trying to suppress. “Hold still…remember, you asked for this.”

You did. You asked for it. Begged for it. Pleaded.

“Want me to forgive your father’s debt…? You’re going to have to earn it.” He pulls out an inch just to ram himself back in. You make a weak attempt to move your tongue around his shaft and you can feel the shudder all the way through him, his cock twitching where it’s locked in your throat. “Mm…good girl. Just a little—little longer—“

His fingers are tightening in your hair, curling around the strands and tugging instead of just applying pressure to your head. He’s close, you think, and then you struggle back, not wanting him to cum down your throat, what if you choke on it? Like, really choke? You don’t want it, don’t want his cum in your stomach, but then he sighs and tells you again that you’re a good girl, and ohfuckohfuck you must be so scared you’re desperate for praise because you feel heat rush into your cheeks and your cunt when he says it and you try to move your tongue like you did earlier and his hips jerk forward and—he cums. In your mouth.

It’s salty, you think. The next thing you think is that you want to gag, because you’ve never had cum in your mouth before. For all your sexual experimentation, you’ve never let a man cum down your throat like this, always telling them it shoot it on your tits or whatever because you are not a person who should have semen in her mouth, much less ingest it.

But right now, with Overhaul lazily dragging your head up and down for a last couple pumps on his softening dick, your choice isn’t spit or swallow. It’s swallow or choke.

Hot. Thick. The texture is slimy, so viscous you can feel it going down your throat in strings. Part of you wants to throw up. It’s repulsive. Filthy. You hate this.

Part of you has to shift your position again so you don’t have to feel your own wetness slicking up the insides of your thighs.

How. Is. This. Possible. You may have just had to swallow your pride (and not just that), but what about your dignity? You’re a good person…okay, well, even if you’re not a ‘good person’ per se, you don’t hurt anyone with your selfishness. You don’t deserve to be kept as a pet by a sadistic bastard who gets off on watching you almost pass out on his cock, and you certainly don’t deserve the humiliation of finding that you’re turned on by it.

And yet. Here you are. Still held securely in place until Overhaul slides you off him. As soon as your mouth is free you suck in a dizzyingly deep breath, but even that is too much for your battered throat and the breath turns into a cough; you instinctively fold down away from Overhaul so the mixed saliva and cum you’re hacking out spatters in cloudy white flecks across the floor instead of on his clothing.

“Stop that,” Overhaul scolds, hauling you back up by your hair and forcing your mouth closed with a hand on your jaw. “If you make a mess, you’ll be cleaning it up.”

Considering what he just made you do to him, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s implying you’ll have to lick it off the floor. You clench your jaw, holding back the convulsions of your throat as best you can, and hope he doesn’t press the issue.

Now that you’ve got your coughing under control, you can start to sense things that you had been tuning out before: the men hooting and wolf-whistling and applauding your performance, the traitorously persistent throb of your clit pulsing under your panties, and Overhaul’s hand releasing your chin to pet down your neck. “Now. What do you say when someone gives you a meal?”

Just you wait, bastard. I’m going to tie you to your bed and set fire to it. But you’ve got the sense that that answer won’t go over well, so you take a deep breath and look up at him again, meeting those piercing gold eyes with your own. “Thank you, sir,” you say in a soft whisper because it’s all your abused throat can manage.

“That’s right.” His hands feel colder than the concrete under your legs as he spreads his hand down your neck, only to toy with one of the lacy pink straps of your nightdress. “Stand up.”

You stand shakily, too cowed to even consider stepping back from him. Without warning (much less permission), Overhaul lifts the hem of your stupidly short dress up past your thighs, exposing your panties and lower belly to view.

“Hold this in your mouth,” he says, and after only a few seconds of hesitation you open up and bite down on the fabric so you’re effectively holding up the skirt for him. Overhaul skims gloved hands down the sides of your hips and comes to a rest when he reaches your panties—and why did you have to wear these today? Shiny red satin in the front; the back is just flowers worked in crimson lace. You know exactly how good you look in these panties, and judging by the things Overhaul’s men are saying, they’re more than appreciative of the view.

But Overhaul ignores them in favor of hooking his fingers under the elastic and pulling the panties down until they’re resting stretched between your upper thighs. You don’t have to see them to know there’s a string of slick connecting the lips of your cunt to the fabric, betraying in full technicolor detail how turned on you’ve gotten just from sucking him off. He gazes down at your pussy and then up to you as if waiting for you to admit it, but you stay silent.

“Well, well. What a nicely-trained slut I’ve found myself.” He gracelessly pulls the panties the rest of the way down your legs and lets them fall to the ground. “Do you always get this wet when you let your boyfriends fuck that smart mouth?”

It takes you a second to comprehend that he’s expecting an answer. “N-No, sir,” you reply, voice muffled by the fabric you’re still holding between your teeth.

“I suppose I can’t leave you like this, not after you took me so nicely.”

Does he mean he’s going to get you off? No freaking way. You drop the hem of your dress, let it flutter down over your thighs, try to scramble back, but his hand on your waist keeps you from moving. “I— It’s okay, I don’t need—“

“No, I think you do. I think I’m going to reward my pet for a job well done.” He leans back, eyeing you without sympathy. “I’d have you touch yourself, but—“

The mere possibility that he might remove the handcuffs has you straining against them again, and the sound of metal against metal rings out from behind you.

“—but, I think it’s best to keep the cuffs on for a few days…until you’ve settled down.”

Days? He can’t leave you in chains for days, helpless and powerless, so easy to take advantage of. “You can’t,” you whimper, and even though you mean for it to be a decisive statement, with your throat ravaged and hoarse it’s downright pathetic. Overhaul doesn’t even bother reprimanding you for talking back.

“My men have been patient,” he muses, and an enthusiastic wave of agreement wells up from the others. “Any of them would be happy to do it.”

You may have been through a lot in the past hour alone, but there is no way you’re going to let those rowdy criminals have their way with you. You send a nervous glance around the room and as predicted, not a single one of them looks like they have the slightest shred of control over themselves.

None of them…except Overhaul.

Still eased back in his chair, he looks just as relaxed and unaffected as he did when he was explaining your father’s debts to you. But there’s something flickering in his eyes, something he isn’t going to say to you, isn’t going to say out loud. A challenge.

Maybe, once again, he’s waiting for you to ask for it yourself. And if it’s a choice between him and one of the grimy ruffians who’ve been looking at you like dogs look at meat, you know what you’d prefer. Well—really, you’d prefer option C: none of the above (your current state might be uncomfortable, but you’re not so wanton that you’d rather cum in front of strangers than keep your legs together). Unfortunately, you’re starting to come to terms with the fact that ‘no’ is no longer an option.

Overhaul’s stare flicks from you to an unseen figure behind you, and you can tell he’s about to summon one of them over so you force yourself to move, lurching forward and climbing into his lap to straddle one of his thighs with all the grace you’re capable of. You feel the stir in the air when he inhales sharply, surprised, and his masked face is so close to your neck that you wonder if he can smell the lotion you put on before you went to bed last night.

It’s one of your favorite scents: vanilla, lilac, orange blossoms. You bought it because it smelled pure.

“Please, sir, I don’t want them,” you breathe next to his ear, injecting every ounce of sexual frustration you’re feeling into the needy tones of your voice. “I’m yours. I belong to you, just you. No one else—please, sir…Overhaul.”

He’s quiet for a long, tense moment, and you think he’s going to hit you, or maybe even kill you for your disobedience. Push you off his lap at least. But just when you’re teetering on the edge of jumping back from him and begging for forgiveness for talking out of turn, you feel it—a low rumble of laughter from deep in his chest.

Big, cold hands wrap around the sides of your ribcage under your breasts and his fingernails dig into you through the layers of latex and fabric. He tilts forward, forcing you to arch away and all you can think about is how horribly weak you are compared to him. Are you trembling? Will he be angry if you feels how afraid you are?

“You know, I guess I’ll keep you after all,” he hums, stroking his fingers through your hair and down your neck. “How does that sound, princess? I think you’d like that very much, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” The response comes all too easily, even if the words taste bitter in your mouth. You’ve never said the word ‘sir’ so much in your life…but as he repositions you on his lap and slides a single hand up the inside of your thigh under your dress, you bite your lip and decide to hold back your protest.

If you’re going to have to learn manners, you’d better do it sooner rather than later. Something tells you Overhaul’s not going to accept any less than your best behavior if you want to pay off your debt.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia imagines #mha x reader #mha imagines #boku no hero x reader #boku no hero imagines #boku no hero fanfic #smut #tw dubcon

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helliontherapscallion · 4 years ago

Text

What is Real? (Adrenaline Junkie Part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: PTSD, memory loss, swearing, angst, panic attack

Word count: 3,509

You opened your eyes to the dim sunlight pouring through your curtains. You tried to move your arms to push yourself up, but strangely your right arm felt incredibly stiff. Furrowing your brows in confusion, you looked down at it. Nothing was off about it, so why was it so stiff? It made no sense.

With great difficulty, you slowly maneuvered your legs over the side of your bed. Everything felt incredibly stiff, especially your right wing, and your head felt like it was filled to the brim with cotton. Groaning, you heaved yourself off the bed into a standing position. You wobbled slightly on your feet, but you steadied yourself with your nightstand. What was with you today?

Hobbling out of your room with a steadying hand on the wall. You let your wings thump and drag across the ground behind you. You didn’t have the energy to hold them up and your right one felt very off. You should ask Philza to brew you a potion of healing and maybe ask him why you woke up like this. Were you in for a really bad molt?

Stumbling your way down the hallway and dragging your feet, you almost fell over a couple of times. The stairs were going to be a massive pain if you could barely walk down the hall. Your body lurched forward as your foot caught the edge of a rug. You yelped as the ground quickly met your face, your arms not cooperating when you tried to move them to catch yourself.

Feeling a stabbing pain in your nose, you laid there for a little bit hearing the door next to you swing open. Without looking at him, your scratchy, muffled voice called out.

“Wilby, thank god you’re here. Can you help me up? My legs aren’t working today for whatever reason. I think I’m gonna molt soon.”

He gently pulled you up and wrapped his arms around you in a hug, smooshing your face into his shoulder. You pulled away slightly to look up at him. He was smiling widely at you and his face looked blotchy. Wilbur never cried in front of anyone, so naturally you were incredibly worried for your older brother.

“Wil, are you crying?”

He just pulled you into another tight hug. Hissing in discomfort, you felt him push on your sore muscles.

“Wil, as much as I love you, can you please let me go? Everything feels really sore.”

He pulled away again, giving you a little confused smile. “I’m so sorry, do you want me to take you downstairs? We can get Dad to make you a potion.”

You returned his smile. “I’d appreciate that. But can you carry me? I don’t wanna move anymore.”

“Of course.”

Chuckling, he turned around and crouched gesturing for you to get on his back. A few unsteady moments later, you were successfully on Wilbur’s back and started your much quicker journey downstairs. You rested your cheek on his back and hummed in content. You found comfort in hearing his heartbeat, even if it was beating faster than usual.

Quickly reaching the couch, he gingerly put you down on it and made sure you didn’t lay on top of your wings. They sprawled behind you over the back of the couch.

“Stay right here, I’m going to get Dad.”

He walked outside with large strides, leaving you by yourself in the living room. You closed your eyes and pondered why today was so strange. First, you couldn’t move this morning. Second, Wilbur, your collected older brother, was crying. Third, Philza was up and outside. Usually he’s basically unresponsive in the mornings. He would never be up and about this early.

Opening your eyes when you heard hurried footsteps rushing toward you. Why’d you get déjà vu? Why did you feel so… so scared? Your panicked eyes landed on your dad running towards you with all your brothers following suit. You relaxed seeing your family. But why did they look at you with relief and tears in their eyes? Even Technoblade looked relieved.

Philza landed on his knees next to the couch before placing a gentle hand on your cheek. His worried blue eyes scanned you and he stared at you with a gentle smile.

“...Hey hun, how are ya feelin’?”

“I’ve had better days. I just feel really stiff, I think I’m going to have a bad molt this year.”

Your brothers looked at each other with confusion. Tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, Philza crinkled his brows. “Hun, do you not remember what happened? You-”

Tommy interrupted, “You died. SOMETHING KILLED YOU AND YOU RESPAWNED. HOW DO YOU NOT REMEMBER THAT?”

Flinching back, you deadpanned. “Gremlin, I think I’d remember if I lost one of my lives. My entire body feels like shit, but I sure as hell didn’t die. That’s just absurd.”

Philza gently grabbed your wrist and pulled down your sleeve. Instead of the usual three red hearts that were etched into your skin, only two stared back at you. You stuttered as your brain processed what you saw. You... died? How? Why couldn’t you remember your own death?

Your thoughts were interrupted as Philza spoke up. “You died, (y/n).”

“I… How?”

Philza pursed his lips together. “You were killed by The Warden. You were out mining.”

You looked at your hands. “Who’s The Warden?”

“It’s a mob that usually spawns in subterranean caves. We’re not exactly sure how you died, but… but you died down there, (y/n). You lost a life.”

You took in a shuddering breath. How could you be so damn careless? Were you falling back into your dangerous stunts phase? Did you get yourself killed? Why couldn’t you remember anything?

“Hun, do you want me to get you a potion for the stiffness?”

“...Yes please.”

“Tommy, can you please go get them a potion of healing? WIlbur, can you get a glass of water for them?”

Without a word, Tommy and WIlbur ran out of the room, leaving you with Philza and Techno. The piglin hybrid wouldn’t even look at you. Philza ran a comforting hand through your hair as he waited for your brothers to return.

When they came back, Wilbur helped prop you up so you could drink the potion and water. They soothed your scratchy throat and you felt your body fill up with warmth. It was always nice to drink a healing potion when you were hurt. Most of the stiffness and soreness that was previously rooted deep in your muscles was alleviated and you felt some of your nerves melt away. Now only your right wing was sore. You stretched, feeling a tugging sensation on the skin of your back around the base of your right wing.

“That’s better. I think I’m going to go shower, I feel absolutely disgusting.”

Not giving your worried family any room to argue with you, you swung your legs over the side of the couch and shakily stood up. Philza tried to help steady you, but you wove him off. If you were weak enough to die, you thought, you needed to prove yourself to your family that you were strong. You needed to do things yourself.

As you were shakily making your way up the stairs, Philza was following you, probably making sure you don’t kill yourself again. He was fussing over your wellbeing, you did just die and you were acting surprisingly calm about it.

“At least let me help you preen your wing.”

“Dad, I can preen my own wings. I’m 17.”

“I know hun. I just want to help you.”

“Dad. I can do it myself, I’ve been doing it alone since I was 10, and I don’t plan on stopping any time soon.”

Without giving him any more room to try to convince you, you closed the bathroom door in his face. You understood and appreciated that he was worried about you, but you needed to do things on your own if you were going to prove your strength to your family. You were angry that he thought you couldn’t do a simple thing by yourself. You could still hear him breathing from the other side of the door.

Peeling off your jacket, you ran your fingers along your left wing. The feathers were more out of place than usual, you must’ve gotten pretty fucked up by The Warden if they were this messy. After about 10 minutes of frustrated preening, you twisted your torso around slightly to reach for your other wing, but you couldn’t see anything. Why couldn’t you see anything? Your wings were large enough for you to completely wrap your body in them twice and then some, so it didn’t make sense to you.

Turning around to face the wall across the bathroom mirror, you spread out your wings and craned your head around to look at your right wing. Your eyes were met with a featherless nub that matched your skin tone. An ugly, discolored scar covered the entirety of the right side of your back. Without warning, memories flashed in front of your eyes at rapid fire.

A monsterous being towered over you, standing completely still. You held your breath as it just stood there. It walked away so you started to walk away. Everything lit up as you started to run from the thing chasing you. Blood pounded in your ears as panic engulfed your entire being as you tried to fly away, but you were caught. It effortlessly swung you around as it screamed. You felt your wing rip from your body and you flew across the cave. You couldn’t breathe. What did you do to deserve this?

“../n).”

You reached around to feel your wing, but you only grabbed the bone sticking out of your body. You felt anguish as you realized that you just lost a limb. You watched it drag your wing into the depths of the cave, leaving you completely and utterly alone as you slowly died.

“...(y/n)..”

You were crying in pain as you felt everything that happened crash down on you all at once. You laid there for what felt like hours as you sobbed and dry heaved. You prayed to whatever god was above that you would be put out of your misery soon. You felt as your body slowly got colder and colder. You were drifting in and out of consciousness. You couldn’t breathe. Please, for the love of god, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it sto-

“(Y/N).”

You saw a hazy figure in front of you. You felt someone’s hands gripping your shoulders in a firm grasp, you thrashed about trying to get out of it’s grip. You saw the monster that took your wing from you. The thing that killed you. You threw your arms about blindly in a desperate attempt to land a hit to try and get it to let you go. The only reason it let you go in the cave was when your wing was torn off, was it going to take your arms too?

You felt a smack as your hand collided with what you guessed was its grotesque face. It yelped and jumped back, releasing its grip on you. Its yelp strangely sounded like your dad’s voice. Your mind was probably playing tricks on you, your dad wasn’t here. You needed to get out. You scrambled up to your feet and bolted. You weren’t going to get killed again, especially by that thing.

“(Y/N)!”

How did it know your name? More importantly, how was it talking to you? You were probably still in the cave bleeding out as your delirious mind turned stone into the comforting walls of your home. You were probably imagining hearing your dad’s voice in a last chance to comfort yourself as you neared your impending doom.

Running down the hall, you made your way to the stairs. You couldn’t jump over the banister, you would probably break your legs again without both of your wings. Your vision was tunneling as you only focused on how to get out and away from the monster. When you were halfway down the stairs, you saw Tommy sprinting up to you looking panicked. No one deserves to die in the way you did, especially not him.

“Oh my god, Tommy we need to get you out of here, it’s coming for us.”

He grabbed your shoulders and bent over to look you in the eye, “(y/n), whatever you’re seeing is not real, you-”

“We need to go now!”

He was cut off as you grabbed his hand and drug him down the stairs. You could hear the thing coming closer. It started to come towards you and Tommy. You yanked him along with you as you reached the living room and sprinted towards the front door. You could taste the freedom. It tasted sweet.

Right as you grasped the door handle, you felt Tommy wrap his arms around your waist and pull you back. What the fuck, did he want to die?

“Tommy, if you don’t let me go now, it’s gonna get us. Please, you don’t wanna die the way I did.”

He said nothing as he turned you around and blocked the doorway with his body. The monster turned the corner and entered your sights. You’d be damned if you let Tommy die. You were determined to protect him even if you ended up dying a second time.

You puffed up your wing and shifted your body into a stance that you hoped was threatening. Pushing Tommy behind you and shielding him with your wing, you harshly glared at it.

“You fucking bastard, ya here for seconds? Was my wing not enough for you? Well, I’ve got bad news for ya, I won’t let you kill me again. I won’t let you near my brother.”

“(Y/n), it’s me,” it croaked out in your dad’s voice and started to slowly walk towards you, holding its arms up. Why wasn’t it shambling like it did in the cave? You felt more fear well up in your gut as you stepped back.

“You’ve got a lotta audacity to use my father’s voice against me. I’ll rip you to shreds if you step any closer to us. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU.”

It stepped back, it’s mouth impossibly frowning more as more drool pooled from its mouth. Tommy wrapped his arms around yours as he bound you to his chest. Thrashing, you desperately tried to get out of his hold.

“TOMMY WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? DO YOU WANT TO DIE? THAT THING IS RUTHLESS, IT WILL TEAR YOU APART LIMB BY LIMB JUST LIKE IT DID TO ME. DO YOU WANT THAT?”

He once again said nothing. You felt your hair on the top of your head start to dampen. You heard more footsteps running to you. Techno and Wilbur appeared behind the monster. They looked absolutely terrified. Were you going to watch your older brothers die?

Your chest heaved as you looked at them with wide eyes. “Tech, Wil please, for the love of god run while you still can. It’s in front of you.”

They glanced at each other before Wilbur grabbed the monster’s arm. You screamed in horror as it looked at him. To your confusion, Wilbur wasn’t grabbed. He just gently led the monster away into the kitchen.

“I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU TOUCH A SINGLE HAIR ON HIS HEAD, YOU’LL MEET A FATE WORSE THAN MINE. I WILL MAKE SURE YOU SUFFER MORE THAN I DID, YOU GODDAMNED FREAK.”

Your hoarse screaming was interrupted as Tommy squeezed you against his chest tighter. Techno slowly approached you, making sure that you saw his every move, and bent over to look you in the eye. Tommy’s arms tightened around you, scared that you were going to lash out at Technoblade.

“(Y/n), The Warden isn’t here. You’re home, you’re not in the cave. You’re safe.”

You studied his face. Was he even real? Was any of this real? He looked real. Then again, everything around you looked real.

“I… Tech, are-are you real? Is any of this real?”

Techno pulled you out of Tommy’s arms and pulled you into his own tight embrace. He pressed a hand on the back of your head and pushed your face into his shoulder, rocking you back and forth. Your forehead tickled where you felt the end of his braid brush against your skin. You started to sob into his chest.

“Tech, I was so scared. I… I thought I was gonna die again. Please don’t let me die.”

“The Warden isn’t here, (y/n). I’m real. The house is real. You are home. No one else is here besides Dad, Wilbur, Tommy, me, and you. You’re safe. We won’t let you die again.”

He repeated the same things over like a mantra. With each reassurance, you felt yourself calm down. Techno’s soothing, monotone voice gave you something that wasn’t too overstimulating to center your focus on. You cried until you didn’t have any tears left to cry. Even after you were done crying, Techno continued to rock you back and forth, caressing your hair on the crown of your head like he did when you were kids.

The voices in his head have been screaming at him nonstop since he saw that they had lost a life earlier in the day. They were telling him that he was stupid for letting you go mining alone. That he was a failure for letting you die alone. He couldn’t hear his own thoughts. He could only attempt to comfort you while trying to ignore the voices.

Tommy stood stiff at the door watching you two. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do. His older sibling was always calm and collected. He’s never seen you react like that. He’s never seen you so terrified. You were always the one to comfort him, never the other way around. You were there to give him hugs when he scraped his knee as a child. You were there when he’d have nightmares. You always made sure that he was alright. He was truly stumped.

Meanwhile in the dining room, Philza sat at the head of the table staring blankly at his folded hands placed in his lap. Wilbur had pulled up a chair to sit next to him, rubbing his back in small circles. The two didn’t speak to each other. Instead, they were listening to your heartbreaking sobs as Techno’s deep voice rumbled lowly underneath your sobbing.

Wilbur didn’t know how to comfort his dad. Hell, he didn’t know how to comfort himself. His little sibling just died, forgot about it, and remembered it in the span of six short hours. Your death must’ve been traumatizing if you were reliving it. He didn’t know how to comfort you, he always was the one, besides Philza, to comfort you when you were upset as a kid. He felt completely lost.

Philza remembered how he felt his heart drop when he heard you start to scream from the other side of the bathroom door. The instinct to comfort his child overpowered his rational thought as he opened the door. He found you curled in on yourself on the ground with your only wing tightly wrapped around you mid panic attack. He asked you multiple times if it was alright to touch you, but you never responded. You just kept your eyes screwed shut. He was crouched in front of you trying to get you out of your trance before he decided to put his hands on your shoulders. That made you finally open your eyes. He tried to give you a smile, but you started to flail your arms. He dodged the best he could, but your movements were too erratic and you ended up smacking him across the face.

He felt so scared for you when you ran away from him in a panic. He thought you were going to hurt yourself when you reached the stairs. He felt like someone tore his heart out and stomped on it when he realized that you were afraid of him. You saw him as your murderer. When you started to threaten him, he saw just how terrified you were of dying again. How terrified you were of him killing you. You didn’t react when tears started to slip down his cheeks. He didn’t care that you were threatening him, he cared that his own child was terrified of him.

At the moment, you were slowly fading out of consciousness in your brother's hold. You felt completely drained physically, emotionally, and mentally. You barely registered Techno picking you up and carrying you up the stairs to your room, laying you on your bed. He even covered your wing with your blanket.

Taglist (comment if you want to be added to the series taglist): @acecarddraws @goldenstarofthunderclan @ravennightingaleandavatempus @dirtydiavolo @immadatmostthings @hee-hee-haw @jackalopedoodles @m1lkmandan @vanhakirja @im-a-depressed-gay @coolleviauchihadreamerlove @questioning-sanity @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @kakamiissad @lifestylesleep @speedymaximoff @sun-shark-tooth @camisascam @yeiras-world @jayistrash

#sbi x reader #platonic #sibling reader #mcyt x reader #mcyt #philza x reader #technoblade x reader #wilbur soot x reader #tommyinnit x reader #angst #tw: ptsd #tw: swearing #tw: panic attack #tw: depersonalization

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