#Another one of those where I don't know how to tag this chapter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

banannabethchase · 1 year

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Take a Chance on Me Chapter 5: Gimme Gimme Gimme (click for AO3)

Mox tells Wheeler about his encounters with Chuck and Bryan, and we learn about Mox's reaction when he found out Wheeler was on his way.

A heads up - there's a discussion of dealing with one's deadname professionally, but no one is deadnamed or forced to interact with said deadname. This is also the chapter where Mox discovers he's pregnant, if that's something that makes you uncomfortable. Also. Heed the tags.

“Alright, kiddo, where were we?” Mox says, sitting back down on the couch.

“Regal’d just left, and you and Seth were I think about to go make stupid decisions at a bar.”

“Ah,” Mox says. “right.” He wrinkles his nose. “Don’t judge me for this one, okay?”

~~~

Within a few hours, they’re at a local bar with glasses of soda in their hands.

Mox is twitchy, hands flexing as they ache to grab a glass of beer or a shot of whiskey. But that’s not the kind of bad decision he wants to make tonight.

“Mox, if you’re not comfortable here, we can leave,” Seth says, half yelling to be heard over the music.

“No,” Mox says, bouncing on his toes like he’s looking to fight, not fuck. “Best place to pick somebody up who isn’t gonna hate crime me halfway home.”

Seth shrugs, taking a sip of his Sprite. “Honestly, not a bad policy.”

The gay bar is loud, rambunctious, and full of pretty people. Mox doesn’t have a type, exactly. Warm body is kind of his game, and there’s plenty of those here.

“That girl with the long hair over there?’ Seth says, pointing with his glass. “She seems DTF.”

“Please never say that again,” Mox grumbles. “And she’s here with that girl, yeah?”

Seth squints. “She stole my look.”

“Nah, you’re half-blonde is on one side. She’s got the blonde in the front.” He bumps his shoulder against Seth’s. “No, I’m looking for somebody a little more butch tonight.”

“Don’t say -”

“I wanna get railed,” Mox continues. “Just, like, absolutely fucked up by somebody who might actually hate me a little bit.”

Seth rolls his eyes. “You are,” he hesitates, and Mox raises an eyebrow, waiting for whatever’s about to come next, “fucking weird, you know that?”

“No, I’m 22 and stupid,” Mox says. “You’re the one who’s weird, Mr. Married.”

“Engaged,” Seth says. He holds out his hand, admiring the sparkly stupid ring on his finger. He sighs.

“Stop thinking about getting railed by Roman,” Mox demands. “I’m the only one getting railed tonight.”

“Says you,” Seth mutters, but they continue scanning the bar.

“I’m gonna get another soda,” Mox says, “I’ll be back in a second.”

The bartender won’t look at him, busy tossing his stupid fucking boyband hair out of the way as he flirts with some guy. Hmm.

“Hey, flippy hair!” Mox yells, as loud as he can. “What’s a guy gotta do to get a drink around here?”

The bartender turns to him. “Not be a bitch, that’s for one.”

“Takes one to know what,” Mox fires back. “Give me a soda.”

“I’ll spit in your drink.”

Mox grins. “Hot. I’ll take two.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Only if you come with.” Mox is having too much fun to quit. But the bartender, after looking him up and down a few times, slides him a drink. And winks.

Mox knows exactly how this is going to go.

“Oh, no,” Seth says, when Mox comes back. “I know that look.”

“I’m gonna fuck the bartender,” Mox says, a little giddy.

Seth sighs. “That’s what I worried you were going to say.”

Mox catches the bartender around twenty minutes later outside on a smoke break.

“Shit, it’s you,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You don’t have somebody else to harass?”

“Nah, you’re good.” Mox leans up against the wall. “You up for a quickie?”

He opens his mouth, closes it. Then stubs out his cigarette. “Why the fuck not. Never gotten laid on the clock before.” He throws the cigarette on the ground. “You got a place, or?”

Mox pulls out Seth’s keys. “My friend’s got a car.”

Chuck shrugs. “Works for me.” They make their way to the car. “You got a name?”

“Mox,” he answers. “Moxley.”

“Chuck,” says the bartender. “Taylor, if it matters.”

Mox unlocks the car and Chuck shoves him up against the door. The man kisses with the kind of focus Mox loves – relentless, demanding, and so fucking mean.

“Turn around,” Chuck says, hand gripping the back of Mox’s neck.

“Hold up a second,” Mox says, and the grip loosens. Pity. “Just – I’m trans. Want to make sure you’re cool with that.”

“Yeah, cool, two holes are better than one or whatever. You still want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah.”

Chuck shoves his jeans down his hips and slides a hand between Mox’s legs, laughing a little at the slickness already pooling. “Jesus, you’re easy for this, aren’t you?”

“I had a goal,” Mox says, twitching when Chuck crooks his fingers, “goal achieved.”

Chuck fucks him rough and fast, hand between the two of them to bring Mox off twice in rough, uncontrolled orgasms that nearly take him out of at the knees. Chuck bites, too, and Mox flies to the moon and back by the time it’s over. There’ll be marks all over his neck after this, he knows it.

“I’m – I’m gonna,” Chuck says.

“Go for it,” Mox mumbles, head still spinning. And Chuck kisses him when he comes, something sweet underneath the mockery.

Chuck is surprisingly careful, when they’re done, helping Mox find his feet before stepping away. “Alright, well,” Chuck checks his watch. “That’s one for the history books. I gotta go back to work.” He raises an eyebrow. “You good or…?”

“I’m good,” Mox says, feeling his breathing level out. “That was fucking great.” He wants to ask for a number, but resists the urge. One night is one night. “Thanks, man.”

Chuck salutes, smile crooked but a lot kinder than anything else he’s given Mox through the night. Well. Except for that kiss. “Drinks on me for the rest of the night?”

Mox winks. “Sounds great.” He swaggers back into the bar, flashing his ID at the suspicious bouncer, and slides in.

Seth takes one look at him and groans. “Please tell me you didn’t fuck in my car.”

Mox tosses the keys back to Seth, who looks at them horrified. “Not in your car,” Mox says. “Against your car.”

“I hate you,” Seth whines, downing his diet Coke.

“So, you got it out of your system?” Seth asks the next morning. He’d crashed with Mox, the two of them fighting over blankets throughout the night like they’d done since they were in high school. “Is my car safe from your bullshit?”

Mox puts his hands behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling. “Nah.”

Seth groans, shoving his face into a pillow. “Oh, fuck.”

“What?” Mox asks, poking Seth in the ribs. “You love it when I do stupid shit.”

Seth smacks him with the pillow. “Yeah, when I’m not involved. Just. Don’t drag me into it this time, okay?”

Mox turns his head, grinning at Seth. “You think Roman would be game for a threesome?”

Seth legitimately tries to suffocate him with his own pillow. Mox thinks it’s worth it.

His good spirits, though, plummet when he walks into work the next day. There’s a shorter man in the main office, with long hair tied into a bun and a beard so bushy it makes Mox’s haircut look neat. He’s going through paperwork and frowning, like something’s wrong.

“Oh, Christ,” Mox mutters. He goes to pull Seth back, to ask him if he knows anything, but Seth’s already with his morning client. Interrupting, while compelling, feels like a dick move.

He doesn’t get himself out of range in time, though, and the person who’s in the office waves him in before he can escape. Hesitantly, Mox walks into the office.

“Hello,” says the man in the office, eyes kinder than Mox expected. “Are you Mr. Moxley?”

“Mox,” he says, shaking his hand. It’s a firm grip. “Yeah, that’s me. And you are…?”

“Interim manager. Corporate sent me once Regal sent in his request to transfer.” He frowns at the office. “Everything appears to be in order, but I think this extension would benefit from some reorganization.” He claps his hands. “Tell me, Mox, what do we know about this place?”

Mox gives him the run down, very aware of the way the guy makes constant and intense eye contact, and still hasn’t given Mox his own name. He glances at the clock from time to time, wishing his first client had signed up for a nine instead of a ten.

The interim manager tilts his head. “You have a knack for this stuff, Mox.”

Mox shrugs. “I like the business. I like helping people get stronger and meet their goals. And I like that, when somebody pisses me off, I can go off on the heavy bags.” He pauses. “Or, I can call them into the ring and beat the shit out of them there.”

The man raises his eyebrow. “You fight?”

“I do,” Mox says. “Submissions. Suplexes. Throwing a guy around a ring until he begs for mercy.”

Like it’s automatic, the guy licks his lips. Mox follows the movement, transfixed. “Well then.” It’s like a switch flips in his brain. “Pardon me, I forgot to introduce myself.” He sticks out his hand again. “Bryan Danielson.”

“Jon Moxley’s my full name,” Mox says. “It, uh. It may say something else on the paperwork.” He won’t blush about it. He won’t react.

Bryan frowns as he checks the paperwork. “Well, that’s stupid of them. Corporate and I are close, I’ll have them fix it.” He looks at Mox. “Your ID have your real name or your dead name?”

Mox fidgets. “I, uh. Haven’t had the money to get it changed yet.” He’s saved up almost enough, he forces himself not to say. He’s almost there.

Bryan strokes his beard for a minute. “I think I can allocate some funds.” He looks back at Mox. “Corporate is very LGBT friendly, and we have some foundations that support people like you. Especially for such a highly rated employee.”

Mox blinks. “Highly rated?”

“Mr. Regal reported you were his best employee,” Bryan says, checking the files. “Ah, right here. Prior to his departure, he rated you 90 out of 100 or higher on all scales.”

The world feels like it’s spinning a bit around Mox. “He – Regal gave me a good review?”

“One of the top 15 in the company, I believe.” Bryan adjusts some of the papers, files them into something. “Now, I’m only here for a few days to aid in the transition, but, I assure you, all paperwork to support you in your name change will be provided.”

Mox nods. “Uh. Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

“Of course.” Bryan’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. The kindness bleeds through into his words. “Anything for such a star employee.”

Bryan is only kind when he wants to be, Mox soon finds out. The man is a drill sergeant during classes, working the clients until they’re sweating buckets. He spars with Mox when they have down time, and leaves him with bruises and bloody knuckles by the end of the first day.

“He’s like a fucking animal in the ring, Seth, I don’t know what the fuck is this guy’s deal,” Mox mutters as he and Seth wipe down the treadmills.

“He doesn’t do that with me,” Seth says. “I mean, sure, we sparred earlier.” He wiggles his finger, the diamond glittering. “Maybe it’s because he knows you’re single.”

Mox raises an eyebrow. “You think he’s hitting on me?”

“I think,” Seth says, “you are obtuse and you’re bad at realizing when people are hitting on you.”

“Am not!”

“Mox, you didn’t realize Regal was into you until he was literally in you.”

Mox exhales. “Fuck. Fair.” He smacks Seth in the face with the towel. “But you didn’t notice, either.”

“You,” Seth replies, smacking Mox in the back with his own towel, “never asked.”

Mox is a little twitchy around Bryan for the next couple of days. He gets it out by sparring with Seth, who pouts every time Mox plants him on his ass.

“You usually get out your weird feelings by fucking somebody,” Seth says, groaning as he rolls over. “Why the hell are you taking it out on me?”

“Because,” Mox says, aiming a kick at Seth’s head that he ducks, “you judged me the last, like, five times.”

Seth pulls himself to his feet and flips over the ropes, balancing like a bird on a tree branch. “I never judge you,” he says, and he jumps onto Mox’s torso, taking them both down onto them mat. Mox tries to catch his breath. “And, plus, this one makes sense. He’s leaving soon. You can have, like, a cool little workplace romance or something.” Seth kicks at Mox’s hand when it comes up to grab him. “Do the Regal thing, but right this time.”

Mox lets Seth pin him, out of the kindness of his own heart, and slowly gets to his feet. Seth’s not wrong.

On Bryan’s last day, before the new manager is supposed to start, he and Bryan end up closing together.

“Jon,” Bryan says, after lengthy silence as the wipe down the equipment, “I wanted to tell you, I put your name in for manager.”

Mox drops the weight on his foot, and, as he hops around swearing, he’s glad it was just a two pounder. “Fuck. What?”

“It was Regal’s recommendation, and I concur.” Bryan adjusts the stacks. “You’ve been here for, what, eight months? Stellar reviews, highly rated by clients and coworkers alike. There will be some corporate level training, of course, but you would do well in the position and it would allow for the location to seamlessly merge into a new era.”

“Uh,” Mox says, not a bit like the employee Bryan thinks he is, “that’s amazing. That’s – that’s really amazing. Sure. Yeah. Of course.”

“And, if you don’t mind,” Bryan leans against the office desk, “I have to ask something. I’ll kick myself if I don’t.”

Mox blinks. “Uh. Sure.”

Bryan steps up to him, crowding into his space. “Can we have a real fight?” he asks, and it doesn’t like that’s all he’s asking. “You. Me. The ring.” He’s shorter than Mox, yes. But his presence makes Mox want to drop to his knees for him. “Nobody else watching. Right now.”

Mox licks his lips. “Okay.”

They start out simple, trading holds and taking each other out by the knees, but the tension in the room is making Mox want to rip off the rest of his clothes. Sweat stains his skin, his and Bryan’s, as they take each other to the mat, the ropes, to the point of exhaustion. Mox won’t quit, though. There’s something behind this he’s determined to finish. He won’t let it go without a goodbye like with Regal. They trade suplexes, lariats, until Mox has Bryan pinned to the mat, covering him.

“One, two, three, bitch,” Mox laughs, but it’s not funny. “Uh.” He moves to pull away, but Bryan pulls him back down, fingers laced with Mox’s.

“Jon,” Bryan says, seriously, “I would never want to overstep a boundary.” His eyes flicker down to Mox’s lips and back up. “But I have to ask.”

Mox swallows. “Ask it, then.” But he doesn’t give Bryan a chance. He leans down, kissing him, and immediately Bryan’s hands fly to Mox’s hips.

They fuck without reservations in the middle of the ring, and it feels like an extension of their fight. They trade kisses like punches, press shoulders to the mat like a pin, and Mox rides Bryan like it’s a submission hold of a whole new kind.

“Don’t stop,” Bryan gasps, fingers biting bruises into Mox’s hips. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

“Same to you,” Mox laughs, but, in the second he allows his eyes to close, Bryan gets the best of the moment and flips him.

“Jon,” he says, lips sucking hard at the side of Mox’s neck, “can I come in you?”

“Yes,” Mox chokes out, “fuck, yes. I gotta come first though, you dick.”

“Duly noted,” Bryan says, laugh harsh and almost as bruising as his teeth. He pulls out so suddenly that Mox almost cries out, but then his head is between Mox’s legs, lips against Mox’s clit, and any complaints are dead and gone.

Bryan eats Mox out like he’s a drowning man desperate for water, and Mox has nothing but Bryan’s hair to grip onto as he grinds up against Bryan’s mouth.

“Jesus Christ,” Mox moans, “fuck, right there”

Bryan sucks one last time, hard, and Mox comes, seeing stars scatter across the ceiling of the gym. He’s never seen the ring from this angle. He probably never will again.

Bryan doesn’t let up, though, and, through Mox’s desperation and whimpers, brings him off again, fingers stroking inside Mox.

“Fuck,” Mox whines, oversensitive but desperate for more.

“Not done with you yet,” Bryan laughs, and he begins pounding into Mox’s body with single-minded determination. Mox can hardly do much but hold on, riding the aftershocks, but when Bryan comes, it feels like a victory.

Bryan slumps against him, face buried in the space between Mox’s shoulder and neck, as he breathes heavily. “Fuck,” he laughs.

“Yeah,” Mox says. His eyes lock up into the beams in the ceiling. “Fuck is right.”

Bryan pushes himself off of Mox, and gathers their clothing. He tosses Mox’s clothes. “For when you’re ready.”

“Oh, I’m good now,” Mox says, and he feels like a god. “So, like. You’re not gonna be here tomorrow?”

“Nope,” Bryan says. He pulls his shirt on, then extends a hand to Mox. “It’s all you from now on, Mox.”

Mox takes his hand and leaps to his feet. He feels a lot more relaxed, more calm than he’s felt since he found out Regal left earlier in the week. “Thanks, Bryan.”

There’s a knowing little smile on Bryan’s lips. “For what?”

“Oh, fuck, don’t be smug, you asshole,” Mox says, rolling his eyes. “For recommending me.” And then, because he can. “And for fulfilling one of my gym fantasies. Always wanted to fuck in the middle of the ring.”

Bryan throws his head back and laughs. “Yeah. It was fun.” He holds out a hand. “It was great working with you, Mox. We’re glad to have you in this position.”

And, Mox wouldn’t swear it, but he thinks Bryan winked.

The next two months are a whirlwind – Mox is caught up in running a business, the financial system and HR trainings from corporate sucking up more of his time than he expects. It’s not until eight weeks after Regal left that he realizes something isn’t quite right.

“Mox!” Paige says, walking into his office. “We’re out of the good tampons. How did we run out of tampons?”

Mox frowns. “We are?”

Paige nods, throwing open the random drawer of the file cabinet in the front of the office. “See? Empty.”

Slowly, like through water, Mox checks. And it strikes him that it’s been a while since he’s even had to go into that drawer.

Panic floods him. “Paige, I’ll talk to you later.”

He rushes out onto the floor as she asks after him, but, mercifully, she doesn’t follow him onto the floor. “Seth,” Mox says, anxiety coursing his entire body. His heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest. “Seth, I gotta talk to you.”

Mid laugh, Seth walks over. “What’s up?”

“When’s the last time I complained about the secret store of tampons being raided by Paige?” he asks.

Seth frowns. “Oh. Weird. I don’t know.”

Mox stares at him.

Seth’s jaw drops. “Oh, fuck.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Mox waves it off. “I’m probably late or something. I’ve been working out more or whatever.” His hands are shaking. “I’ll get a test or something.”

He texts Eddie I need you to come over tonight without context, though. He’s gonna need all the help he can get, whatever happens next.

Seth is sitting on the couch, leg bouncing frenetically, and Eddie is pacing the living room when Mox comes out of the bathroom later that night. The stick is trembling in his hand, but not from fear. Somehow, he’s excited.

“Guys,” he says, “it’s positive.”

Eddie brings his hand up to cover his mouth, and Seth goes completely still.

“What do we gotta do?” Eddie asks, steady and calm in a way Mox has never seen. “Totally your call, man.”

“Of course,” Seth says, gentle. He stands, hand on Mox’s shoulder. “And you don’t have to decide now, okay?”

“No, I’ve decided,” Mox says. He rests his hand on his lower belly, wondering if he hasn’t just been bloated from all the Little Caesar’s lately. If it’s from whatever has made its way into his life. “I – guys, I’m gonna be a dad.”

Eddie flops against the back of the sofa, exhaling so hard his lips wobble. “Jesus Christ, Moxie,” he says, shaking his head.

“I know,” Mox says. “But – I kind of.” He looks at Seth, who’s got a knowing little smile on his lips. “I didn’t realize how much I wanted this until it happened.”

They’re silent for a few moments. Mox is pretty sure Eddie is having a near existential crisis, and Seth might be crying, just a little bit.

“I gotta ask,” Eddie says, “who’s the – other dad?”

Mox frowns. “Well…”

Eddie groans, rolling over to face plant into the couch cushions. “Please tell me you aren’t fucking Chris again.”

“I haven’t fucked Chris in a year,” Mox retorts. “And, uh. No. It’s – I don’t know which of the three of them it is.”

Eddie leans forward on his knees. “Three?!”

“I had a rough week! I was sexually irresponsible!” Mox says, throwing his hands in the air. “So sue me!”

“Okay, well, we know it’s Regal, that Chuck guy from the bar, or Bryan, right?” Seth says. “Why don’t we just – talk to them?”

Mox considers it. He doesn’t even know if Chuck still works at that bar. Regal left without a trace, didn’t even tell him he was going. And Bryan’s long gone to another part of the company.

“No,” Mox decides. “No, I’ve got this. I want to do this on my own.”

“Fuck you are,” Eddie says. “Uncle Eddie, bitch.”

The next months are chaos, with Eddie moving in to be a support system and Mox’s life turning upside down and inside out in ways he couldn’t have imagined. But, when he holds his son in his hands, ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes and big brown eyes so warm they melt his heart, he decides it’s all worth it.

“I’m getting my titties chopped off and my uterus yanked out of me, ASAP,” he says, exhausted, when Wheeler is eight weeks old and miserable with colic.

“Whatever you gotta do, man,” Eddie says, rocking from side to side as he feeds Wheeler. “I got you.”

#Another one of those where I don't know how to tag this chapter #There's literally no ClaudiYoots in this one #It's all flashback except for mild snark #And also features the first MoxChuck fic on AO3 #Yay for new things!#And also my first time writing MoxBry which was #Interesting #Bryan was harder to write than I expected #wtf i like wrestling now???#in which sara writes #Mamma Mia AU

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fixyourwritinghabits · 2 months

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How to Tell If That Post of Advice Is AI Bullshit

Right, I wasn't going to write more on this, but every time I block an obvious AI-driven blog, five more clutter up the tags. So this is my current (April 2024) advice on how to spot AI posts passing themselves off as useful writing advice.

No Personality - Look up a long-running writing blog, you'll notice most people try to make their posts engaging and coming from a personal perspective. We do this because we're writers and, well, we want to convey a sense of ourselves to our readers. A lot of AI posts are straight-forward - no sense of an actual person writing them, no variation in tone or text.

No Examples - No attempts to show how pieces of advice would work in a story, or cite a work where you could see it in action. An AI post might tell you to describe a person by highlighting two or three features, and that's great, but it's hard to figure out how that works without an example.

Short, Unhelpful Definitions - A lot of what I've seen amount to two or three-sentence listicles. 'When you want to write foreshadowing, include a hint of what you want foreshadowed in an earlier chapter.' Cool beans, could've figured that out myself.

SEO/AI Prompt Language Included - I've seen way too many posts start with "this post is about..." or "now we will discuss..." or "in this post we will..." in every single blog. This language is meant to catch a search engine or is ChatGPT reframing the prompt question. It's not a natural way of writing a post for the average tumblr user.

Oddly Clinical Language - Right, I'm calling out that post that tried to give advice on writing gay characters that called us "homosexuals" the entire time. That's a generative machine trying to stay within certain parameters, not an actual person who knows that's not a word you'd use unless you were trying to be insulting or dunking on your own gay ass in the funniest way possible.

Too Perfect - Most generative AI does not make mistakes (this is how many a student gets caught trying to use it to cheat). You can find ways to make it sound more natural and have it make mistakes, but that takes time and effort, and neither of those are really a factor in these posts. They also tend to have really polished graphics and use the same format every time.

Maximized Tags (That Are Pointless) - Anyone who uses more than 10 one-word tags is a cop. Okay, fine, I'm joking, but there's a minimal amount of tags that are actually useful when promoting a post. More tags are not going to get a post noticed by the algorithm, there is no algorithm. Not everyone has to use their tags to make snarky comments, but if your tags look like a spambot, I'm gonna assume you're a spambot.

No Reblogs From The Rest of Writblr - I'm always finding new Writblr folks who have been around for awhile, but every real person I've seen reblogs posts from other people. We've all got other stuff to do, I'm writing this blog to help others and so are they, the whole point of tumblr is to pass along something you think is great.

While you'll probably see some variation in the future - as people get wise to obviously generated text, they'll try to make it look less generated - but overall, there's still going to be tells to when something is fake.

I don't have any real advice for what to do about this (other than block those blogs, which is what I do). Like most AI bullshit, I suspect most of these blogs are just another grift, attempting to build large follower counts to leverage or sell something to in the future. They may progress past these tattletale features, but I'm still going to block them when I see them. I don't see any value in writing advice compiled from the work of better writers who put the effort in when I can just go find those writers myself.

#writblr #AI Bullshit #The State of Things These Days

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kyleoreillylover · 6 months

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Loyalty- Chapter 1: The Beginning.

Series Summary/Masterlist

tag list: @southerngirl41 @venusesworld @jeysbae @reci1996 @tbonesteakwithasideofmashngrav @hope4more @selena-tyler-564 @saintaquarius

Chapter Summary: The cracks in your sweet persona are showing. Jey wants to help you through them, and Roman wants to capitalize on them.

word count: 13,992 (ik it's long but bare with me!!! you'll get less chapters more content, trust me pls :)) warnings: manipulation, cheating, wrestling related violence.

WRESTLEMANIA BACKLASH 2020

Blue.

Blue used to be your favorite color. The serene hue that used to beckon memories of tranquility, now seemed tainted by the complexities of the present. Your once form fitted sparkling blue gear was now blood stained and glimmering with sweat, the championship it matched no longer in your grasp.

But now, the color made you want to throw up. The sight of you made you want to throw up.

You stared back at your reflection in your dressing room mirror, the dressing room mirror reflecting an image you hardly recognized. Your face was bruised and distorted, your eye swollen shut and lip cut and bleeding from the fight you were in just moments ago with Ronda Rousey.

And just a few minutes before that match, you were informed that you would be dropping your Smackdown Women's Championship to her, because they thought that was what was best for business. Because not telling you beforehand wasn't what was best for business.

Casting you- the nicknamed Princess of Pain of WWE because of your kind nature and killer attitude in the ring-one of the biggest babyfaces on the roster, one of the biggest merch sellers, one of the greatest on the mic and in the ring, and finally one of their champions after so many years of crawling to the top from the NXT food chain to your win against Sasha Banks in one of the most historic main events ever at Wrestlemania to hold your first main roster title- to the side after less than a month as a champion was best for business.

Making you finally have your moment on the grandest stage of them all only to have it shattered so soon at Ronda's request after she just came back from her months-long vacation was best for business.

Sami tried to console you, he knew from the look on your face as you left the meeting before your match and ran into him that something was horribly wrong.

But you brushed off his attempts at comforting you with a solemn smile and a 'I'm fine, don't worry about me, Sami.' and took off before he could inquire any more. If he pushed any more with those brown eyes that always seemed to know what you were thinking and those warm arms that he outstretched towards you, you knew you would fall into them and cry.

You decided instead of yelling at management, you tried to make the best of it and lead Ronda into a good match and push any animosity you had and be cordial- you could get another opportunity in the future. And maybe this would lead to one of your friends-like Liv or Rhea-taking the title off of her and getting their moment they absolutely deserved.

But all those thoughts left your brain when she stared back across the ring from you with that stupid smirk across her face and went off script and punched you square in the nose so hard that it broke and your face was trickled with blood before the bell even rang.

There would be no holding back, you thought. Even if I lose, I'ma make sure I come out the true fucking winner and make her work for it.

And work for it Ronda did. The two of you beat the holy hell out of each other. Under the bright lights, punches were not pulled, and bodies were broken.

The commentary table was destroyed when you pile-driven Ronda through it. Your face was covered in grim and blood from where Ronda attacked it, the blood getting into your eyes and making you wipe it every 5 seconds. and Ronda's shoulder was dislocated from where you rammed a chair into it, relishing in her cries of pain.

How's it feel going off script now, bitch?, you thought.

Sami knew you weren't okay though when Ronda finally got you into a sleeper hold and your eyes fluttered shut after hanging on for so long, and instead of tapping out as planned, deciding to pass out.

Ronda clearly didn't like what you were doing, since she tightened her grip on your neck and didn't let go for a full five minutes, only pushing herself off of you when Adam Pearce and medical/security staff finally convinced her to let go of you.

"I'm what's best for business!" She screamed into your face, waving your title around with a cocky smirk on her face as she watched you glare at her, pushing away the medical staff weakly and refuse to get on the stretcher, much to their chagrin. "Not some nice weak little bitch who peaked in NXT!"

Her words hurt more than the physical pain you were in, and you kept repeating them in your mind as you wiped your face, wincing with every wipe.

You went to medical, but there was only so much they could do. They put your nose back in place, (Sami barged into the room and forced you to let him stay, and his hand almost broke under your grip when the doctor was fixing your nose), disinfected your lip, gave you some pain meds, and told you that you'd be cleared to wrestle in a couple of weeks, and instructed you to put ice on your bruised body.

Sami was planning on getting your stuff from your locker room and bringing you to your hotel room so he could help you relax (much to your annoyance, all you wanted to do was be alone and wallow in your own self-pity), when you ran into a concerned looking Kevin in the hallway.

The scene he saw before him- Sami trying to wrap an arm around you to help you up and your stubborn ass refusing him, made him explode in anger and concern. But much like with everything Kevin says, it came out in the worst way possible.

"Just because Ronda knocked the marbles outta your head doesn't mean you get to act stupid. Let Sami help you, you dumbass!" he shouted, gesturing wildly in his frustration.

You glared at Kevin, not in the mood for him tonight. Why he thought he had any right to speak to you like that was beyond comprehension. He was no longer your best friend, so he shouldn't be acting like he even cared. He didn't care when he cost you how many championships when you were about to win them, did he? Of course now he wants to speak with you.

Despite the pain and the swirling emotions, you managed to push Sami away, moving closer to Kevin with a fiery gaze.

"Oh, so now you wanna care about me? Very funny." you spat, your voice dripping with disdain. "And last time I checked, Ronda came out that match with a broken shoulder, and if you don't get away from me in the next 5 seconds, I'll break yours too."

Kevin huffed as if he couldn't decide between continuing the argument or stepping back, but he saw Sami rubbing your back and trying to comfort you despite your resistance, and he couldn't hold back his sharp tongue or his jealousy.

"Does that only apply to everyone or is Sami the exception as always?" Kevin shot back, his frustration evident in his tone. "For fucks sake, your bleeding and all you can care about is the fact that I'm telling you the truth, and you can't handle it like always."

Your fists clenched at your sides as Kevin's words pierced through the haze of pain and anger. You wanted to scream at him, to make him understand the turmoil raging within you, but the searing pain in your body drowned out any coherent thoughts.

Before you could retort, Sami stepped between you and Kevin, cutting Kevin with a glare that could cut through steel. "Are you seriously jealous that I'm trying to take care of her? Maybe you would have that opportunity if you actually acted like you cared about her!" Sami mocked, his voice low and seething with frustration.

Kevin knew he should've focused on your physical and mental state instead of starting the argument, but the fire was lit and Sami only added to the gasoline. "Maybe I would've had that opportunity if she didn't constantly take your side and ignore her actual best friend!"

At Sami's incredulous look at his statement, Kevin scowled and glared at him. "Don't act like I'm not right. No matter what I do, it's always Sami this, Sami that. 'Oh Y/N, we hate Kevin, we can't trust Kevin.' Like I don't exist. Like he's the only one who gets to be there for you!"

Sami glowered at Kevin, shaking his head in disbelief. "I do get to be the only one there for her! Because you weren't there for us when we needed you."

This time it was Kevin shaking his head in disbelief, a wry smile on his face. "Oh my god, do you not hear yourself? We, we, we? You don't care about her, you just care about trying to avenge yourself for the past! You only want her to yourself because you know that your own actions pushed her away, so you are trying to blame yourself on me!"

Your head throbbed with pain as their argument escalated, each word feeling like a dagger in your already wounded heart. The realization that this altercation was about more than just your well-being dawned upon you. They were fighting for a place in your life, a place you were struggling to define for yourself amidst the chaos of tonight.

"Blame your actions on me! Blame your short comings in your careers on me! Blame Y/N's shitty title reign on me! Blame everything on me, because that's what you always do! Y/N can't see past your stupid sweet smile and fake friendship to realize that you're manipulating her emotions!" Kevin retorted, his voice rising in frustration.

"Enough!" Your voice shattered through the heated exchange, cutting their argument short. Breathing heavily, you felt the pain and exhaustion wash over you, but a surge of anger and hurt fueled your words. Both men turned to you, their angry expressions faltering at the angry expression on your bruised up face.

"This is not about you two!" You shouted, your voice a mixture of frustration and agony. "This is about me! About what happened out there!"

You gestured vaguely toward the arena, a reminder of the brutal match you just endured. "This is not about which one of you gets to be by my side or who's the better friend. This is about how I'm feeling right now, which is like absolute shit! I just got my ass handed to me in the ring, and all I want is to be left alone!"

Your voice cracked with emotion as tears welled up in your eyes, a combination of physical pain and the emotional turmoil caused by the situation. You turned to Kevin, who was taking a step forward, his expression now more concerned than combative.

"Kevin..." You struggled to maintain your composure, wiping away a stray tear. "You want me to stop blaming you? For everything? For all your mistakes? For my 'shitty title reign'?" Kevin winced as your words hit him hard. "Well, I'm sorry if I'm not in the mood to hear about how you're such a great friend and how you care about me after everything that's happened tonight."

Your voice cracked as you fought to keep your emotions in check. "But I'll stop blaming you forever. We are done. Forever. You want to feel no more guilt? You choked on your words, a mix of anguish and frustration bubbling up inside. "Here's your freedom from the burden of my friendship, Kevin. Congratulations."

"Y/N..."

"And you!" You turned to Sami, who had been until he just now piped up quietly standing by, his face twisted with concern and guilt. "Kevin is right. You seem to think you know what's best for me, but you don't! You both think you know what's best for me, but you don't!"

Your voice trembled with emotion as you struggled to articulate the storm of feelings raging within you. "I'm tired of this, Sami. I'm tired of feeling like I owe you everything because you've been there for me. I'm tired of you expecting me to be okay with everything when I'm not! I'm tired of being pushed and pulled in every direction, as if I'm some prize to be won!"

Sami's eyes widened in shock and hurt, his hand instinctively reaching out to touch your arm, but you flinched away from his touch. The pain, both physical and emotional, was overwhelming, and you couldn't take it anymore, couldn't take their expectations anymore.

"So I'm done with this. I'm done with the both of you." Your voice shook as tears streamed down your face, your body trembling from the sheer weight of the emotional turmoil. "I just want to be alone. Please, just leave me alone."

Without waiting for a response, you turned away from both of them and staggered down the hallway, pain pulsating through your body with every step. The sounds of their voices, their arguments, and the echoes of your own shattered feelings reverberated in your mind as you disappeared into the corridor, seeking solace in the solitude of your dressing room.

And now, there you sit, surrounded by the eerie silence of the empty dressing room. The chaos of emotions swirls within, echoing the bruises and wounds that adorn your body.

Eventually you showered and changed into a hoodie and shorts, but you sat right back in your seat, your mind a heavy fog you didn't know how to navigate. Not some nice weak little bitch who peaked in NXT! Not some nice weak little bitch who peaked in NXT!

You're not sure how long you've been sitting there, lost in the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings. A knock on the door interrupts your solitary moment. Assuming it was Sami or Kevin, you rolled your eyes before realizing you didn't want to see either of them again tonight, or ever.

"I said I want to be alone! So go away!" you call out, your voice strained from the emotional outburst.

"If you're assuming it's those parasites you call best friends, you are mistaken, miss." Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the voice, and you stood up to see who it was.

The door creaked open slowly, and in stepped a figure you didn't expect to see- Paul Heyman.

"Paul? What are you doing here?" you asked, wiping away tears and trying to compose yourself in the presence of the unexpected visitor.

"I came to see you. May I have a moment of your time, please?" Paul's tone was calm and measured, and there was something in his demeanor that seemed earnest.

Despite your reluctance to engage with anyone at that moment, there was an air of sincerity in Paul's request that piqued your curiosity. You nodded silently, gesturing for him to proceed.

"I watched your match tonight," Paul began, his gaze steady as he spoke. "What happened out there was unfortunate, to say the least. But I must admit, I was impressed by your resilience, your determination to give it your all despite the circumstances."

You raised an eyebrow, unsure of where Paul was going with this. His presence felt unusual, especially considering the two of you never directly interacted much before.

"I know we're not directly associated, you and I being on different levels and divisions of the playing field, but I couldn't help but notice something remarkable about your performance," Paul continued, his expression thoughtful. "Your tenacity, your ability to hold your ground, even when faced with adversity, it's something that caught my attention."

You remained silent, studying Paul's demeanor. His words were unexpected, and you couldn't quite grasp his intentions behind this unexpected visit.

"Forgive me if I'm overstepping any boundaries, but I believe there's potential in you that hasn't been fully realized yet," Paul remarked, his gaze unwavering. "You have something special, something that transcends mere championship reigns or victories," Paul emphasized, his expression earnest. "You have the ability to connect with the audience on a deeper level, to evoke emotions, to tell a story. That's a rare gift, one that can't be overshadowed by a single match or a title loss."

You blinked in surprise, not expecting such words from Paul Heyman of all people. His assessment of your performance and his acknowledgement of your capabilities left you momentarily speechless. You'd never imagined receiving this level of acknowledgment from someone of his stature, especially not in the midst of your emotional turmoil.

"I... I don't know what to say," you stammered, your voice wavering slightly as you struggled to process Paul's unexpected praise.

"Take a moment, breathe," Paul offered, a reassuring smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I simply wanted to express my genuine admiration for what you showcased out there tonight. Despite the outcome, you displayed a raw emotion and resilience that's commendable. You have the fire, the determination, and a resilience that's quite admirable. But sometimes, in this business, one needs more than just talent and determination to succeed."

You frowned slightly, feeling a mix of curiosity and skepticism. "Excuse me, but what exactly are you trying to say, Paul?" you inquired, your voice tinged with a hint of caution.

Paul paused for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully.

"What I'm trying to convey is that sometimes, the most powerful narratives in this industry are born out of moments like this. Moments of struggle, of pain, of setbacks. Your journey resonates with the audience because it's real, it's relatable. You've faced challenges, setbacks, and yet you continue to fight, not just in the ring but against the odds stacked against you. And that's where true stories are born, in the depths of adversity."

You didn't know how to react to Paul's words. He was offering a perspective you hadn't considered amidst the chaos of emotions and conflicts you were dealing with, but why he was expressing this to you was still a mystery.

"I understand this might be a lot to take in, especially given the circumstances," Paul acknowledged, his tone empathetic. " But I believe that your journey doesn't end here, with this loss. It continues, it evolves, and it becomes something greater. It doesn't end with a loss, it starts with one."

You narrowed your eyes slightly, trying to discern Paul's true intentions behind his unexpected pep talk. His words were both encouraging and cryptic, leaving you with a sense of curiosity and intrigued.

"I appreciate your perspective, Paul," you said cautiously, your voice tinged with a mix of gratitude and skepticism. "But why are you telling me this?"

Paul smiled slightly, his eyes glinting with a sense of intrigue. "Because I want to help you start your journey." He pulled out something from his pocket and handed it to you - a business card with The Bloodline's contact information.

"I understand you are old friends with Roman Reigns," Paul explained. "The Head of the Table. He's been quite impressed with your work, always has been. But tonight he would like to offer you something more than just admiration. He wants to offer you an opportunity."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. The idea of being offered an opportunity by your old friend Roman tonight was unexpected, to say the least. You glanced down at the business card in your hand, then back up at Paul, waiting for further explanation.

"Roman sees potential in you, in what you bring to the table," Paul continued, his tone measured yet confident. "And he's not just saying it as a friend-he is saying it as the Head of the Table, as the leader of The Bloodline. And I understand that the two of you have history, a friendship that predates your WWE career. Upper management might not believe in you, but Roman does, trust me. And after tonight, he sees that they need to believe in you too."

Your mind raced with a flurry of emotions and thoughts. The unexpected turn of events, the offer from Roman, the belief that someone like Paul Heyman seemed to have in your potential - it was all overwhelming, especially in the midst of your emotional turmoil and the fallout with your friends.

"I am gonna be really honest and tell you that I am bruised, I am beaten and I don't have the mental capacity to absorb all of this right now." You admitted, your voice trembling slightly with exhaustion.

Paul chuckled, smiling wide at you. This was going well.

"I understand. I didn't expect you to have it all figured out in one moment," Paul reassured, his tone understanding. "Take your time. Rest, recover, and if you ever want to explore possibilities beyond what's currently being presented to you, if you want to tell a story that truly reflects your spirit and resilience, give me a call."

You stared at the business card in your hand, surprised at the turn of events. "Think about it," Paul said, noting your contemplative expression, before nodding at you and leaving the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You sank back into the chair when you were once again enveloped by the silence of the empty dressing room. You didn't know what to think, what to do, how to act. All you knew was that you wanted to go to your hotel room and sleep this day off. You sat up, grabbing your phone and checking it.

outgoing text to Seth <;3: I need you tonight. come over to my room?

read.

You sighed, but your body was not surprised and too weak for you to be angry. You could deal with your brooding boyfriends self later. You didn't have the emotional capacity to baby him on why he should care about you right now.

You grabbed your stuff, heading out of the dressing room with a heavy heart and a weary body. Your uber ride was quick, and you finally arrived at your hotel room.

The exhaustion and emotional weight of the day settled in as you entered the room, the only solace being the relative quiet and isolation. You decided to take a quick shower, hoping that the warm water might provide a momentary escape from the chaos of the day. As the water cascaded down, you felt a bit of the tension ebbing away, though the emotional turmoil lingered.

After the shower, you slipped into comfortable pajamas, feeling the heaviness of the day sinking in. Your phone dinged with a text, and you picked it up, expecting it to be Seth or one of the girls asking if you were okay.

Instead, the message was from an unknown number, which struck you as odd. Curious, you opened it to read:

"Hey, it's Jey. Paul gave me your number. I know you was expecting Roman, but unfortunately, he's occupied right now. He wanted me to reach out to you instead. If you need anything or want to talk, I'm here. Take care."

You blinked in surprise at the unexpected message from Jey Uso. Why he might be reaching out on Roman's behalf was a bit puzzling. Why any of this was happening right now was puzzling. You didn't have the energy for this. So despite the curiosity gnawing at you, you didn't respond.

Turning your phone off, you snuggled into your bed, the warm covers offering you comfort from your pain. Your eyes fluttered shut, the exhaustion taking over, and soon, you were lost in the realm of sleep with only one thought on your mind.

You were going to get your comeuppance, no matter what.

liked by yaonlylivonce, sethrollins, beckylynch, uceyjucey and 500,000 others

Y/N: Vacation was just what I needed 🏖️

view all comments:

user: you deserved better!! ronda shouldn’t have taken ur title!!

user: so are u staying in the wwe or walking out?

user: wwe got u fucked up if they think we just gon' take that!!

livmorgan: mother!!!

sethrollins: my girl!

↳beckylynch: mhm.

↳user: huh?

↳user: nah becky rlly tweaking rn 😭

user: why didn't Seth go with you?

↳ user: and they don't even post each other like that no more 👀 but lemme not be messy 😭

"Why do we even need to think of adding a new person in the Bloodline? She ain't even talk to none of us anyways." Jey sighed as he shut off his phone from where he was checking your Instagram, in anger or disappointment he didn't know.

It had been almost 2 months since you were seen in the WWE, and you never responded to his text message. Or, according to rumors, to any of the higher ups either. Apparently you told them you'd come back when you were ready, and left it at that, leaving them just as much in the dark as the fans were.

Jey just assumed that you were feeling overwhelmed or needed some personal space to get better and that's why you ain't respond to him, but after the first week he concluded you were ignoring him deliberately.

"Roman, she ain't even trying to reach out or nothing," Jey continued, frustration evident in his voice. "Paul's been trying to push her into this whole thing, but she's just ghosted everyone. What's the point of bringing her into the mix if she don't even wanna be here?"

Roman glanced up from the papers on his desk, his expression unreadable. He had his suspicions about your absence, but he chose to keep them to himself.

"Give her time, Jey," he said calmly. "If she's not responding, it means she's not ready or willing to engage. We can't force her into something she's not comfortable with. Trust me, I know how she is. She's like you; she moves at her own pace and needs space, otherwise that fire she has will simmer down."

Jey let out a frustrated sigh, tossing his phone onto the table. He understood what Roman was saying, but for whatever reason it still frustrated him not to hear from you. He never even talked to you-you shared the same circle but never crossed paths-yet when he saw your Instagram pics he felt a connection that he couldn't explain.

"I just feel like we're all sitting here waiting for something that might never happen," Jey muttered, looking up at Roman with a mix of concern and frustration.

Roman checked his watch and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head, his gaze fixed on Jey. "Trust me, we won't be waiting any longer."

Jey raised an eyebrow, confusion written all over his face before a knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Roman gestured for Jey to open it.

The door creaked open slowly, revealing you , standing in the doorway. Your appearance was a stark contrast from the last time they saw you—determined, your gaze steady despite the tiredness in your eyes, your aura a mix of confidence and vulnerability. It was evident that the time away had changed you, but in ways they couldn't quite discern.

You glanced between Roman and Jey, a mixture of emotions playing across your face—resilience, uncertainty, and a hint of determination.

"Y/N?" Jey exclaimed in surprise, his eyes widening as he took in your presence. Roman remained composed, his gaze fixed on you as he gestured for you to come in.

You hesitated for a moment but Jey closing the door behind you prompted you to step forward into the room. You were wearing a low cut black tank top, your hair pulled back into a messy bun, and loose jeans, a far cry from the glitz and glam of your WWE persona. You hadn't expected to come back just yet, but something in you told you it was time, time to face what you had been avoiding.

"Sorry I'm late-" You tried to apologize but Roman interrupted, his voice calm and composed. "No need to apologize. You're right on time. Take a seat."

You pursed your lips, sitting down as indicated, feeling the weight of the atmosphere in the room. Roman's composed demeanor didn't fail to remind you of the authority he held, even in a casual setting like this.

"I know I've been MIA, and I haven't been responsive," you began, your voice tentative as you glanced between Roman and Jey. "There's no excuse for my absence or for not responding to your messages."

Jey opened his mouth to speak, but Roman held up a hand, indicating he should remain silent for now. "We understand," Roman said calmly, his gaze fixed on you. "We just wanted to ensure you were okay. We know you needed your time. Are you healing up okay?"

You nodded, the weight of their understanding and non-confrontational approach easing some of the tension in your shoulders. "Yeah, I'm getting better, but it's been a process." You admitted, lifting your shirt slightly to reveal a faint scar along your ribs that made both men wince. "As you can see."

"Damn, Ronda really fucked you up, huh?" At your glare, Jey winced and apologized, "I mean, sorry. Didn't mean to be rude. Just saying, it's good to see you back though. People here missed you."

Roman inclined his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Indeed. Your absence has been felt, Y/N."

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of emotions swirling within you. Being back here, facing Roman, it was both daunting and strangely comforting. "I... I didn't plan on coming back just yet, but something made me reconsider."

Jey leaned forward, curiosity evident in his voice. "What made you change your mind?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much you wanted to disclose. You were close with Roman after all, not Jey. But something in his gaze told you that this conversation was one you could trust them with. Trust him with.

"I needed time away, time to think, to heal. But something in me told me it was time to face things, to come back and finish the journey."

Roman leaned back into his chair, his gaze still focused on you. "I'm glad that you're back, and I apologize that we haven't been in contact like we used to. Being the head of the ribal Chief comes with its own responsibilities, and sometimes that means we overlook things. But I assure you, you're still family to me. Which is why I sent Paul after you to make sure you were alright."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise at Roman's words, the mention of Paul's involvement still puzzling you. "Yeah, about Paul?" you questioned, confusion evident in your voice. "He reached out to me a while back, but I didn't quite understand what he wanted. Something about an opportunity."

Roman nodded, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Yes. I told him to check up on you, see how you were doing. But most importantly, to ask you about an opprounity." He paused, leaning forward, his demeanor shifting to a more business-like tone. "And that is to be my right hand woman."

Your breath caught in your throat at Roman's statement, and you were sure that if you were drinking water that would have been the moment you'd have spat it out in surprise. "I-I'm sorry?"

Roman, to his credit, maintained his composed demeanor, his gaze steady yet filled with a hint of amusement at your reaction as he repeated himself. “I want you by my side, as a part of the Bloodline. To be the right hand woman I need. You've got the fire and resilience that I've been looking for. You might have been gone for a bit, but it doesn't change what you bring to the table. And I want to make you start your journey and realize you bring the whole damn universe to the table."

You were speechless, your mind reeling from this entire converstation. Being invited to be a part of the Bloodline, to serve as Roman's right hand, it was beyond anything you had imagined or anticipated.

"I... I don't know what to say," you stammered, your mind racing with a flurry of emotions. "But.. I'm not blood like the rest of you. I'm not a part of your family, Roman. I don't know if I fit in with the Bloodline."

Roman leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he observed your reaction. "That's why I said my right hand woman, not my right hand blood. Like with Paul, he's my wiseman and not my blood. You can be that, and so much more." Roman's words were deliberate, his tone holding a weight of certainty.

Roman's words were deliberate, his tone holding a weight of certainty. "You can be the greatest woman's champion the WWE has ever seen. You can be the greatest asset to the Bloodline, regardless of blood relations. You can be the greatest woman to hold this position, all the power, and you don't need to be blood to achieve that." He leaned closer to you, his eyes fixated on yours, his words laden with conviction. "All you have to do is acknowledge me."

You breathed heavily, were taken aback by Roman's sincerity and the offer itself. It was something you hadn't anticipated, especially after your absence and the confusion that surrounded your return. "But why do you want me?" You asked, your voice a mixture of uncertainty and curiosity. "I mean, I've been gone for so long. There are others who could be much better at this role, much more qualified than I am."

Roman leaned back in his chair, a small smirk playing on his lips as he regarded you. "Even after all these years you are still as modest as ever," he remarked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

"I want you because you bring something to the table that others might not possess. I realized that in this group of men that I lead, I need a woman that can calm our fires and amplify our strengths, yet ignite those same fires when necessary. I need a woman that can command respect without uttering a word, someone who carries their own weight, and someone who's unafraid to respectfully challenge me when needed because I trust your judgement after years of friendship. You possess a fire that's essential for what I envision. You might not see it, but I do."

You were stunned by Roman's words. His perception of you and the role he believed you could play within the Bloodline were far beyond what you had imagined. The weight of his trust and the responsibility he was offering left you feeling both honored and overwhelmed.

"I... I need some time to think about this," you finally replied, still processing the enormity of Roman's proposition. "It's a lot to take in, Roman. I appreciate the offer, but you must understand that I need a minute to-"

"I understand," Roman interrupted, his voice gentle yet firm. "Take all the time you need. I don't expect an answer right away. Just know that the offer stands, and whenever you're ready to give me your response, I'll be here." He leaned back, giving you a reassuring nod that you delivered back. "Jey, walk her out."

Jey, who had been observing the exchange in silence, leaned forward and stood up, nodding at Roman. "Sure thing, Uce." He turned to you, offering you a small smile as he was a gentlemen, but his expression was guarded. "C'mon, I'll walk you out."

You nodded, feeling a mix of emotions swirling within you. Standing up from your seat, you cast one last glance at Roman, who nodded in acknowledgment before you followed Jey out of the room.

As you walked alongside Jey, silence enveloped both of you. It was a strange feeling—being back here, facing the unexpected turn of events, facing your own emotions, and considering the proposition Roman had offered. Jey seemed contemplative, as if he had questions but chose not to voice them until you were almost at the exit.

"Why?'

You blinked at Jey's question, taking a moment to process his words. "Why what?" you asked, slightly puzzled by his sudden inquiry.

"Why you?" Jey clarified, glancing at you with a mix of curiosity and scrutiny. "I mean, I know ya'll are friends, but you've been gone for a while. You've been quiet, and suddenly, the Tribal Chief wants you back as his right hand. What's so special about you?"

You paused, considering your response. Jey had a point. Your sudden reappearance and Roman's offer might seem surprising to someone observing from the outside. Taking a breath, you decided to offer a glimpse of your perspective.

"I wish I could give you an answer, Jey." You replied, your voice measured as you walked alongside him. "But I honestly don't know. This all happened so fast. One minute I'm trying to cope with my loss, and the next, Roman's offering me a position within the Bloodline." You looked at him quizzically before continuing. "Why do you think Roman offered this to me?"

Jey furrowed his brows, contemplating your question. He wasn't expecting you to seek his input on the matter. Nobody really asked him for his opinion within the family, but there was something in your gaze that prompted him to consider your query seriously. Maybe it was because you actually desired his opinion in a time where no one else did that slightly warmed his heart, but he’d never admit it.

"I don't know," Jey replied honestly, shaking his head slightly. "But Roman sees something in you. Something that he thinks can be an asset to us. You might not see it, but he does."

He paused, glancing at you briefly before averting his gaze. "Maybe it's 'cause he trusts you. Or maybe there's something you bring that nobody else does. I ain't sure, but I know when Roman makes a move like this, he's got his reasons. He don't just do things without a reason."

You nodded thoughtfully, giving Jey a smile as you processed his words. "Well, whatever the reason, I hope it leads to me seeing you around more often,” you added with a light chuckle, trying to ease the tension slightly.

Jey offered a small smile in return, though his expression remained somewhat guarded even though he wanted to be friendly. A nice pretty girl wanted to be his friend and all he was doing was analyzing her for answers on Roman. “Yeah, we'll see about that," he replied cryptically before opening the door for you. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

You gave Jey a nod of acknowledgment, appreciating his gesture. "You too, Jey. Thanks for walking me out." With a last smile, Jey watched as you left the arena, your beautiful presence disappearing as you stepped out.

‘Damn,’ Jey thought to himself, there's something more to her than meets the eye.’ Maybe he had underestimated you. Maybe it's worth paying attention to.

And maybe he wouldn’t hate getting to know you more.

You winced slightly as you changed into your gym clothes in the locker room. It had been a few months now since you got hurt, and you were now cleared, but your body still hurt like a bitch.

It had also been a few months since Roman asked you to join the Bloodline, and you gave him your answer a few weeks later: A resounding yes.

You tried to acknowledge him in the confines of his office with the Jimmy, Jey and Paul with you, but Roman told you that he'd make you acknowledge when you passed his test and he would know for sure you were loyal to the Bloodline. Roman told you in the meantime thought to get acquainted with the rest of the members, and to start training with them until you were ready to be on TV again. Which led to you going to the Bloodline's own personal gym located in the arena and training and hanging out with the twins.

Jimmy was funny, cool, and always hyped up, and quickly took a liking to you because of your shared humor and your kind spirit; the two of you were always goofing around and letting loose. But Jey was- as you found out- a tough nut to crack.

It wasn't like he was rude- he never yelled at you or treated you poorly. In fact, he was quite respectful, but but he had a guarded demeanor around you. He was more reserved, observant, and often seemed lost in his thoughts. You found it a bit challenging to get him to open up or engage in conversations beyond the necessary exchanges during training sessions.

It was like there was an invisible barrier that kept you both at a distance. You couldn't quite pinpoint why, but there was an underlying tension whenever you were around him. You tried to engage in conversation, crack jokes, or even just ask about his day, but his responses were always short and guarded.

It was like he had his guard up around you all the time, but it didn't make things awkward or uncomfortable; rather, it made you more determined to break through that barrier.

But it wasn't your own doing that almost broke through that barrier though. It was Kevin. One day, after a particularly tough training session, you were sitting on the bench catching your breath while Jey was nearby, lost in his thoughts as usual. You glared when you saw Kevin coming over to you.

"This is a private gym, Kevin. I knew you were stupid, but I didnt think you were illiterate." You spat at him. Kevin wasn't fazed by your reaction, instead coming closer to you.

"You're right. This is a private gym for the Bloodline. So what are you doing here?" Kevin huffed at you. This had to be a mistake, there's no way you would join the faction that tried to take him out.

"I am here as part of the Bloodline. So you need to leave." You stood up, facing Kevin with determination in your eyes. The tension in the air was palpable, and it seemed like a confrontation was inevitable.

Jey, who had been nearby, observing the interaction, raised a cautious eyebrow at Kevin's approach and your response. He had seen you and Kevin exchange words before, and it was clear there was some animosity between you two. He and everyone knew you guys were ex-best friends, and Jey wasn't one to meddle in others' business, especially when it came to personal disputes, but something about this situation made him uneasy.

Kevin glanced between you and Jey, his expression morphing into one of disbelief. "You?" He scoffed, his tone laced with incredulity. "Part of the Bloodline? That's a joke, right?"

When you didn't respond, he chuckled sarcasatically, like he couldn't believe it. "Are you kidding me? Are you stupid? Damn, I was right when I said that Ronda knocked some marbles outta your head. You really think that joining them is a good idea? They are nothing but manipulative shitheads."

You rolled your eyes, unamused by Kevin's insults. Typical Kevin, never congratulating you on anything good you do or are a part of. "You don't know anything about what's going on, Kevin. So just leave."

But Kevin seemed undeterred, his voice rising slightly. "They're using you, Y/N. Can't you see that? You're better than this. Don't let them drag you down into their mess. They'll chew you up and spit you out like they do with everyone else."

You tried to ignore him and go back to lifting your weights, but Kevin snatched the dumbbell from your hand, causing you to stand up abruptly, a mix of frustration and anger evident on your face. "Give it back, Kevin," you demanded firmly, your tone leaving no room for negotiation.

"Not until you tell me what the hell is going on with you! Are you this demented that you can't see when you're being played?"

"Seems like the only demented person here is you!" You tried to grab he dumbbell back, but Kevin held onto it firmly, a stubborn look on his face. The tension in the gym escalated as your argument continued, both of you getting more heated with your words.

"They are just using you!"

"Of course you would know about using people, that's all you ever do!"

"God, you are so much like Sami! So fucking naive and stubborn!"

The mention of Sami seemed to strike a nerve with you. You clenched your jaw, your expression turning stony as you took a step closer to Kevin.

"I told you that I'm done with you and Sami," you seethed, your voice low and filled with a dangerous edge. "So give me back the dumbbell and get the fuck out of here, and the fuck out of my life."

"Im just trying to protect you, damn it!"

"She don't need your protecting no more, she got the Bloodline." The both of you turned at the sudden interruption, and you looked up at Jey who moved in front of you and was glaring at Kevin with an intense gaze, his tone firm and commanding.

"Excuse me? This doesn't concern you, so just leave us alone." Kevin glared at Jey, not appreciating his interference. To him, Jey was just another member of the faction that he despised and that was using you.

Jey narrowed his eyes slightly, his stance unwavering and his voice steady as he spoke. "She's a part of the Bloodline now, Kevin. It does concern me. Give her the dumbbell, and leave us alone."

Kevin stared back at Jey for a moment, his eyes flickering between Jey's imposing stance and your determined one, and you thought that a fight would break out between them, but eventually, he dropped the dumbbell with a scoff. "

Fine. But don't think that I'm letting them take you from me." With that threat, Kevin shot one last glare at both of you before storming out of the gym.

You let out a sigh of relief, feeling the weight of the confrontation easing off your shoulders. Turning to Jey, who was still standing in front of you, you were taken aback by the protective stance he had taken during the argument.

"Thank you, Jey," you said softly, grateful for his intervention. "I appreciate you stepping in."

Jey shrugged slightly, his guard still up but a hint of something softer in his expression. "Didn't seem right to let him get in your face like that," he muttered, his voice gruff but underlying concern evident in his tone.

You nodded in understanding, feeling a sense of camaraderie in the way Jey had backed you up. "Yeah, he's always been like that." You chuckled slightly, trying to lighten the mood. "Always thinks he knows what's best for me."

Jey's lips twitched into a small smile, a glimmer of warmth breaking through his guarded demeanor. "Sounds familiar,"he replied cryptically, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly.

He shifted his weight slightly, glancing around the gym before his gaze settled back on you. "You good?"

You nodded, offering Jey a reassuring smile. "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks again." There was a brief moment of silence between the two of you, before Jey cleared his throat, a hint of uncertainty in his voice as he spoke up. "Listen, I know I ain't been the most welcoming or talkative. Just... didn't feel like my place to get involved with your business. But.. I gotta ask you something."

You paused, curious about what Jey wanted to ask you. "Sure, what's up?" you replied, your tone inviting despite the underlying tension from the earlier confrontation with Kevin.

Jey hesitated for a moment, his guarded expression faltering slightly as he glanced away before meeting your gaze again. "Why you ain't text me back?"

You blinked, taken aback by the unexpected question. "Why didn't I text you back?" You echoed, surprised by the sudden inquiry. You took a moment to gather your thoughts, unsure of how to respond to Jey's question. After a beat, you offered an honest answer, wanting to address his concern no matter how embarrassing it would be.

"It wasn't intentional, Jey," you began, your voice gentle as you met his gaze. "Everything happened so suddenly, and I needed time to myself. I didn't mean to ignore you or anyone else. And Seth... you know my boyfriend, right?" Jey nodded, and you continued, "He saw it and kind of got...don't laugh... jealous about you reaching out, so he asked me not to reply to anyone outside my close circle."

You chuckled nervously, feeling a bit embarrassed admitting it. A boyfriend shouldn't have an issue with you talking to whoever you wanted, but Seth wasn't a good boyfriend, as much as you didn't want to admit it. "I didn't want to make things worse by explaining, so I just... didn't respond to anyone. I'm sorry if I offended you."

Jey raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting to one of understanding mixed with a hint of surprise. "Oh." Jey nodded slowly, processing your explanation, a small smile threatening to break out on his face. He aint even do anything yet your man was getting all jealous.

You spotted the smile and groaned, holding your hand in your face in embarrassment. "You said you wouldn't laugh!" you protested, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Jey chuckled lightly, the smile finally breaking through as he shook his head at the sight of you being bashful. " "I ain't laughin', I'm just... surprised. Seth really got jealous over that?" He shook his head in disbelief before looking back at you with a more serious expression.

You let go of your face and looked up at him, shrugging and Jey felt his heart hurt slightly when your smile was replaced with a frown at the memory of your relationship.

"It's okay, Y/N. You ain't gotta apologize. Don't worry about it. It's in the past." Jey reassured you, his tone gentle as he placed a hand on your shoulder briefly, a gesture of comfort. "I get it, you needed your space. I just wanted to know you were okay." Seth clearly wasn't a good guy if he was getting you all worked up like this, clearly not appreciating the literal goddess in his life that was you. Roman was right, Seth really was an idiot.

You offered Jey a grateful smile, feeling a sense of relief wash over you at his understanding. "Thanks, Jey. I appreciate that." Despite the earlier tension, you felt a certain warmth in this moment of connection with him.

Jey nodded, a small smile still playing on his lips before that guarded expression returned. "Anytime. Just... next time, let me know you're taking a break, yeah?" he said, a hint of playful teasing in his voice before his expression turned serious again. "I'll see you around."

With that, Jey nodded at you before walking away, leaving you to contemplate the unexpected exchange.

And now, you were getting ready to have another training session with him and hopefully break through his tough demeanor. As you were lacing up your sneakers, the door opened, and in popped in Becky Lynch. You smiled at the sight of one of your closest friends, who was also now the Raw Women's Champion- you couldn't be more proud of her.

But that smile dropped into a frown at the sight of her in near tears, and when her eyes locked onto yours, they seemed to fill with more emotion.

"Hey, what's wrong?" you asked, concerned as you stood up and walked over to her, opening up your arms to her for a hug.

Becky rushed into your arms, her body shaking slightly as she held onto you tightly, her voice muffled against your shoulder. "I-I can't tell you."

You furrowed your brow, concern deepening as you gently rubbed her back. "You can tell me anything, you know that." You brought the both of you to the couch and sat down, waiting for Becky to calm down enough to speak. After a few moments, she took a deep breath and looked at you with teary eyes.

"You're gonna hate me. God, you're so nice and understanding, and I'm about to ruin it." Becky wiped her tears, trying to steady her voice as she spoke.

"No, you're not." You tried to hug her again, offering reassurance. "Whatever it is, Becky, I won't hate you. Just tell me what's going on."

Becky pulled back slightly, her eyes locking onto yours, a mix of guilt and pain in her gaze. "Seth and I have been sneaking behind your back."

Your heart stopped and your mind went blank. You had a million thoughts rushing through your head, but you couldn't seem to process any of them. The silence lingered between you and Becky as the weight of her confession sank in.

"What?" Your voice turned cold but was barely above a whisper as you processed the words Becky had just confessed. It felt like the ground beneath you had crumbled, leaving you suspended in a state of disbelief.

Becky winced, her gaze filled with remorse and regret. "Yes, we've been seeing each other," Becky admitted, her voice wavering with guilt. "It started a while back. We didn't mean for it to happen, it just... did."

Your throat tightened, and you felt a surge of anger and hurt swirling within you. You had always supported Becky through anything and everything. When she needed someone, you were there for her, yet she betrayed your trust in the worst way possible. And she came in here and hugged you and tried to get your comfort when she was the one who caused you such pain.

It felt like a punch to the gut. You were used. You always gave too much and received betrayal in return. You pulled away from Becky, your expression a mix of shock, hurt, and anger.

"How long?" The question escaped your lips before you could stop it, your voice barely audible as you fought to maintain composure.

Becky sighed, her expression pained. "Please, don't make me hurt you even mo-"

"How. Long." Any traces of the kind, caring tone had vanished from your voice, replaced by an icy coldness that mirrored the betrayal and hurt you felt. Your eyes bore into Becky's, demanding an answer despite the turmoil of emotions swirling within you.

Becky sighed heavily, looking down as if unable to meet your gaze. "A few months. I'm so sorry, Y/N. We never meant to hurt you. It just... happened."

"You never meant to hurt me." you repeated, feeling a surge of disbelief and anger rising within you. "While I was dealing with everything, you and Seth... behind my back, and you never meant to hurt me!?" You shouted , your voice cracking with the weight of betrayal and hurt. The pain cut deep, and the sense of betrayal overwhelmed you.

Becky's eyes filled with more tears, her voice shaky as she tried to explain. "It was a mistake, Y/N. Please, I never wanted this to happen. I was just confused, and I know that's not an excuse, but I never wanted to hurt you."

You shook your head in disbelief, feeling anger and heartbreak intertwine within you. "You knew what I was going through. You knew how much I was struggling, and yet, you did this." Your voice wavered as you struggled to comprehend the magnitude of the betrayal. "You came to me for comfort, you acted like nothing was wrong, and all the while... this was happening."

Becky reached out to you, her expression desperate and remorseful. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. Please, I never wanted to hurt you. You are so sweet and kind, I didn't want to tell you because I knew how much this would hurt you, so I thought keeping it to myself would solve that, but I couldn't live with the guilt." She waited for your answer, but when you didn't respond, Becky paused, her eyes pleading for forgiveness. "Please..."

You looked up at Becky, your vision clouded by a mixture of pain, anger, and betrayal. Her desperate plea for forgiveness echoed in your ears and fueled your anger. It was rare that you would get angry, because you couldn't control yourself when it happened, but this was an exception.

How dare she act sad when she 's the one who caused this pain? How could she deceive you like this?

You stood up from the couch, distancing yourself from Becky, your eyes red with anger. "You're right, I am sweet and kind." You got up and closed the door, making Becky's eyebrows furrow in concern.

"Y/N, what are you doing?"

You ignored her and slowly made your way to her, and Becky could clearly see the anger in your usually sweet eyes. It was terrifying. She realized too late what you were about to do. "Maybe that should change. Right. Now."

Jey sucked his teeth in concern as he made his way down the hallway, checking his phone to see if you messaged him back. You were 20 minutes late, so naturally he got concerned and annoyed at the fact that you were late. Maybe you and Kevin got into another fight? The thought made him walk faster to your locker room.

As he approached the hallway it was in, he heard banging and raised voices and saw a crowd that was surrounding something. Immediately Jey realized it was your locker room and a knot formed in his stomach.

He quickly pushed through the crowd and saw you holding Becky by the hair and slamming her against the wall, anger etched deeply into your expression, and Seth trying and failing to separate the two of you.

"You're sorry, Becky!?" You screamed into her face, slamming her into the wall again, punching her over and over again, the anger clouding your judgement. Your nails digged into her skin, and tears streamed down Becky's face as she tried to shield herself from the blows.

Seth tried to intervene, but you grabbed him and slammed him onto the floor, hitting him low before going back to Becky. "The both of you mean nothing to me! Nothing!"

Jey's heart sank at the sight before him. He immediately rushed forward, trying to pry you away from Becky. The look on your face scared him. It was a side of you he had never seen before. "Y/N, stop! Stop it!"

You were consumed by rage, blinded by the betrayal and hurt that coursed through you. It took all of Jey's strength to pull you away from Becky, holding you back as you continued to struggle against his grip, your fists clenched, yearning to lash out again.

You tried to claw at Becky, grabbing her hair but Jey quickly grabbed your hands and restrained you, trying his best to calm you down and keep you from causing more harm. "Y/N, calm down! Please, calm down!"

Becky was visibly shaken, tears streaming down her face as she held her head, the impact against the wall still ringing in her ears. "I'm sorry, Y/N. Please, I never meant to hurt you."

Your adrenaline-fueled rage had consumed you, and you tried to fight off Jey, but he dragged the both of you away from the chaotic scene. He had to use all his strength to hold you back, your struggle showing no sign of ceasing. "Y/N, stop, it's enough! It's over!"

The commotion had attracted the attention of security, who swiftly arrived to help Jey calm the situation. They assisted in separating you from Becky and Seth, guiding each of you to different areas to diffuse the tension.

You were seething with anger and pain, your emotions swirling into a maelstrom that clouded your thoughts. Jey kept a firm grip on you, trying to talk you down. "Y/N, look at me. You need to breathe. You're not thinking straight."

You were too far gone to be responsive to Jey's words. All you could think of was Becky and Seth kissing each other, betraying your trust, and the way they had deceived you. The hurt was overwhelming, clouding any rational thought.

Jey continued to hold onto you, trying his best to calm your raging emotions. "Look at me."

You were shaking with anger and pain, your eyes blazing with an intensity that Jey had never seen before. He knew that trying to reason with you in this state would be futile, but he had to do something to snap you out of this anger-fueled haze.

He grabbed you and hauled you both into the nearest locker room and sat you down on the couch. You were shaking and tried to stand up to make a break for it, but Jey blocked the door, firmly keeping you inside. "Y/N, listen to me. You're not thinking clearly. You need to breathe and calm down."

You glared at Jey, your chest heaving with anger and hurt. "Let me go, Jey. I need to... I need to..."

"You need to calm down first," Jey interrupted, his voice firm but filled with concern. You tried to push past him, but he wouldn't budge.

Your hands trembled with rage, and you felt an overwhelming urge to lash out again, to confront Becky and Seth, to make them understand the pain they'd caused. But Jey's presence and his calming tone managed to break through the fog of your emotions, albeit slightly.

"You ain't going nowhere, Y/N. What you gon' do is sit ya pretty ass down and some deep breaths for me, drink some water, and try to calm yourself." Jey instructed, his voice commanding yet filled with genuine care.

"I can't calm down!" You shouted, the pain evident in your eyes as you tried to push him one last time, until he managed to gently restrain you, forcing you to sit back down on the couch.

Jey sat beside you, maintaining a firm yet comforting grip on your shoulders. "Yes, you can. Take deep breaths with me, okay? In... and out." He demonstrated the rhythm, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, encouraging you to follow suit.

"B-but they-"

Jey gently interrupted you with a reassuring tone. "They ain't worth your peace, Y/N. Right now, you need to focus on you. I know it hurts, but you can't let them see you break. They ain't worth it. You are worth more than that."

You took in a shaky breath, trying to emulate Jey's breathing pattern. Inhaling deeply, you closed your eyes and attempted to regain control over your emotions. Gradually, your breathing began to steady, the adrenaline slowly subsiding.

"That's it." Jey encouraged softly, noticing your attempts to calm down. "Keep breathing. You're doing great." Whenever the anger seemed to rise again, Jey would gently remind you to focus on your breath, guiding you through the calming exercise until your breathing regulated, and the storm of emotions began to ebb away, leaving behind a heavy, lingering ache.

As the initial shock and fury lessened, tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. Jey sensed the shift in your emotions and pulled you into a comforting hug. "It's okay, Y/N. Let it out. You've been through a lot."

You clung to Jey, the dam finally breaking as you sobbed, the weight of betrayal and hurt cascading out of you. Jey held you close, providing a steady presence and a comforting embrace as you allowed the flood of emotions to pour out.

"T-They fucking went behind my back," you choked out between sobs, your voice raw with pain and betrayal. "I trusted them, Jey. I trusted them with everything."

Jey rubbed your back soothingly, offering silent support as you let out the pent-up emotions as he tried to not get angry himself. He would defiantly be beating Seth's ass after this. "I know, Y/N. I know," he murmured gently, his voice filled with empathy.

After what felt like an eternity, your tears eventually subsided into soft sniffles. Jey released you from the hug but kept a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You did good, calming down like that," he commended softly.

You nodded, feeling emotionally drained but slightly more composed. "Thank you, Jey," you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying.

"I'm sorry you had to see me like that." You had an embarrassed expression, feeling a mix of shame and gratitude for Jey's support. "Now you know why I usually try to not get angry, cause I'm scared of what it can make me do."

Jey gently shook his head, offering a comforting smile. "Nah, don't apologize. I get it. You honestly reacted better than I would have."

At your hearty chuckle, Jey smiled warmly. "Hey, I'm being serious. If that were me, I'd probably have caused more damage." He chuckled lightly, trying to ease the tension. "But seriously, you did good by calming down. Shows strength."

"Yeah right," You retorted, grabbing the drink from Jey's hand and taking a long sip, grateful for the hydration after the emotional turmoil. "I felt like I was losing it back there."

"That's not a bad thing, y'know?" At your quizzical gaze, Jey continued. "Feeling your emotions, letting 'em out, that's normal. And I know you usually like to be the sweetest person in the room, but that's also letting people walk all over you."

Jey paused, choosing his words carefully. "Jimmy is the same way, y'know? He is the kindest soul, but sometimes folks take advantage of that. You gotta find the balance, Y/N. If you wanna be in the Bloodline, you can't let nobody mess with you. You gotta let your inner rage out, otherwise ain't nobody gonna respect you or see you as an equal."

You sighed, capping the water bottle and nodding slowly at Jey's words. "Yeah, I know. It's just... it's hard to find that balance sometimes. I don't want to hurt people, you know? I try to be understanding and kind, but then things like this happen." You glanced away, still processing the whirlwind of emotions.

"I know you don't," Jey reassured, patting your shoulder gently. "But sometimes, folks need to see that you ain't to be messed with. It's about respect, and right now, you need to focus on you."

You nodded, knowing he was right. You always tried to be the peacekeeper, but it was more of a weakness than a strength. "You're right, but when I get mad I tend to lose control. That's why I try to not get angry. I don't want to hurt anyone."

Jey gave you a sympathetic and understanding look. "I get it. But you gotta stop being this goody two-shoes all the time. It's eating you up inside. You gotta learn to stand up for yourself and let people know when they cross the line. That anger? You gotta embrace it cause it's a part of you.

You sighed, feeling torn between your innate nature and the advice Jey was offering. "I'll try, Jey. But it's hard. I don't want to become someone I'm not."

"You won't. I won't let you." You blinked at the kindness and conviction in Jey's tone. "I know I haven't been the most welcoming person, but that's cause I have trouble opening up to people. But I see you, Y/N. I see how much you care, how much you try. How you are loyal to the core." Jey paused, his expression softening. "And I know you'll be loyal to the Bloodline, right?"

You didn't hesitate to nod in response. "Of course, Jey. Always." Despite the whirlwind of emotions, your loyalty was unwavering. "I appreciate you opening up to me, and I can promise you that I won't betray that trust."

Jey smiled, satisfied with your response. "Good. I need you to be loyal, because... I really like having you around. But I can't have you 'round if you ain't loyal to the family. And I know you and K.O got some history..."

"That's in the past." You interjected, trying to dismiss any concerns Jey might have. "Kevin and I have our differences, but I am done with him and anyone else that is a problem for us. I promise you." You gently laid a hand on Jey's arm, reassuring him of your commitment.

Jey stayed silent for a moment, staring at you as if he could see inside your soul, seeing if your words held true. After a moment, he nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"Okay. But it ain't up to me if that's true, it's up to the chief." You gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before his phone dinged and he glanced at the notification.

"It's the Chief, he wants to see you." Jey pocketed his phone before holding out his hand to you, helping you stand up from the couch.

You nodded, accepting Jey's assistance as you stood up, feeling a little more composed than earlier.

"Thanks, Jey. Walk me to him?" You asked, feeling a bit more confident asking considering he told you he likes you now. Jey gave you an affirming nod. "Sure thing. Let's go."

As the two of you walked through the corridors, Jey kept a close eye on you, making sure you were holding up okay after the intense emotional outburst.

When you reached Roman's office, before you grabbed the door handle, Jey grabbed your hand and spoke in a hushed tone, his voice serious yet supportive. His hand felt soft and comforting as he gripped yours gently. "Y/N, I got your back. Just be honest with the Chief, alright? He can see through lies. Just tell him what happened."

You met Jey's gaze, appreciating the sincerity in his eyes. "I will, Jey. Thank you, really." With a deep breath, you nodded to signal that you were ready to face Roman. Jey gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it, standing back as you opened the door and entered Roman's office.

Roman glanced up from his desk, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern as he noticed your state. "Y/N, come in." He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Care to tell me what happened?"

You internally winced at Roman's tone. You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts before speaking. "It's Becky and Seth, Chief." Your voice wavered slightly as the flood of emotions threatened to resurface. "They've been... they've been sneaking around, behind my back. And I just exploded."

Roman's brow furrowed as he observed your demeanor, his expression turning serious. "Explain."

You recounted the events that had unfolded, detailing Becky's confession and the subsequent emotional turmoil you'd experienced. Roman listened attentively, his expression unreadable as he took in every word you spoke.

"And you lost control," Roman summarized, his tone stern yet controlled.

You nodded, feeling a sense of guilt for having lost your composure. "Yes, Chief. I'm sorry, I just... I couldn't handle it."

"No, you handled it perfectly." You furrowed your brow in confusion at Roman's unexpected response.

"Look, I am sorry for the emotional turmoil you are experiencing right now, make no mistake about it." Roman clarified, his tone softer now. "But this angry, out of control, fiery and real version of you is what I wanted out of you. What I am working to get out of you. Not the meek and docile version. That version isn't strong, it's weak. I want you to be strong. I need you to be strong."

Roman leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. "I told you that I wanted you to join the Bloodline because I needed someone to be loyal, strong, and willing to stand their ground. You proved that today. I didn't ask you to join for a moment. I didn't ask you to join because I thought you were just going to be another face in the group. I asked you to join because I saw something in you. And what I saw today? That's what I've been waiting for."

You were taken aback by Roman's words, his perspective catching you off guard. You expected reprimand, not validation for your display of raw emotion. "Though attacking without running it by me is not the usual protocol, I appreciate the fire in you, Y/N. Loyalty and strength are the cornerstones of the Bloodline. Today is an exception."

Roman leaned forward, his gaze intense as he met your eyes. "But you won't do that again without my permission, you understand me?"

You nodded quickly, Roman's tone making the gravity of the situation clear. Yes, Chief. I won't let it happen again without your say-so."

Roman leaned back, his expression shifting to a more contemplative one. "Now, as for Becky and Seth..." He paused, his gaze piercing through you. "They've made their bed. But that doesn't mean we let this slide."

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of trepidation and curiosity about what Roman might do next. "What do you want me to do?"

Roman leaned forward again, his tone low but firm. "Remember the test of loyalty, Y/N?" Roman's voice was a low rumble, filled with authority. "This is yours. I want you to observe them. Gain their trust. Make them believe everything is fine, that you've forgiven them."

Your eyes widened slightly at the magnitude of the task. It was a test of your loyalty and acting skills. "But Chief, I'm not sure I can do that. After what they did..."

Roman's gaze hardened, his voice brooking no argument. "This is a test, Y/N. You wanted to be part of the Bloodline, and this is what it entails. I need to know you're capable of playing the game when needed. You don't have to forgive them. You don't even have to mean a word of what you say to them. But you'll do it for the family. Understood?"

You nodded, albeit reluctantly, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Yes, Chief. I'll do it."

Roman leaned forward again, his tone low but firm. "I want you to show them where their place is in the hierarchy of the Bloodline. They've disrespected you and the family. At Elimination Chamber, I need you to take that title from Becky. Make her think it's a non-personal rivalry, make her believe she's going up against just another challenger. But I want you to make it personal. Show her the consequence of betrayal. Show her what happens when you mess with us. Mess with you, my right hand woman."

You wanted to argue with him, but the taste of revenge was bittersweet on your tongue. However, you couldn't deny the commanding presence of Roman's orders. "I understand, Chief. I'll make sure to handle it."

"Good." Roman's tone softened slightly. "I want that title, Y/N. That title belongs with us, with the Bloodline. Show Becky why betraying the family has consequences. Make her feel it. And remember, this is only the beginning of your test."

You shot Roman a confused look. "What do you mean, Chief?"

Roman leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady as he regarded you. "Becky and Seth crossed a line, and their actions won't go unpunished. Jey will handle Seth at Elimination Chamber as well as the other competitors- Kevin, Sami, Daniel Bryan and Cesaro."

Roman gave you a knowing look when he mentioned your two former best friends. It seemed Roman had devised a plan, a grander scheme beyond just your personal feud. "But at the end of Elimination Chamber, you will understand what I mean. You will begin to see the bigger picture. This is your initiation into the family, and it starts with showing your loyalty and strength. Do you understand?"

You nodded, feeling the weight of Roman's words and the task he had assigned you. "Yes, Chief. I'll do what needs to be done."

Roman seemed satisfied with your response. "Good. I trust you'll handle this accordingly." He leaned back in his chair, signaling the end of your conversation. "I know you have a big heart. But trust me, this isn't about revenge. This is about power and control. This is about securing our dominance in this business. There are no good guys or bad guys, there are just humans who have been betrayed and those who betrayed. And sometimes you have to hurt before you get justice."

Roman's words echoed in your mind, leaving a sense of determination mingled with the weight of the task ahead. He was right. You need to be focused on what's best for you instead of what you think is right. Morals had no high ground here, only the will to survive and dominate. And you wanted to dominate.

"Thank you, Chief. I won't let you down," you replied, steeling yourself for the challenges that lay ahead.

Roman nodded in acknowledgment, his expression unreadable yet reassuring. "You're dismissed, Y/N. Focus on what you need to do. The family comes first."

With a nod, you rose from the chair, feeling a mix of determination and apprehension about the tasks ahead. You left Roman's office, the weight of his instructions heavy on your shoulders.

As you exited Roman's office, Jey caught your eye, and you shared a brief glance. He approached you, a serious yet supportive look in his eyes. "You good?"

You nodded, albeit with a hint of uncertainty. "Yeah, I'll manage."

Jey placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, offering you a reassuring smile. "You got this, Y/N. Just remember, do what you gotta do. Roman's got a plan. He's doing this for the family. The Bloodline. For you. You have to do whatever he asked of you. You have to obey, or you'll get hurt. I can't let you get hurt." It seemed like Jey didn't plan on saying the last sentence out, but he didn't waver. Instead he paused, gauging your reaction.

You nodded, acknowledging Jey's advice, and reciprocated with a grateful expression. "Thanks, Jey. I appreciate it, appreciate you." You thought of hugging him, but decided against it, not wanting to make Jey uncomfortable.

Instead, you gave Jey a thankful nod and a small smile.

Jey patted your shoulder once more before stepping back. You're welcome. Take care of yourself, alright? I'll see you tomorrow, we can grab some food. Lord knows you need it, I haven't seen you eat any snacks at the back." Jey joked lightly, trying to lift your spirits.

You chuckled softly, grateful for Jey's attempt to lighten the mood. "I'll try not to starve, Jey. Thanks for looking out for me."

He gave you a playful nod before stepping back, letting you proceed on your path. "Of course. See you tomorrow, girl."

As walked away, you couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling within you. The weight of Roman's orders and the task at hand lay heavy on your mind. The idea of deceiving Becky and Seth, all the while planning your revenge, felt conflicting. But you knew what was at stake - your loyalty to the Bloodline and the need to assert your place within it. Could you really act like everything was fine when, in reality, you were seething with anger and hurt?

You spotted Becky about to leave, and decided you could.

"Hey, Becky!" She looked up at her name being called, and you approached her with a composed demeanor, despite the turmoil within you. She seemed scared when you came closer to her, as if expecting you to physically lash out again. However, you maintained your calm, albeit somewhat strained, composure.

"Hey, Y/N," Becky greeted cautiously, her voice tinged with apprehension.

You took a deep breath, trying to mask the storm of emotions brewing inside you. "I just wanted to say that I appreciate your honesty earlier. It took a lot of courage to confess." The words felt hollow leaving your lips, but you knew this was part of the task Roman had assigned.

Becky looked surprised by your response, her eyes darting with uncertainty. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I never wanted to hurt you. It's eating me up inside."

You gave her a small, forced smile. "I understand, Becky. I was angry earlier, but I took some time to calm down, and I realized that I appreciate you coming clean."

Your voice sounded composed, almost unnaturally so, as you forced yourself to maintain a calm façade. "Is Seth okay? I hit him when I was angry."

Becky seemed taken aback by your composed demeanor, but she nodded, trying to hide her surprise. "He's fine. Just a little shaken up, but he'll be okay." She paused, studying your face for any signs of the anger she had witnessed earlier. "Are you... okay, Y/N?"

You nodded, masking your true emotions behind a façade of calmness. "I'm fine, Becky. Just needed some time to cool off." The words felt like a lie, but you knew you had to play your part in this act.

"I am hurt, but you are one of my closest friends, and I don't want out friendship to end like this, Becks." You forced a smile, hoping it appeared genuine.

Becky's expression softened with a hint of relief. "I'm really sorry, Y/N. I hope we can work through this somehow. I hate that I hurt you."

You nodded, trying to maintain the charade of forgiveness. "I'm sure we'll figure something out. How about I ride with you to the next show tonight? We can talk more then, if you want."

Becky looked surprised at your offer, clearly not expecting this response. "Uh, yeah, sure. That would be great, actually."

You nodded, trying to hide the turmoil within you as you made plans to continue this act. "Alright then, lemme grab my stuff and we'll be on our way." You tried to keep your tone neutral, not wanting to reveal the depths of your true feelings.

Before you left, you walked closer to Becky and wrapped her in a tight but short hug, trying to appear as if everything was normal. "I'll see you outside in a bit, okay?"

Becky returned the hug tentatively, still wary after the earlier altercation. "Yeah, see you."

With that, you turned away, your façade slipping for a moment as you clenched your fists in frustration and pain. Unbeknownst to you, Paul was lurking in the shadows, reporting to Roman and making sure you weren't acting out of line.

"Everything's going to plan, my Tribal Chief."

Roman responded after a couple of seconds, smirking to himself as he laid back in his chair.

"Good. I knew she could do it. Becky and Seth are first, Sami is a non-variable, and mark my words, Kevin is next.

Do you think she can follow through with our plan at Elimination Chamber, my tribal chief? Becky is one thing, Kevin is another.

A flurry of bubbles appeared on Paul's phone for a moment before Roman replied, his message filled with unwavering confidence.

"She will. Don't doubt your Tribal Chief. Y/N might have a big heart, but she knows where her loyalty lies. And soon, everyone will understand what happens when you cross the Bloodline."

And soon they will.

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tainsan · 1 year

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misfits: II (college!ateez x reader)

{a/n: thank you so so so much for the support just after the first chapter! i am so grateful for all of you who have been reblogging and sending in feedback}

do not steal my work or repost on places other than tumblr.

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-----THIS IS AN 18+ FANFICTION MINORS DO NOT INTERACT-----

⇢ master list ⇠

previous chapter ⇠ ⇢ next chapter

warnings: not really anything, just a little bit of swearing.

word count: 6.2k

“No radius is half of the diameter; did you not pay attention in high school?” You say exasperated, half laughing half scowling at the black-haired male situated in front of you.

“I was too busy denying my sexuality in high school,” Minho says rolling his eyes, causing a boisterous laugh to erupt from your throat.

“You do know you’re not supposed to be here?”

Minho snuck into your advanced calculus class earlier saying he was bored, and Jisung was in a Finance class, where the teacher isn't too keen on letting random students into his lectures. Luckily you were close to the end of the lesson, meaning your professor was partially done, letting students talk among themselves whilst he does God knows what on his computer.

“It’s not like any of our professors remember our faces. I think I’ve had Bartley for three years in a row and he still thinks I’m a freshman.”

You snort at his remark knowing he has a point. The teachers don't get paid enough to remember every student anyways.

“You need to study more, how are you going to open your own business if you don't know the basics of math?” you question, joking slightly.

“I have you for that. Plus, it’s not like I want to become one of those smart-ass CEOs, I just want to open a nice dance studio far away from this goofy place.”

“That’s still a business Min, and it would help to know math so you can at least calculate your revenue.”

“Yeah, but I don't need to know the radius of a circle for that,” he once again rolls his eyes mockingly, causing a chuckle to emit from you.

“Touché Lee.”

Minho winks at you cheekily, then looks at his phone that had just vibrated notifying a message. His eyes widen hugely, causing your curiosity to spike.

“Girl, not to alarm you but Bin said there’s someone looking for you.”

“Why would that alarm me?”

Before Minho can get another word out, the large wooden door to the entrance opens widely, and in walks a guy wearing all black, glasses perched across his nose. The entire room goes silent, and you swear you can hear your own heartbeat. Leaning towards Minho slightly, you mean to ask why it has gone so silent all of a sudden, but you cannot get the question out as the man in black soundlessly makes his way toward where you and Minho are situated, walking up the stairs.

“__, right?” the nameless man asks as he reaches you, his voice breaking the thick silence in the room. Immediately, whispers sound across the room from almost everyone. Starting to feel self-conscious of the sudden attention on you, the familiar feeling of a heavy heart residing in your chest. You momentarily wonder why he even asked for your name if he knew who to go to in a class with over thirty students.

“Come with me?” The request is said as a question yet the tone he uses is harsh and demanding, as if he is not giving you a choice to say no.

You look at Minho, confused yet you see the same confused expression on his face, yet the look is definitely more prominent on his. You probably would have laughed at the expression on your friend's face if it were in a different circumstance.

“Okay let’s go,” Minho says, helping you grab your books off the desk.

“I wasn't talking to you,” The guy says slightly rudely, looking at Minho with a piercing cold glare. Minho, looking offended starts to stand up, puffing his shoulders and advancing slightly towards the man in black. Chattering and whispers spur around the class, someone even gasping audibly.

“Minho, it’s fine, just wait here.” You grab his hand and pull him back to his sitting position gently. The small action not going unnoticed by the mysterious man, who looks between the two of you, almost as if he is analyzing the situation. As you stand up, the man dressed in black heads for the exit, not sharing a glance with anyone who ogles at him.

‘Goofy ass’ you mumble under your breath as you start your walk towards the exit. Not missing the way countless eyes are on your form, you trudge out of the door, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden interest in you. You ponder in your head why on Earth this man has so much attention all of a sudden like he is a celebrity or something. Rapidly closing the door, you rest your eyes and take a deep breath to calm your racing heart, you rest against the closed door behind you, breathing steadily you slowly feel your nerves go down. You open your eyes when you’re ready and see the strange man to your right, resting his left side against the wall body turned towards you. Quickly, you scurry to gain your composure and turn towards the man watching your movements like an eagle. He has a sharp nose and high cheekbones, his gaze intimidating. If you weren’t so confused, you would probably think he was very handsome.

“So, uh what did you want?” you question, cringing at your scratchy voice due to a dry throat. Almost scoffing, the man rolls his eyes and passes you a water bottle that was conveniently resting in his hand.

“Um, thanks.” You say, feeling the heat rise up your neck.

“You need a place to live right?” He says bluntly, staring at you whilst you take a swig of water. Almost choking on said water, you bring your hand to your mouth and try to keep the water from coming out. Why does this random stranger know your life?

“I’m sorry, I don't know who you are, how do you know I need a place to live?” you reply when your mouth is free of liquid. For some reason, the tenseness on the man’s shoulders seems to loosen a little, almost as if he is relieved and you don’t fail to notice the slight change in his behavior.

“I’m friends with San and Jongho, they told me you lost your apartment.”

You are hit with a realization, and then things seem much clearer, without you knowing a smile comes to your face thinking of the two sweet people you had tutored a few days ago. This smile does not go unnoticed by the male opposite you; he even feels somewhat happy you are smiling whilst thinking of his friends, not scowling or cowering like other people would do.

“Um, I’m Hongjoong, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to uh have a look at our place, we have a room open.” Hongjoong introduces himself, stumbling on his words, you recognise his name, yet you have no idea where from. It seems a stark contrast to the scary image he was showing less than thirty seconds ago, now he is nervous and fairly restless, fiddling with the rings on his fingers and unable to make eye contact for more than three seconds. Feeling hopeful about finding a new place, your mood perks up immensely.

“Seriously?” you inquire, a hopeful smile adoring your features. Hongjoong seems to look surprised at your reaction, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink and his eyes widening, quickly he coughs and continues the cold expression on his face.

“But wait…” you trail off, remembering the whereabouts of their accommodation, “as much as it would help, you guys live in the richest area near here, and I would never be able to afford it.” your eyes droop as you look at the floor, upset that you yet again have to go on dormfinder.com for an affordable place to live.

“We are more than happy to pull some strings, I’m close to the landlord.” His words are still calm, but this time rushed.

“I really appreciate the offer, Hongjoong. I just don't see myself living there, even if you were to pull strings, my student loans barely cover the school funds let alone a place in Eastwood.”

“Your parents do not offer help?” Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel your eyes start to sting, which does not go unnoticed by the male.

“It’s just me.” You reply, your voice sharp. Seeing Hongjoong flinch slightly at your sudden harsh tone, you are quick to apologise.

“Maybe you could just have a look?” Hongjoong’s eyes stay hopeful as he peers down at you. The height difference isn't huge but still to the point where you have to lift your head slightly to meet his callous eyes.

“Look I don’t have time to be browsing through places that are out of my league, I truly appreciate it Hongjoong, but I just can’t.”

“My mother is the landlord, I already spoke to her about it and she’s happy with you staying for five hundred a month, as long as you are clean and keep the house in order.”

His words take you aback. Four hundred was the price you were paying for your old place, it’s not cheap but it's still a good price, especially for such an amazing place. Yet you are more taken aback by the fact he has already consulted with his mother. Was he so certain you were going to say yes that he already made a deal?

“I thought rent there was at least six thousand, what’s the big catch?” You are interested but keep your hopes low, you don't want to get ahead of yourself and potentially harm your heart.

“My roommates can be, well um messy, loud, and a little overbearing.” Hongjoong admits he sees your brow furrow slightly, “But we are friendly, fun, we will respect your space and never make you feel uncomfortable.” He rushes on his words again, almost as if he’s trying to sell a product. “It’s a lovely place trust me.”

“Who do you live with?” You inquire, if you want to even think about moving in you need to know who your roommates would be.

“Are you familiar with Ateez?” Hongjoong is slow and cautious with his words as if he is treading on thin ice. Your eyes widen, and you feel your heart start to race again. Hongjoong is quick to notice this and waves his hands in front of you, dismissing what he just said. Even though you may have had good experiences with the men you know as Ateez members, you don’t know if you could get involved with them after what you've heard about them. Not knowing if you can trust them, you are hesitant to accept the offer. But then again, rumors are deadly but mostly not true. You know that better than anyone.

“We aren't as bad as people perceive us; I swear.”

Now this confuses you even further. Hongjoong is another person in Ateez? Part of you believes his words, yet part of you believes your best friend. They are a selfish, cold, heartless group with no care for others' feelings. Even the way Hongjoong is presenting himself is on character, even whilst offering you the deal of your lifetime, his image is scary and cold, his words nothing more than blunt and harsh. But then again, your encounters with the rest have so far been so different and confusing. The way Hongjoong is quick to convince you that they aren’t bad people, or at least as bad as people say, leads to being even more baffled.

“No, I wasn't thinking that I was just honestly confused why you guys would ever let anyone who isn't a part of your group live with you. Why are you even doing this in the first place?”

It takes a moment for Hongjoong to reply, your words hovering around the both of you. You can almost see the cogs turning in his head as he processes his answer. Looking as if he is debating whether or not to answer, he looks at you and then around him, looking to see if anyone is watching. Slowly, he decides to answer, his sharp, cold image melting away.

Hongjoong takes a swift step closer to you, his breath fanning against your face as you look up at him. Heart pounding like it’s about to explode, the sudden closeness between our two bodies makes you small, only about a foot separating him from colliding with your tense form. His eyes are a harsh contrast to the cold, lifeless expression he previously held up, now they are soft, and kind and you feel your body loosen up as you get lost in the warm gaze of his deep brown eyes. His eyes feel so frequent as if you’ve stared into them before.

“You were the only one ever who was truly kind to us. Please, just have a look, ___,” his voice is no more than a mere whisper and you can feel your heart in your throat. Never having someone this close to you, speaking so softly, is new and you aren't sure if you like it or not. The look in Hongjoong’s eyes both comforts and unnerves you. Before you can even register what has happened, his body is back in the same position as previously, his cheeks turning red and momentarily regretting his sudden uncontrolled actions.

“I'll tell San to message you the address,” Hongjoong’s cold stare is back as he departs toward the general exit of the building, leaving you to fan your face and take deep breaths to calm the pounding of your heart. Glancing down at the water bottle in your hand, you are now even more confused than you were at the beginning of the week.

What the fuck?

----

Laying on your back, facing the ceiling, millions of thoughts run through your head as you try to decide. Next to you resides your phone, lighting up the dim room, with the messenger app open. Sighing, you pick your phone up one more time to reread through the message for the nth time.

‘Hey, here’s the address for our place. San’

Peering at the profile picture of the contact, the corners of your mouth turn up as you see a cute photo of the animated character Kuromi sleeping. It actually suits San well. You remember when you were with him at the library when he saw your phone case of the Sanrio characters. It seems funny that he has the same characters as his profile picture now. Curiously looking at his profile, you see, the picture was changed six days ago. Just after your tutoring session, it’s probably just a coincidence. As you’re staring at the picture and getting lost in your thoughts, another message notification appears on the top of your screen. This time, it's from Yeji.

‘hi girl, I really don’t want to rush you but my new roommate is moving in tomorrow, you can maybe sleep on the sofa for the time being but you really need to find a place, my landlord isn't happy about you living here rent-free.’

Groaning, you throw your phone down against your bed once again, bringing your hands up to your eyes to wipe away the stinging sensation rising in them, your stomach feeling uneasy from this whole situation. Every free hour and minute you have, you have been searching for cheap apartments close to the school, yet the only one that you even managed to find was almost twenty miles away and you do not feel like using public transport at ungodly hours in the morning.

Glancing at your phone once again, you feel conflicted in your head. You know that the boys you have met of Ateez wouldn’t be mad at you for not showing up, yet you feel like you are obligated to. Yes, the place is cheap and only about a ten-minute walk from campus and a fifteen-minute walk to Jisung’s. But it's the idea of living with the Ateez that spooks you a little bit, not really knowing what their true identity is. ‘Fuck it’ you think, what have you got to lose. Throwing yourself off the empty bed, you rush to the suitcase of your clothes to find something somewhat presentable to wear. Settling on one of the three outfits you now have, due to the rest being burnt to a crisp, you pull it on and hope that it at least looks good to them. ‘Why do I care what they think?’ you suddenly think to yourself, not wanting to have to worry about impressing them with your looks. Hurriedly grabbing your necessary belongings, you bolt out of the door, excited and both nervous. You just hope the entire group isn't there to analyse you.

----

Strolling through the long street full of large white brick houses, you feel exceptionally out of place in this insanely rich area. You’re not even sure how you ended up here in the first place and you just know Jisung would smack you if he saw where you were heading. Maybe it was the impression Hongjoong left on you, you still see his warm brown eyes whenever you close your eyes, his soft expression as he moved closer to your body. The way he spoke so softly and tenderly. You haven't even begun to unpack what he said, not knowing what he meant by you were the only one kind to them. Maybe you unknowingly lent them a pen in class? That doesn’t seem like a big enough gesture for them to invite you to literally live with them. Maybe Hongjoong likes you, you think to your self grinning giddily. Smacking your head gently, you remove the grin from your face and try to divert your thoughts from the handsome man, realizing he would never like you like that, let alone want to be your friend. Looking for the number 2410, you scan the houses as you walk from place to place. They are all beautiful detached houses with a large porches. Before you know it, you see the large number appear in front of you, the house seeming much more intimidating than the others, perhaps it's because you know who lives there and who is potentially inside. The walls of the house are white, the roof light blue, with large windows adorning the front and sides. Walking up the driveway and towards the porch, your heart gets heavy with anxiety, realizing the situation you are about to get yourself into. I just hope none of them pull a stunt like Hongjoong did, anything is better than getting your heart swooned again by another handsome male, which just so happens to be all of them so far, fuck. You really don’t have time to be falling for the ‘bad boys’ right now. Surely they won’t get angry at you if you show up and say no to the offer, right?

Reaching the front door, you hesitate to ring the doorbell, your heart attempting to jump out of your throat. When your finger reaches the button, a loud, long ringing noise is heard within the walls of the home, which breaks you out of your semi-unconscious thinking state. You step back slightly, to make sure you’re not right next to the door when it opens, not wanting to be up in the face of the person who opens it if they open the door. Gripping onto the strap of your tote bag for dear life, you silently hope that there is nobody home, but then hope there is someone home, then hope there is not. You heavily debated at this moment whether you should just run away from the door and pretend it was some kid ding dong ditching. Moving away slightly, you get ready to run for your life, when all of a sudden your hopes are shattered and you hear the click of the lock signaling the door to be opened, and you’re met with the top of someone’s head, clearly, he’s more interested with whatever video is playing on his phone.

“Unless you’re selling some of those delicious red velvet cookies, can you kindly piss off, please and thank you.” The door goes to close, yet you quickly stop it by speaking out, causing the man to halt his actions.

“I don't have red velvet cookies, but I could maybe bring you a nice red velvet muffin,” you joke, realising the man behind the door is Wooyoung. Snapping his head up, Wooyoung's ice-cold facade melts away within an instant, being replaced with the same warm smile you saw a few days ago. He can’t believe you actually showed up at the house after waiting for what felt like ages.

“Muffin?” he is surprised to see you, “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show up, again,” Wooyoung admits as he opens the door fully, letting you enter. Still not used to the nickname, your heart speeds up ever so slightly.

“Better late than never, right?” You reply bashfully, feeling sorry for coming so late.

“True,” Wooyoung helps you take off your coat and for a moment your heart stops when you feel his warm hands brush against your shoulders, not knowing the way the man helping you feels as he contacts your skin. You mutter a thank you as you take off your shoes, ignoring the way your skin burns upon touch with the man.

“Sang! She’s here!” Wooyoung yells up the tall stairs placed near the entrance of the house. Suddenly, you hear a clunking coming from upstairs, followed by some banging and shuffling. Then you see a head of white hair pop his head over the top of the staircase, his face is red and hair messy.

“Uh give me one second,” he then disappears and more shuffling and banging sounds are heard. Turning to look at Wooyoung with a confused look on your face, he just shrugs with an amused expression.

“We don't usually have visitors; he’s likely just cleaning all the shit off the floor.”

You nod in recognition, your lips turning up slightly at Yeosang’s rushed, cute actions, knowing all too well what it’s like to have unanticipated visitors.

“Would you like something to drink?” Wooyoung asks you as you both walk further into the house; he opens a door leading to a grand kitchen that looks like it's made for celebrity chefs.

“Whoa this kitchen is insane,” You stare at it in awe, walking towards the marble top counters, running your hand over the cool material.

“I love it here, I can make all the food my heart desires here,” Wooyoung admits, walking towards where you're standing. You are slightly taken aback to know that Wooyoung likes to cook, but then you remember the amazing muffin he made for you a few days ago and you realise, yes, he is a good cook. Reaching behind you, he opens a cupboard full of glasses, grabbing two he places it next to the large American fridge freezer.

“No drink?” he asks one more time.

“Oh, I’m sorry, just a water would be nice,” you reply, slightly bashful. Wooyoung’s heart speeds up at the sight of your flustered expression. Grinning at you slightly, Wooyoung then turns around to open the fridge. It's then you hear the banging of someone descending the stairs, rather quickly you notice too. When you turn around you see a red-faced Yeosang, smiling lightly at you. Happily, you return his smile, saying hello to him, to which he replies. He is not the only one who can’t believe you’re standing in their house, finally. Wooyoung hands you a glass of cold water and you thank him. Making his way towards the kitchen island, Yeosang takes a seat at one of the barstools placed around it.

“For a house with eight roommates, it sure is quiet here.” You admit, taking a sip of your water, surprised by the serenity of the place, the only banging coming from Yeosang a few minutes ago. Wooyoung lets out a laugh and Yeosang smiles to himself.

“It’s just us home right now, everyone else is finishing their last lectures of the day or doing homework in the library. Yeosang and I finished early because our dance professor got the flu.”

“You guys are taking dance?” You question, your curiosity getting the best of you, you know Minho and Felix are taking dance too, however, they have never mentioned the two males before, maybe you have to ask them later about it. From this question, the two males’ chests fill with joy knowing they have your interest, even if it’s only for a split second.

Yeosang smiles and answers, “Yeah, we are.”

“Now you really don’t know anything about us, do you?” Wooyoung says, also curious, “Not to sound narcissistic but I thought almost everyone knows what course we are taking, kinda comes with being the group everyone talks about,”

Chuckling slightly, you answer, “Like I already said to Yeosang, I kind of live under a rock, I didn't even know about Ateez until like a few weeks ago, and even then, I didn't really care. No offense of course.”

“None was taken,” Yeosang says, his hand tapping on the island, his eyes watching you intently. Smiling at him once again when you make eye contact, you decide to take a seat on the island too. Choosing the one closest to you, you sit down and are pleasantly surprised by the comfort of the small stool.

“Which dances do you prefer, like hip hop, ballroom, jazz, or contemporary?” You ask the two males, too curious to not ask some questions, the men look at you incredulously and are taken aback by your question. “What has no one ever asked you that before?” you add, confused by the reaction of the two.

Wooyoung stands on the opposite side of the island, resting against the counter behind him, “Not really, people usually just ask for us to dance for them, dance with them, do a sexy dance, you name it, I don't think anyone has ever actually been interested in the sort of technical stuff, except for maybe our parents.” Yeosang nods to his statement and you start to feel somewhat upset no one has taken the time to actually take interest in their likings, or attempt to know them better. It isn't hard to ask someone what their favorite dance is.

“My mother used to be a dancer, I used to watch her dance all the time when I was younger. I’m interested because it kind of reminds me of her. Plus, it’s much cooler than asking someone to sexy dance for you,” You admit, smiling fondly at the memories of your mother dancing in the living room late at night with your brother hobbling along trying to keep up with her pace, even though he was tired he still moved along with her, wanting to have fun with her. Wooyoung and Yeosang feel extremely happy you care about their dancing in a way not many people do, asking them a question to know them better, and for sharing something personal about yourself.

“We mostly do hip hop, but Wooyoung is into contemporary these days,” Yeosang answers you, his soft smile not leaving his features whilst he talks. It feels like it's been ages since he’s truly smiled at someone other than his seven friends.

“That’s so cool!” You exclaim loudly, “I wish I could dance but I’ve got similar to the rhythm of an elephant.” Hearing Wooyoung and Yeosang laugh heartily at your comment, your heart swells in your chest, an unfamiliar feeling arriving deep in your heart.

“You’d be surprised, apparently elephants are really good at following a beat,” Wooyoung says, grinning at you from across the counter, sending a small wink in your direction.

“I'll take your word for it, but it doesn't mean you're going to find me in the dance studio any time soon, mark my words.” You joke and laugh together with the two other men, a comfortable silence falling over you.

“As much as we’d love you to be here for dinner, you’re here to look at the house, right?” Wooyoung is the first to break the silence, not wanting you to leave the comfortable space just created, but knowing he has a duty to fulfill.

“Yes, but it doesn't mean I’m going to take the offer, I just needed to see what there is, you know?”

Wooyoung and Yeosang’s shoulders droop slightly hearing your comment, upset that even though you’ve come here, you might not take the other. Yeosang is the first to gain his composure, clearing his throat and continuing the conversation in case you notice the small dip in their behavior.

“So do you want to see around?”

“I’d love to.”

They first take you upstairs, there is a long hallway with eight doors placed along the walls, and you can’t help but wonder how they managed to fit so many rooms. Wooyoung explains each room, showing you inside the two bathrooms that are both equipped with a sizable shower and large bath in the corner, each with a toilet and sink. They do not go into the six bedrooms explaining that their roommates would prefer not to show up without their permission. This causes you to smile to yourself, realizing that they do indeed have respect for people’s boundaries even when they aren't around. However, you can’t help but wonder how each of their rooms differs, how they have decorated them, and how clean they are. When Wooyoung reaches the end of the hallway, you see there are two doors that haven’t been explained yet.

“These are mine and Yeosang’s rooms,” Wooyoung clarifies and you nod in realisation. The two doors face each other and you laugh mentally, knowing that the two men are close friends so of course their rooms are right next to each other. You expect Wooyoung to move on to the next part of the house just like he has done with every other room, yet when he doesn’t you are surprised. Opening the door he just signified was his room he lets you have a peek in and you suddenly feel grateful that he is sharing something so personal with you. It is a rather plain bedroom, with a large bed in the corner, the bed sheets a dark blue colour, and a bedside table next to it. At the foot of the bed on the opposite side of the wall, is a sizable desk with a monitor screen and a pc. There is a big wardrobe on the other side of the room also. You don’t notice much except for the fact it is very clean and how the bed is much bigger than a regular bed. You also notice a picture frame on his bedside table, you can’t see much of the photo, but it seems awfully familiar for some reason, feeling like you’ve seen it before, you stare at it probably a little longer than you should have.

“That’s my room, just so you know if you accidentally walk into it.” Wooyoung beams at you, closing the door. He momentarily feels insecure by your peering eyes analysing his room, hoping you liked it.

“This is the first time I’ve ever seen your room tidy,” Yeosang says nonchalantly, though you can see the teasing grin tugging at his features. Wooyoung’s ears go red as he gently smacks the blonde-haired male.

“How about you show your room too then?”

Immediately, the grin on Yeosang’s face disappears, replaced with a bewildered and taken aback look. Wooyoung sticks his tongue out at him soon after, walking towards the stairs and shaking his head slightly. Laughing softly at the twos bickering, you follow Wooyoung to the stairway and descend down the wide staircase. When downstairs, Wooyoung walks past the kitchen again, and into a different room which seems to be the dining room. In the dining room, there is a large table with four chairs on each side of it. In the center is a bowl of apples, bananas, and pears. The room is rather plain but still feels cozy. Next, the two lead you to the living room which is rather large. There is an enormous U-shaped couch placed against the wall, and a coffee table in the centre, the couch faces a television standing on a display that has shelves full of DVDs. You are impressed again at how clean it is and mentally make a note to check out the movies they have and also to rest on the couch, wishing to see if it is as comfortable as it looks. Strolling back to the hallway, you notice two doors that you didn’t realise were there when you first walked into the house. Yeosang is in the lead as the opens the door, which has some stairs going downwards to some sort of basement. This makes you stop in your tracks immediately and thoughts race through your head.

“Okay not to be rude but I’ve watched enough horror movies to know you never go into someone’s basement when it’s your first time being in their house.” You admit, not too excited to go into the basement of some people you don’t know too well. Wooyoung lets out a boisterous laugh whilst Yeosang is having a hard time keeping his chuckles in. They don't care that you don't want to go down, knowing that it’s smart to not give your trust to them straight away, even if they really want to gain it.

“That’s okay, for another time then, all we have done with the place is put some beanbags and a projector for when we want to have a movie night,” Yeosang speaks out, explaining why they wanted to show you. They aren’t offended at you, understanding why you have your doubts. You nod in consideration; always loving movie nights make you add another pro to why you should potentially take the offer. Closing the door, Yeosang leads you back to the kitchen and around a corner where three more white doors are placed. Two face each other whilst one faces towards the kitchen, almost similar to a u shape.

“These are more bedrooms, these ones have en suites so there’s no need for an extra toilet downstairs,” Yeosang explains. You briefly remember the door near the entrance of the house, next to the basement, which Wooyoung pointed out as the communal toilet.

“These are Yunho’s and Seonghwa’s bedrooms, and this door is um…” Wooyoung trails off. You notice the way Wooyoung and Yeosang both seem to get somewhat nervous, he continues, “If you were to move here this would be your room,”

You find it somewhat annoying that if you were to move in, you’d be residing next to the two males you have yet to meet. But then again it would give you a chance to get to know them better.

Both Wooyoung and Yeosang have hearts full of hope as you open the door to move inside the room. The room is plain, with nothing but a bed, wardrobe, and desk with no objects on either. You are pleasantly shocked by the size of the room, it’s big but not huge, the perfect size for you to make it into a cozy bedroom. One thing that does stun you though, is the size of the bed. It’s almost the same size as Wooyoung’s, definitely big enough to fit more than three people. Maybe they just all like big beds? One thing you can’t deny is how comfortable it looks. Another thing that confuses you is that there are sheets on it, looking as if someone has slept in it recently, which baffles you a little bit. There is indeed a door inside the room that leads to a stunning bathroom, with a huge shower, this makes you beam, not having to worry about awkward encounters with any of the boys when sharing a bathroom.

“So, what do you think?” Yeosang is the first to break the silence, his voice echoing through the empty space. Both the males are unknowingly looking at you with large, hopeful eyes.

Peering around the room, turning in a circle

“It’s amazing,” you begin, causing the two to hold on their breaths, full of hope, you continue, “But are you sure it’s okay I live here, five hundred doesn’t seem real to me?”

Immediately Wooyoung and Yeosang jump into action with their words.

“Yes of course! Joong said he pulled strings and so has Seonghwa.” Yeosang stutters out, his voice louder than you’ve ever heard it. This makes you baffled as to why two strangers would pull such strings for you, knowing their reputation it seems rather peculiar for them to act in such ways for someone they have never met before. It seems weird to you that they would even think of helping you, let alone pulling so many extreme strings to ensure you a place to live. Perhaps they aren't as bad as people make them out to be, perhaps they are just huge sweethearts.

You stay silent for about two minutes, contemplating all the options in your head. Little do you know how much the silence pains the two men in front of you, wishing they could read your mind. After one more silent and dreadful moment, you decide to give your answer.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t…”

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beejunos · 2 months

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SINNERMAN | Alastor x f.reader | part 1.

Summary: After Sir Pentious's failed attempt at spying on the hotel, the Vees approach you to make a new deal—a deal that you can't refuse. Help them take down Alastor, and you will get to kill him again.

After all, the great butcher of New Orleans had killed your brother, so it was only fair that you had killed him in return. And you would love to do it again.

Tags: Alastor x f!reader, slow burn, obsessive behaviour, enemies to lovers, spying, murder

PART 1. | AO3 | PART 2.

Chapter 1. The Deal

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Hell was not just a place where souls who had done horrific things with pleasure went, but also with people who had done appalling things out of necessity. Murderers, thieves, abusers and, growing more in numbers every year, politicians - hell was not a place for the weak-minded, but sometimes a human could be pushed into such acts, not because they themselves were more inclined to such behaviour, but because circumstance could turn anyone into a bloodthirsty killer.

You were one of those people.

Condemned to Hell for an eternity for a crime that you still believed to be justifiable. After all, the great butcher of New Orleans killed your brother, so it was only fair that you killed him in return.

"I told you it was a bad idea to pick that idiot to spy on the hotel. Did you honestly think it would work?" said Velvet without looking up from her phone. She was typing something with rapid-fire as she blew a bubble with her pink gum. It made a big popping sound that seemed to echo in the living room, making Vox clench his fist so as not to destroy the desk again. They had just replaced the last desk after he had dug his claws into it and left deep and long marks in the wood, and he did not feel like getting yelled at again for ruining the decor.

Vox counted to ten slowly backwards before he turned around from the monitors to look at the short woman. She was sitting curled up on the sofa before him, dressed in luxurious loungewear with hearts all over it. Valentino was sitting stretched out right beside her, his arm casually on the backrest. He was on his phone as well and did not look up when Vox came closer, but Vox could see that he was also irritated by Velvet's comment from the slight twitching of his right eye.

"Well, Velvet, my dear," Vox said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I don't remember you having a better idea, but please, if you do, share it with the group."

Vox stopped walking as he reached the sofa, hands behind his back, and leaned down in front of the female sinner to force her to look at him. He had never been good with others ignoring him, and Velvet was taking her sweet time finishing her text before she even looked up from her phone. When she met his eyes, electricity was firing between his antennas, filling the air with static noise.

She just sighed before she picked up her phone again and started typing.

"You picked an idiot; that's why your plan didn't work. Little Miss Sunshine will believe anyone; just pick a smarter spy next time," said Velvet in her heavy British accent, popping another bubble with her gum. Vox's irritation grew with every word she uttered, and for a moment, he entertained the thought of grabbing her phone and throwing it out the window.

"And who do you suggest we'll ask?"

It took Velvet a few more seconds of searching before she found a decent photo, and then she turned her phone and showed Vox who she had in mind. The photo was old and blurry, with its subject in the distance, but it was still possible to distinguish who was in the picture. Vox turned his piercing gaze from Velvet down to her phone and quickly stepped back.

"You can't be serious!"

"Who?" said Valentino, now interested, as Vox started to pace the room. Velvet turned her phone towards the moth demon, and he reared back in alarm. "Are you out of your fucking mind? Do you even know how expensive she is?"

"So what? If you want the job done well, then pay a fucking professional," stated Velvet as if it was apparent.

"Professional? She runs a PR firm! Glorified party whores. Why the fuck should she be the spy?" cried Valentino, throwing his arms in the air. The gesture would have made anyone in his studio flinch, waiting for an impact, but Velvet sat rooted in her seat. She was used to the man's physical displays of anger by now but never feared them since he would never dare lay a hand on her. She lifted one of her eyebrows and continued with her argument:

"Didn't you see the fucking joke of an interview the princess did on the news? The hotel has a serious marketing problem. Everyone thinks it's a joke! What if the princess had someone to help her with the marketing and networking? Someone she would trust wholeheartedly, and that person worked secretly for us? It would be the best fucking spy! Not a guest but a staff member who could manipulate everything from the inside. We would know everything. A staff member would also be with the princess all the time and could keep an eye out for Alastor to make sure that no deal is made!"

Valentino groaned loudly before throwing his phone on the coffee table. He knew that Velvet's argument was good; he just did not like how expensive it would become if they went with it. There was a reason only the top of the elite of hell hired this PR firm, and it wasn't just for the public relations part. Rumours were travelling around the underground networks that you also dealt with some shady businesses, but who weren’t in this town?

"Can't we just kill them ourselves? I still want to shoot someone," mumbled Valentino, knowing none of his partners would accept the idea.

"And what? Piss of Lucifer for attacking his daughter? We could just piss on our own graves instead! If we pay her, we know she will get the job done; after all, you've heard the rumours, right?"

"What rumours?" snarled Valentino, sinking deeper into the sofa. His night was now officially ruined.

"No one hates Alastor more than she does."

"Well, that's not new! Half the city hates the old-timey prick." Vox, who had been pacing back and forth deep in his thoughts, abruptly stopped and turned around to look at Velvet. He also highly doubted anyone could hate the radio demon more than he did, but that was beside the point.

"So, let's use that to our advantage," said Velvet, growing more frustrated by the minute, "She is bound to at least be interested in the job if we can convince her to take down Alastor with us."

It wasn't a dumb idea, which annoyed Vox the most. However, his desire to take down Alastor outweighed any concerns for costs. He was prepared to cut his own leg off with a rusty saw if it meant he could take down the demon that plagued his very existence.

Vox sighed and crossed his arms in front of him, effectively giving up on arguing against Velvet.

"Okay, how do we contact her?"

On the opposite side of the entertainment district, where the Vees residence was located, was a small part of the pride ring where the older architecture still stood. The sinners who lived there were usually the ones who had stayed in hell the longest, many of whom had lived during the 18th and 19th centuries. There were fewer flashing lights and billboards in this part of town, but that did not mean that the sinners who lived there were anti-technology—for the most part.

That was why you liked living in this part of Pride, being from the early 20th century yourself. There were no loud noises, and during the night, you would, on more occasions than not, get a good night's sleep. Compared to the entertainment district, where no one seemed to sleep ever.

Your PR firm was located on the top floor of an old Gothic Revival building in the centre of this district. With its intricate stone details and towering spires, the building could feel almost cluttered and overwhelming on the outside. However, the rooms were spacious and elegant, with large stained-glass windows that cast colourful lights throughout the building.

You loved your office building and its moody exterior and interior. It made you feel like a character in one of the gothic novels that you had only learned to appreciate after your death. You could also argue that the whole thing had been influenced by the fact that when you had died and woken up in hell, your soul had taken the form of a bat. Reminding you of the book Dracula that your mother had loved so much, but that was irrelevant.

Walking around dusty old stone buildings, surrounding yourself with heavy wooden furniture and thick dark fabrics worked much better with the wings, big pointy ears, claws, and razor-sharp teeth you had now.

You had tried in the beginning to surround yourself with things that reminded you of the time you had been alive, but as time ticked on and the years went by, you could not help but leave most of the 20s and 30s behind and welcome the new ages, and all their inventions and quirks, with somewhat open arms. Your youngest assistant, a young sinner named Claudine, who died at the age of 25 in 2015, talked a lot about how similar social media in hell was to when she was alive, but considering the things she liked to show you, social media was one of the inventions you did not have any interests in. Your people could handle it for you instead, and if the three overlords that had strolled into your office like they owned the building were running the biggest tech and social media company in pride, you would happily leave that responsibility to Claudine.

Vox, Velvet, and Valentino were indeed a sight to behold. A poor sight for you. Their fashion and colourful clothing clashed horribly with your moss-green couch.

It was always a satisfying experience to observe new customers arrive at your office. However, this time, you could not help but wish they would just leave.

You put down the silver tray you held, with all the teacups and the teapot, on your mahogany coffee table and sat in the armchair on the opposite side of the sofa. Slowly, you started to pour the tea from the pot into the small and thin teacups before handing the first to Velvet.

"Suger?" you asked, opening the lid to the sugar bowl.

"Yes, please," she said, putting two sugar cubes in her tea. The smaller sinner grabbed one of the tiny spoons before she started to stir her tea, making the spoon hit the side of the teacup. The clinking sound seemed to bounce around the room endlessly. She may not have the most refined manners, according to you, but you suspected that she was the one who had wanted to see you in the first place since she was the one who was behaving the best.

"I must say, I was quite surprised when my assistant said that the Vees were waiting in my office." You took one sip of your tea that had one sugar cube and a dash of milk in it. "It is not often that I get these types of unplanned visits unless someone is in dire need of their reputation being saved, and last time I checked, you three had your own PR team."

"We are here because we are interested in your more niche skill sets."

Now, that was far more interesting. You had a sense that the Vees were not here for what your company offered on the outside but more for what you could provide that was strictly off the records.

You looked over at Vox, who had spoken. Waiting for him to continue.

It did not take the sinner long to tell you their plan and why they had decided to contact you specifically. Hell was filled with sinners and demons who said they specialised in espionage or assassinations, and although they could get the job done, more often than not, these "professionals" would leave long traces of evidence behind, which didn't matter in the end since hell did not have any justice system to speak of, but if you wanted to be undetected, it wasn't the best solution. However, you took your job seriously and worked with the utmost discretion, which led to you now holding almost the same amount of power as any overlord in pride. The big difference between you and the other overlords was that your capabilities were mostly unknown, and that's how you wanted it. It made it easier for you to work in the shadows. To hunt and kill without anyone knowing they were being hunted.

Only two overlords, Carmilla Carmine and Zestial, knew of your strengths and often hired you to deal with others they did not have time for or wanted to make time for. Yet, if the Vees knew about this side of your work, that meant the information about your skill sets was being spread around a bit more frequently than you wanted it. But that didn't worry you too much since you could always have Claudine and Earl fix it in just a few days.

"That is not a small task you have asked of me. To take down another demon is one thing, but to take down an overlord? Who also works for the princess? Now, why would I ever do that?"

"We're not asking you to take down the princess. Only Alastor," said Velvet, putting a hand on Vox's arm. The man had started leaning forward unconsciously, his fists closing up with every second.

Alastor. There was no man on earth or in hell that you hated more, and you would gladly watch him bleed to death, forgotten and alone in the forest again. After all, he had killed your brother, so it was only fair that you had killed him in return. But things had changed. He now possessed a form of power that you had never seen in another sinner in all your years in hell, and it made you pause. You knew that as soon as he found out what you had done, he would avenge his death, and you were not sure that you would survive that. So you stayed in the shadows, bidding your time.

"Either way, we are not asking you to take him down alone. We want you to ensure no deal is struck between that radio freak and the princess. Find his weaknesses and help us take him down." Vox had the sort of manic look about him that you only saw in souls who were consumed by their obsessions, making him unreliable and reckless. But a deal like this did not come to you often, the type of deal that made you believe that you could kill Alastor again, and you never looked a gift horse in the mouth.

"Very well, I will help you, but it will cost you. Five hundred souls."

"Dea-"

You did not let Vox finish before saying, "Each."

"Each? Bitch, are you out of your mind?" roared Valentino, who had been quiet up till now. Even if the other Vees did not start shouting like the moth daemon, they were equally shocked and angered by your demand.

"My prices have always been high. Take it or leave it." You looked over at Vox, staring him down. You knew he would be the first to crack and agree to your demands. Velvet may have been the driving force that had led the Vees to your office, but she was still too rational and would start to bargain with you. Vox would sooner or later let his obsession win, making him agree to your deal.

"Do we have a deal?" You reached out your hand to Vox, trying to corner him and push him into a contract with you.

Before Velvet or Valentino had the chance to stop him, Vox shot forward and took your hand, and as he uttered the words that would sign their contract, an eerie green light filled the room. Cracks travelled up the walls all around you as the howling of hunting dogs travelled with the wind that started to blow in the office. Large shadows of the hunting dogs began to grow on the walls, their red eyes fixing the Vees in their places and right as the dogs would pause and devour the sinners on your sofa, the green light dissolved, and all that was left was the four of you in your office.

"Always a pleasure doing business with new customers," you chuckled, letting your sinister smile dance on your lips.

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x you #x reader #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x you #sinnerman alastor fic

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 5 months

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Push the Sky Away - Part Two

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Lorra Stark) Chapter warnings: Angst. Canon typical sexism and violence. Word count: ~7.1k

Summary: Lorra and Aemond get to know each other, and Aemond grapples with the idea of what it means to be a husband. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @sapphirehearteyes. I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Time feels as though it freezes for Aemond, stretching on for an eternity as he stares into Lorra’s eyes. He searches the depth of her gaze for any indication of fear or disgust, confused when he sees neither. He has never wanted quite so desperately to know what another person is thinking.

He is broken from his thoughts by the voice of his mother. “Lady Stark,” Alicent says warmly, “welcome to King’s Landing. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Please forgive the King’s absence, he is eager to greet you, however, he must rest for the good of his health. I trust your journey was a safe one?”

Lorra looks away from Aemond, turning her attention to Alicent, and smiles. It lights up her delicate features in a way that makes warmth swirl uncomfortably in his chest, and he forces himself to divert his attention, fixing his eye upon the furthest wall of the Great Hall, a feeble attempt to calm himself.

“Thank you, Your Grace. It is an honour to be here and to meet you, and I look forward to meeting the King soon, please send him my regards until then. My guards ensured my travel from Winterfell was uneventful.”

Aemond’s eye widens, looking back at her as he hears her speak. He has had few dealings with those of the North, but had not expected her voice to sound quite so different from those who occupy King’s Landing. Lorra is soft spoken, though there is a lilt to her accent that lifts and subtly elongates the vowels of her words. It fascinates and horrifies him in equal measure.

“I had anticipated that we would be hosting the entirety of the Stark family, my lady,” Otto interjects. “Where are Lord Stark and Lady Glover?”

“Back in Winterfell, Ser Hightower,” Lorra responds matter of factly. “I hope it is agreeable to you, but I have asked my mother and father to delay their arrival so that I am free to become acquainted with my betrothed without the pressures of formality.”

Aemond feels his throat run dry as she says this.

What precisely is she expecting of him?

Otto bristles slightly, clearing his throat. “Delay their arrival for how long?��

“Six months.”

Aemond’s mouth falls open, his chest tightening as Aegon titters quietly beside him, clearly finding the entire display amusing.

“That is most–” Otto begins, cut off as Alicent steps forward, taking Lorra’s hands in hers.

“That is most wonderful,” the Queen interrupts. “We look forward to meeting the rest of the Stark family when they arrive. We will be hosting a welcome feast for you this evening, in the meantime we’ll have you escorted to your chambers, so you can get settled. You must be weary after such a long journey.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Lorra smiles and Aemond watches as her delicate fingers intertwine with those of his mother’s. He wonders whether her hands would feel soft against his own, and quickly shakes his head as if to clear the thought from his mind.

It isn’t until the bustle of people filing out of the Great Hall breaks him from his reverie that Aemond realises they have not uttered a word to each other since her arrival. He watches her as she walks away, and as though his stare beckons her to him, she looks back over her shoulder at him, giving him the subtlest of winks. He immediately lowers his gaze, feeling his skin flush warmly.

She is unspeakably crass.

Aegon has not budged an inch from where he stands, a lecherous smirk plastered across his face as he eyes his younger brother with amusement.

“Fuck off,” Aemond hisses, striding away to return to his own quarters.

He is restless, opting to pace the length of the room instead of sitting; he finds each time he takes a seat he fidgets to the point that he irritates himself, standing once more and allowing his feet to carry him aimlessly.

Books cannot hold his concentration, every attempt to lose himself in a philosophical tome is fruitless, Lorra’s presence has unnerved him too much. Her looks, her voice, her self assuredness were all far beyond the realm of what he had imagined. It rattles him that she has foregone the presence of her mother and father, he does not understand what she expects of him, and the fact that she had had the audacity to wink at him as she walked from the Great Hall makes his pulse quicken in a way that no amount of deep breaths can calm.

Perhaps she simply means to torment him for her own amusement?

Later that evening, having been alerted by a page boy that supper is to be served, Aemond is slow to make his way down to the dining hall. He immediately regrets his hesitation upon taking in the seating arrangements.

Otto and Alicent sit at one side of the long, wooden table, with Aegon to Otto’s right at the head of it. Helaena sits on the opposite side, to Aegon’s right, with Lorra seated next to her. The only available chair remaining is at the opposing head, between his mother and Lorra. Unsurprisingly, Viserys is absent.

A group of musicians play softly in the corner, the sounds of vielle, harp, psaltery and flute carry a dulcet tune throughout the candlelit space, as serving staff place platters of steaming food and jugs of wine upon the table.

He pulls out the seat, keeping his eye fixed upon the tabletop, grimacing inwardly at the loud scrape of the legs against the flagstone floor. He can feel every set of eyes in the room upon him and he detests it, muttering a quiet thank you to Alicent as she places a slice of roasted venison upon his plate.

Aemond allows himself to glance at Lorra. Her dark curls are free of the braid she wore earlier, her hair framing her soft face, and falling almost to her elbows in soft waves. No longer wearing her travelling cloak, he can see that her figure is svelte, the lines of the grey and white brocade gown she wears hug her subtle curves and bare the pale flesh of her shoulders.

He feels his mouth run dry at the sight and lifts his goblet to his lips, eager for relief. The tart taste of Dornish red envelopes his tongue. His mother has made a big effort this evening; musicians, Dornish wine, roasted venison. It all seems ridiculously over the top to Aemond for something that is nothing more than a mere formality.

“Such lovely music,” Lorra comments, nodding towards the corner where it plays. She fixes Aemond with her big blue eyes. “Do you dance, My Prince?”

“No,” he replies simply, glancing her way as he sets his wine down upon the table. He does not trust himself to speak further, he fears the pounding of his heart in his chest will cause his voice to falter.

“Aemond can dance though,” Alicent says with a proud smile, leaning slightly forward to address Lorra. “Him, Aegon and Helaena all learned as children.”

“I love to dance,” Helaena tells Lorra dreamily, leaning her elbows on the table’s edge.

“Does Aegon ever dance with you?” Lorra asks, turning to look at her.

Helaena shakes her head. “No, he is usually in his cups, and he trips on my skirts.”

“Would you like to dance, Princess?”

His sister nods enthusiastically, taking Lorra’s hand as she offers it out, and once more Aemond feels envy rise acridly in his throat that yet another member of his family has experienced her touch before he has.

Both Alicent and Otto turn to look, as Lorra and Helaena move to the open space of the room, the music rising in volume as they begin to twirl and skip around each other. Aemond watches, transfixed at the bright smile upon Lorra’s face and the way that her hair fans out around her as she moves. Helaena’s eyes are lit up in a way he rarely sees, and he marvels that with such a simple gesture this stranger from the North has managed to make his sister seem happier than she has in a long time.

He reluctantly looks away as he notices Aegon stand, moving clumsily from his own seat and around the table, slumping heavily in the chair that Lorra had previously occupied.

“She is pretty, brother,” Aegon slurs with a slight smirk. “Do you know what to do with her?”

Aemond wrinkles his nose in disgust, his older sibling reeks of wine, the stench pungent in his nostrils. “Your breath could light a brazier.”

Aegon chuckles, plucking a fig from Lorra’s plate and biting into it. “I shall take that as a no,” he mumbles around a mouthful of fruit, “considering it is our sister she dances with, and not you.”

He scoffs, rolling his eye. “I have nothing to prove to her.”

“Then I don’t suppose you will mind if I dance with her too?” He raises his eyebrows, popping the rest of the fig in his mouth.

Annoyance prickles at Aemond’s skin and he narrows his eye as he looks at the mocking expression of his brother.

“That’s what I thought,” he grins, moving in his seat to face where Lorra and Helaena currently dance.

“Lorra!” Aegon calls out loudly across the table. “Your betrothed wishes to dance with you also.”

If proper decorum did not dictate otherwise, Aemond would throw himself out of his seat and throttle the life out of Aegon. Instead he stares at him, wide eyed with a mixture of horror and anger.

Lorra halts her movements, looking over her shoulder towards Aemond, before approaching where he sits. She is breathless, pale cheeks flushed, as she extends a hand to him.

He cannot possibly deny her now. Fucking Aegon.

He has never seen anyone appear so carefree, a marked difference to his unwavering stoicism, and he stares at her unblinking for a few moments before slowly reaching out to take her hand.

Her touch sends a ripple of warmth through his body from head to toe, and as he rises from his seat he worries he will stumble, utterly disarmed by the softness of her palm against his.

Helaena goes back to the table as Lorra and Aemond make their way to the space in which she had previously been dancing with her.

He swallows thickly, desperately trying to recall the steps he had learned as a child, feeling yet another surge of heat travel through him as Lorra raises her hand, placing her palm flat against his. Her hands are so much smaller and more delicate than his, he is certain that if he made a fist then his would cover hers entirely.

Lorra never once breaks eye contact, the ghost of a smile upon her lips as her and Aemond circle each other. He finds it is much like sparring, remembering where to place his feet, anticipating the movements of his opponent, though he does not possess the natural grace that she appears to have as she moves.

“You dance well,” Lorra murmurs, as they step in close to each other, “though you are stiff.”

“Dancing is not something I enjoy,” Aemond replies simply, eye raking over the way her hair tousles around her bare shoulders.

“Well, I am flattered you made an exception for me,” she says with a wry smile. “I look forward to finding out what you do enjoy.”

His lips part slightly, unsure of what to say. He cannot understand her interest in him. He had expected a meek, little thing, happy to endure the formalities of a political union, and instead he has been presented with an ethereal beauty intent on taunting him to the brink of madness.

Aemond feels as though he is in a daze for the rest of the meal, picking silently at his food, grateful for the fact that his family carry on the conversation so that he is not forced to participate. However, he finds his gaze is constantly drawn to Lorra, she fascinates and terrifies him in equal measure.

He breathes a sigh of relief when the evening finally draws to a close and he can retire to his bedchamber. Though, to his dismay, having left her physical presence behind, Aemond finds that Lorra is not so easily shifted from his thoughts. Her hair, her smile, the way she moves, all occupy his mind with alarming frequency. His fingers flex restlessly each time he recalls the feeling of her hand against his.

It is because she is different, he reasons, I just need to get used to her and then she will not haunt my thoughts quite so often.

The next day, Aemond shuts himself away in the library. He is certain that the fuss from yesterday was simply because it was Lorra’s first day within the Keep. Now they will be free to pursue their own interests outside of each other, and any time spent together will be arranged by either his mother or grandsire, with a chaperone present.

He takes down a large book on the history of Old Valyria from one of the shelves. Aemond has read it countless times before, and he seeks comfort within its familiar pages as he seats himself at a reading table. The words he knows by heart provide welcome refuge against the tug of uncertainty he has been thrust against.

The door creaking open startles him, the library is a space in which he is rarely bothered. No one but him and the Keep’s maesters ever set foot in here.

His heart lurches as he sees Lorra enter silently. A satin gown that matches the blue of the cloak she arrived in the previous day serves to illuminate her irises, making them shine in the low lighting of the dimly lit space. Her ebony hair is braided once more, falling across one shoulder.

Aemond wets his lips, gripping the pages of his book tightly. “Are you lost?”

She chuckles quietly, taking in his shocked expression. “Exactly where I mean to be. I was told I would find you here.”

He leans against the back of his chair, regarding her with silent suspicion as she moves towards him, taking the seat next to his.

“Fret not,” she tells him with an amused smile, “Ser Cole is outside the door, if you are worried I mean for you to have me against the bookcases.”

His eye widens at this, heat licking up his spine in a way that makes him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

How can she be so coarse and not feel the slightest shame for it?

“So, what are you reading?”

He clears his throat, his focus returning to the book. “A history of Old Valyria, nothing that you would find interesting.”

“On the contrary, it is my duty to learn of the ancestral history of my betrothed, it is what we will teach our children. Do you not wish to learn the history of House Stark?”

“I know the history of House Stark.”

“Then we could share our learnings.”

“There is no need.”

“Why not?”

“We did not choose this.”

Lorra sighs. “We did not, and yet I see no reason why we cannot make the best of it. I want to know my husband.”

Aemond looks up at her, his expression hardening. “I study history and philosophy, I train with the sword, I ride the largest dragon in the world. There is nothing else to know.”

She lowers her gaze, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap momentarily, before turning her attention back to him. “And they say Northerners have an icy demeanour…I intend to thaw you out eventually.”

She rises from her seat, sweeping silently out of the library, and leaving Aemond alone to stare after her. Suddenly, his historical tome is of little interest to him.

Aemond does not see her again until suppertime, though she crosses his mind often, and he is resentful of the twinge of disappointment that burrows its way into his chest at the dinner table when she opts to converse with his mother and sister instead of him.

It does not escape his notice, however, that all of the dishes she passes to him throughout the meal are his favourites; sturgeon cooked in parsley and vinegar and covered with powdered ginger, and rabbit stuffed with minced loin of veal. She had clearly been watching what he had eaten the previous evening.

He feels slightly embarrassed to realise he has no idea what she enjoys eating, keeping silent as he watches her carefully. She seems to enjoy the plums stewed in rosewater, and she helps herself to a slice of game pie, his lips quirking in mild amusement as he sees her pick away the pastry, leaving it to one side as she eats the filling. It unnerves him a little, he has never wished to know the intricacies of anyone before, and yet here he sits attempting to commit to memory the culinary likes and dislikes of a woman he barely knows.

She makes no further attempts to speak to him that day, and he retires for the evening believing that she finally shares his view that they need not interfere in each other’s affairs.

That is until the following morning. His boots crunch against the gravel of the training yard as he spins his sword in his hand, slowly circling to keep Ser Criston Cole in his line of sight as the Queen’s sworn protector wields his morningstar. He is about to surge forward, when he spots Lorra making her way towards the spread of weapons that are laid out on the bench.

She is dressed in form fitting grey trousers with a matching jerkin, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. She is picking up each of the smaller blades, inspecting them in turn as he approaches, nostrils flared in annoyance and patience thin.

“What are you doing?” He asks coldly, frowning down at her as she rights herself, looking up at him impassively.

“Choosing a blade,” she says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I have not been able to spar since I left Winterfell.”

Aemond scoffs at this. “But you are a woman.”

His mother and sister never set foot in the training yard. He has never seen a woman spar before, the very idea seems ridiculous to him. In his opinion, the last of the female warriors died with Visenya Targaryen.

“An astute observation,” Lorra smirks, cocking her head. “My father ensured I was trained to fight as well as he and my brother, Cregan, can. Women of the North know how to defend themselves.”

“Cole, are you going to allow this?” Aemond demands, turning as the knight walks over to them both.

“You say you have trained before, My Lady?” Criston enquires.

Lorra nods. “I can fight with a sword and shield. I also hunt, fish and ride on horseback. My father has given me every advantage afforded to my brother.”

“Well then, My Prince, I suppose there is your answer,” Criston says with a slight shrug, stepping away.

“Perhaps my betrothed will train with me?” Lorra asks, picking up a sword and testing the weight of it.

“Absolutely not,” he replies coldly. “There is no honour in fighting a woman.”

“Are you craven?” She asks with a mock pout. “Afraid you will lose?”

Aemond’s brow furrows, eye narrowing as he exhales heavily through his nose in irritation. “Fine.”

He stomps to the centre of the training yard, turning as Lorra takes up a fighting stance, feet planted shoulder width and blade raised in a defensive position.

She easily dodges him, sidestepping him as he strikes forward with his own sword and rounds on him as she delivers a blow of her own, a dull thud against his bicep that makes him wince in pain and growl in frustration.

“Not bad for a woman after all, eh?” She taunts, jutting out her chin defiantly.

Aemond snarls, his sword clashing against her own as he pushes her backwards. “Why must you torment me so?” He hisses. “Is this a game to you?”

“I simply wish to spend time with my future husband,” she breathes heavily, “what is so terribly wrong with that?”

She winces, yelping in pain as he delivers a particularly hard whack to her outer thigh, and she falls backwards. He holds the point of his sword to her throat, as she stares up at him, wide eyed and panting.

“You are to be my wife,” he hisses, “not my friend, not my companion, learn the fucking difference.”

The metallic sound of armour rings out across the courtyard as Criston rushes over, pushing Aemond back by his shoulder, away from Lorra. She scrambles to her feet, gasping for breath, dropping her sword and hurrying away.

Aemond watches after her, the adrenaline of his anger slowly subsiding as guilt blooms heavily within him.

“You took that too far, My Prince,” Criston says sternly, his grip on Aemond’s shoulder still firm.

“She angered me,” he mutters quietly, still staring after Lorra, though she has long since disappeared from view.

“Every woman is created in the image of the Mother,” the knight tells him, “we must treat them as such.”

Aemond sneers, shrugging off Criston and stalking back towards the Keep.

Having returned to his chambers to bathe and change his clothing, Aemond is unsurprised when later that afternoon he is summoned to his grandsire’s study. He is anticipating a scolding for what had happened in the training yard earlier.

Otto sighs wearily as Aemond enters the study, leaning back in his chair and regarding his grandson through hooded eyes.

“What happened earlier was an appalling display, stupid boy. You will apologise.”

“I suppose she has told you everything?” Aemond responds wearily.

“No, actually,” he says, folding his hands in front of him upon the desk. “Your mother did, and she heard it from Ser Cole.”

Aemond is surprised by this, his eyebrows raising slightly as he realises Lorra had not rushed to tell of his misdeeds.

“I appreciate that you did not ask for this, Aemond, but it is important that we build an alliance with House Stark, for the good of Aegon’s succession. Apologise to Lorra. You must learn to get along with the girl, or…”

“Or what?”

“Or Lord Baratheon has four eligible daughters, and we can begin the process all over again.”

Aemond balks at this, the prospect of having to welcome someone new into his life and endure the formalities of courtship all over again causes dread to gnaw at his stomach. But also, in the very recesses of his mind there is a part of him that knows he does not want anyone that is not Lorra Stark.

As he leaves Otto’s study, he is certain he hears the rustle of clothing and hurried footsteps, yet when he peers further down the corridor, he sees no one.

At dinner that evening, Lorra is subdued, not speaking to anyone at the table. Aemond stares at her regretfully, saddened by the loss of the simple gesture of her passing him dishes of the food she knows he enjoys, and is struck by an idea of his own.

He reaches for a slice of game pie, sliding it onto his plate, and with a knife he carefully cuts the pastry from the top and the bottom, before pushing the filling onto a side plate. He passes it to Lorra and she looks up at him, wide eyed, taking it from him hesitantly.

“You noticed.”

“I may have lost an eye, but the one that remains does not miss much. However, I allowed my pride to blind me in the training yard earlier. I hope you will forgive me.”

*I shall think about it,” she says with a grin.

He feels the faintest tug of his own smile pulling at his lips in return, his heart feeling lighter than it has all day.

Over the next two months, Lorra and Aemond spend more time together. Afternoons are whiled away in the library, they either read silently side by side - Aemond preferring historical accounts and philosophical studies, while she opts for tales from the Age of Heroes - or they share stories of their lineages. Lorra recounts her own knowledge of direwolves and wildlings beyond the Wall, while Aemond tells her all about Aegon the Conqueror and how the first dragons came to be.

In the training yard, Aemond continues to spar with Criston, and Lorra is appointed a squire to train with. Though the two never cross blades again, Aemond often finds his gaze drawn to her, impressed by the fluidity of her movements and the ferocity with which she fights.

Lorra is a welcome addition to the Red Keep, she converses easily with all of the family at mealtimes, and they all seem fond of her. On the rare occasions that Viserys can be roused from his sick bed to the table, she is even able to draw a laugh from him, despite his lack of lucidity.

As Aemond and Lorra grow closer, his inner conflict grows with it. He has never had a friend before, let alone anyone he feels affection for. He has grown accustomed to a life of solitude, simply slotting another person into his daily routine proves difficult enough, when it is accompanied by a longing to reach out to her and hold her hand, or stroke his fingers through the lustrousness of her hair, he does not know what to with this. So he resists, ignoring the restlessness of his hands and the quickening of his pulse each time she is near.

He has never craved physical or sexual intimacy before, both times he had endured it he had found no joy in it, so he cannot understand why Lorra evokes such desires within him.

Over time, he finds that simply avoiding her alleviates his burden, and so his flights on Vhagar become ever more frequent. Up in the skies is the only place that she cannot follow, and when he is on dragonback he is given a momentary respite from the war that rages inside of him, a clash between the comfort of seclusion, and the desire for her to be close to him.

Late afternoon bleeds into early evening, the sky a tapestry of dusky orange and pink as Aemond lands Vhagar on the outer edge of the Godswood. He dismounts, stunned to see that Lorra is patiently waiting for him, her cerulean cloak with white fur trim clutched tightly around her as she stands by a large elm tree.

“So, this is the mighty Vhagar,” she says softly, no trace of fear in her tone as she marvels at the great beast that rumbles cantankerously, mere feet away, as Aemond approaches her.

“You should not be here,” Aemond tells her, “dragons are not playthings for those unused to them.”

“But you have yet to introduce me, and she clearly means a lot to you. I would like to meet her.”

He hesitates. His dragon is the only remaining barrier he has between himself and Lorra, if he breaks that down then there is no more escaping her, and he will be forced to deal with whatever the consequences of that may be.

“No.”

“Why do you avoid me?”

“I do not.”

“You do. You were not in the library this morning, you missed training yesterday. More often than not you go where I cannot follow. I do not understand why.”

Aemond sighs, averting his gaze. “I–I cannot give you what you want.”

Lorra’s brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean? We have been getting along well.”

He shakes his head. “I am not built for companionship. I would only disappoint you. I can be your husband in name, but I cannot be your lover.”

“Do you not even wish to try?” She asks pleadingly.

More than I have ever wanted anything.

He says nothing, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Every fibre of his being burns with the urge to pull her close and press his lips to hers, but uncertainty holds him back.

“Let me visit you in your chambers tonight, let us see if you really cannot play the part of a husband in anything more than name. If that turns out to be the case then I promise we shall never speak of it again. Do you agree?”

Aemond draws in a shuddering breath, icy tendrils of fear wrap themselves around his heart, while excitement flutters urgently in his lower abdomen. “Yes,” he utters simply.

Lorra nods, turning and walking back towards the Red Keep, leaving him alone in the Godswood.

Aemond anxiously awaits the knock at his door that evening, and even though he expects it, he still feels his heart skip a beat when he hears the soft tap of her knuckles against the wood.

His mouth runs dry at the sight of her, she is wrapped in a quilted robe, which she sheds upon crossing the threshold leaving her in just a thin cotton nightgown.

Once more, Aemond is stunned by how forthright Lorra is as she perches on the edge of his bed. He hovers nervously in the middle of the room, not quite knowing what to do with himself.

“I am no longer a maiden,” she tells him honestly, “I feel that is something you deserve to know ahead of our nuptials, and I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”

Aemond swallows thickly, opening his mouth before quickly closing it again when he realises he does not know what to say.

“I was on a hunt with my father and my brother. I allowed a squire to sully my virtue, believing it to be true love,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “As it turns out he was just eager to get beneath the skirts of a nobleman’s daughter.”

Anger prickles beneath Aemond’s skin, the very thought of someone using her in such a manner is almost more than he can stand. He will wring that pathetic excuse of a man’s neck if he ever gets his hands upon him.

“I am sorry that happened to you,” he utters, “you did not deserve that.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “It matters not. So, tell me, what of your experience?”

Aemond sucks in a breath, moving slowly to sit beside her on the mattress, keeping a respectable distance, as he contemplates what and how to tell her.

“It was my thirteenth name day, and Aegon decided that the appropriate gift would be to take me to a brothel.”

Lorra nods, keeping quiet and allowing for him to continue.

“It was not an enjoyable experience for me. Truthfully, I was disgusted by it, and for a long time I never entertained the notion of being intimate with anyone again.”

“Until when?”

“Until I was told I was to be betrothed to you.”

“So what did you do?”

“I did not want to be inexperienced for my wife, I wanted to see if I could derive enjoyment from coupling with a woman after all, so as not to embarrass you or myself. I took a maidservant.”

“And how did you find that?”

“It was…better than my experience in the brothel, but beyond the physical sensations, I felt nothing. It was humiliating to have to see her after that. I made sure she drank moon tea and then had my mother move her to kitchen duties, so I would not have to see her again.”

Lorra nods in understanding. “So, we have both been unlucky. Have you considered that perhaps it is not the act itself that is unenjoyable, more so the person you are doing it with?”

“What do you mean?”

“If there is no emotional connection between you and the person you are intimate with then there is little joy to be found in the act. You are merely two bodies rubbing against each other.”

“I have never experienced an emotional connection with anyone before, so I would not know.”

“Not even with me?”

Yes, with you. Only with you.

The words stick in Aemond’s throat, unable to express how he feels. He cannot allow himself such vulnerability.

“Can I kiss you?” She asks, shifting closer.

Deciding to act, before he can change his mind, Aemond leans in, pressing his lips to hers. Lorra leads the movements, clearly the more experienced of the two - he has never kissed anyone before. Her lips are soft against his, yet press with a firmness that coaxes him to mimic her gestures.

He buries his hands in her hair, finally feeling its silkiness between his fingers as he pulls her closer. The stickiness of their saliva as they deepen the kiss, her tongue licking against his, makes his cock ache painfully hard in his breeches.

Lorra moves to straddle his lap, and Aemond’s hands wander from her hair, down the smoothness of her skin, his grip gentle yet filled with desperate want.

It is as if something finally clicks into place for him as she presses herself against him, the delicate scent of rosemary and lavender that clings to her flesh makes him feel lightheaded. This is what Aegon had been talking about. He wants nothing more than to throw her down upon the bed, and tear her nightdress from her.

Yet as she pulls back, breathless, glassy eyed and glossy lipped, he feels the same awe he had felt the first time he had looked into the fiery jaws of Vhagar. Only this time, it is not the white hot intensity of the Seven Hells that he sees reflected back, it is the vision of the Maiden herself. He has never seen a sight more beautiful.

His reverence of her quickly causes him to freeze, he is unworthy, does not know what to do with someone he feels so strongly for, and it morphs into terror. This time, instead of claiming his prize he pulls away from it.

“I–I cannot. I am sorry,” he whispers, pushing her gently from him and moving to stand.

She sighs softly, her head bowed dejectedly as she brushes past him to gather up her robe and wrap it back around herself.

“Well, I suppose that is that then,” she says. Her voice sounds so sad, so weak, that it causes a lump to form in Aemond’s throat. He detests that he has made her feel this way.

“As agreed in the Godswood, we shall speak of this no further,” she continues, fiddling with the ties around her waist.

“So our marriage will be a mere formality?” Aemond asks in a hushed tone.

Lorra shakes her head sadly, finally looking up at him, eyes wet with unshed tears. “There will be no marriage at all.

It feels as though Aemond’s heart drops into his stomach as he stares at her, the lump in his throat seeming as though it means to suffocate him. “Why?” Is all he is able to rasp out.

“I have never wanted a marriage that is for mere political alliance. I want someone who loves me, who desires me. That is why I asked my mother and father to delay their arrival, so I could see for myself if you were someone I could fall in love with.”

Aemond’s eyebrows pinch together, ripples of pain reverberating in his chest, and yet he stays silent, allowing her to say her piece.

“The sad fact is that in these last few months I have fallen in love with you, but I do not think you will ever love me back. I am sorry, Aemond, but I cannot marry you. Tomorrow I shall return to Winterfell, and perhaps you will have better luck with one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters.”

Those final few words strike Aemond like a hammer blow. She had heard.

He watches sorrowfully as she turns and leaves his chambers. He is desperate to call out after her.

Please do not go.

Do not leave me.

I do not want a Baratheon girl.

I want you.

Instead he says nothing, frozen to the spot and cripplied by grief as one of the only things he has ever truly wanted walks out of his life, knowing he only has himself to blame.

Aemond stays shut away in his chambers when Lorra departs the next morning, unable to bear the sight of her leaving the Red Keep and him forever. He keeps the curtains closed, sitting in darkness, not having slept, thinking of all the things he should and could have said and done differently. But it is too late now, and Lorra is better off without him.

It is nearing early afternoon when Alicent knocks softly at the door, allowing herself in without awaiting an answer. Her big, brown eyes are filled with sadness as she stares down at Aemond as he sits there. It reminds him of how she used to look at him as he would sit by the fireplace as a child, trying to hatch his egg.

She rounds his chair, standing behind him and places her hands tenderly upon his shoulders. Aemond reaches up a hand, gently grasping her fingers with his own.

“Oh, my dearest love, I am so sorry,” she whispers sadly.

They remain in silence for a few moments, before Aemond finally speaks. “Will you ask Grandsire to wait before sending a raven to Lord Baratheon? I–I am not ready. Not yet.”

Alicent’s fingers squeeze gently around his own in a comforting gesture. “Of course. I will not allow him to rush you.”

He breathes a quiet sigh of relief, though he feels no amount of time in the world will make him feel ready.

Over the next week, Aemond attempts to return to life as normal, though it feels empty and colourless without Lorra.

As he reads in the library, the empty space beside him seems almost ominous with its lack of her presence. He takes to reading tales from the Age of Heroes as a means to feel that she is still there.

In the training yard, his eye wanders every so often to the space where she used to spar, a wave of melancholy washing over him each time he looks to find that she is no longer there. He wonders who she will train with once she is back in Winterfell.

One night at dinner, he catches himself absentmindedly cutting the crust from his pie, a sigh of frustration leaving him as he agitatedly pushes the plate away.

He hates this. Aemond is comfortable in solitude, he always has been, yet now it feels too vast, too lonely. The empty space is haunted by the memory of Lorra, creating an ache and a longing within him that he has never experienced before.

The hour grows late as Alicent, Otto and Helaena depart the dining hall. Aemond is about to rise to return to his own quarters when Aegon holds up a hand, halting him.

“Stay a while,” he says, moving into the chair next to Aemond’s. “There is still wine in this jug, let us see it off.”

“I think you are sufficiently in your cups enough for us both, brother,” Aemond says with a sigh.

“Anything to help cope with how you have been skulking around the Keep this past week,” Aegon replies, splashing the table with red wine as he fills both their cups messily.

“I have not been skulking,” Aemond says petulantly, taking a sip of his wine.

“You have,” Aegon tells him, gulping from his own cup. “If you are this saddened by Lorra’s departure then why did you allow her to leave?”

Aemond sighs. “Because…because I cannot give her what she desires in a husband. My only examples of what marriage really looks like is what I have seen of mother and father, and you and Helaena.”

“That is exactly why you should strive to give her what she desires. Those are poor examples to set the basis of a marriage upon.”

“And how would you know?”

“Do you know what I know? I know that you have made yourself at home in a lifetime of misery and isolation, so much so that the very idea of happiness frightens you.” Aegon titters as he takes in Aemond’s annoyed expression. “Can you believe it? Aemond Targaryen, the boy who claimed the world’s largest dragon at the age of ten is afraid of happiness.”

“I am not afraid,” Aemond glowers.

“Then what is it? Because it seems ironic to me that you have spent your entire life coveting what I have and resenting me for not wanting it, and then when you find yourself in a position that I so desperately want for myself you do not want it either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Love, Aemond. The love of a good woman. I had that once, and due to my own cowardice it slipped away from me.”

“You were in love?”

Aegon nods, drinking deeply again. “There was a reason I used to frequent that one particular brothel. There was a woman there that I loved, and she loved me.”

“She loved the golden dragon you paid her each time she let you rut atop her like an animal.”

“No, it was not that,” Aegon shakes his head. “I wanted to marry her, she was with child. But when mother and grandsire found out they had her taken away from King’s Landing. I never found out what became of her, or the child she was carrying.”

“I had no idea.”

Aegon scoffs. “You would not. Mother did a thorough job of ensuring no one ever found out. But my point is, I was a craven, I should have boarded a ship to Essos the moment I became aware of her condition. I would be rid of a life I hate and free to be with the woman I love. Do not let your own cowardice deprive you of happiness. Goodness knows you have enough reasons to be a miserable twat as it is.”

Aegon claps Aemond on the shoulder as he rises from his seat, taking both his cup and the jug with him as he staggers away from the dining hall.

Aemond sits at the table a while longer in silence, contemplating his brother’s words. He is shocked at what Aegon has divulged, yet there are rare pearls of wisdom to be found in what he has said. He is right, Aemond does want Lorra, and it is time he casts aside his pride and apprehension to ensure she knows this.

He goes back to his quarters that night, with a plan in mind. Sitting at his writing desk, Aemond places quill to parchment and begins to write.

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undercoverpena · 1 year

Text

iii - just say that you need me

javier peña x f!reader | chapter three of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. an: the amount of people who look forward to tuesday's makes me grin. for those who are new, i don't have a tag list. wordcount: 2.6k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

You should say yes more.

to you or to my pop

To your pop. I know you wouldn’t say no to me.

you sure about that

I’d bet my next paycheck on it.

for you I’ll say yes to him once

Good. Now we have that out the way answer what the worst date you’ve ever been on was

shit. going with the hard hitting questions today

Just getting you to share, open up

probably when I first came back from colombia someone from my town where I live

They a bad host, bad dinner guest? Gimme more Javi cmon. You said you’d entertain me.

baby, im trying to entertain you but you told me to stop

I said stop flirting while I’m eating and answer the question

she wouldn’t stop asking me for details on escobar

Ah. Yeah I can see how discussing that would be a mood killer.

yeah didn’t wanna go in the first place either

So if we ever meet, do not ask about your Colombian experience. Got it.

you can ask, doesn’t mean I’d tell you

Ha! Good to know. I wouldn’t though. If you wanna tell me, I think you will.

thanks, what’s yours?

Well I was stood up when we first began texting. Think that’s pretty bad, enough.

he’s an idiot because only an idiot would stand you up

You haven’t seen me, remember

statement still stands

Stop being so charming.

you still eating

No.

then I can flirt

Most of the time, he ignores the mail.

Lets it pile up on the entryway dresser until his pop makes another reference to it. Unlike his pop, he is never in a rush to open them, knowing no good comes from the contents inside.

The same people contact him. The bureau being one. Sipping his coffee as he glares at the usual federal sign on the envelope, wondering how many more times they’ll try asking him to come in for a chat.

This afternoon, though, the envelope isn’t brilliant white, but rather off-cream.

Peeling a bit, thumb digging in as he drags it across, the ripping sound filling the small space. It’s only as he opens it does he realise who it’s from.

His eyes stare at the letter, taking in the number—the one in triple digits with his phone provider logo in the top corner. The number which is making him feel sick, the more he stares at it over and over again.

“Fuck.”

Folding it, he swallows.

Shit.

Motherfucker.

He stuffs it away, tucks it under magazines and other leaflets, as though by keeping it out of sight, it’ll go away.

But it's there.

The edge of it sticking out. He even blinks, and the number is there, tattooed on the back of his eyes. Taunting him—the price of speaking to you.

It's not that Javi can't afford it. He’s had a chunk of money sitting, gaining dust, in his account since he came home. Only able to force portions on his pop as and when he felt he could get away with it.

But this was a lot. More than he’d bargained on, more than he even knew he could spend simply by replying to someone.

There's a chance your day won't be done just yet—his day beginning far earlier than yours even began—but he pulls his phone out, fingers pressing into the keys.

so apparently talking to you is costly Oh, you've had your bill. I feel I should ask whether I'm worth it?

It’s instant—the way you make the nauseous feeling vanish. How you force it to slide back to where it came from, and in its place, warmth spreads. All accompanied by a smile on his lips.

He doesn’t want to show his hand too much. Better at concealing, playing the long game when standing face to face.

This requires a skill he hasn't yet gained. Simply focusing on not sounding ridiculous, or over the top. Unnecessary. Like some of the desperate men, he's happened to arrest over the years.

Even if his chest flutters and his mind screams, of course. Wants to ask, isn't it obvious? But he chooses something easier, uncomplicated.

yes just didn’t expect it I had my phone bill the other day. I get it. did your heart fall out your ass No. But I will be eating ramen for the next month. We can stop texting so much though, if it’s costing too much. would rather my bill be double than stop talking to you You’re such a flirt.

He drains the rest of his mug, leaning back in the chair—hearing the sound of approaching boots from his Pop’s side of the house. Fingers typing, all hurried and determined

Don’t forget I’m out for drinks and a movie. I remember don’t worry

He remembers as soon as you remind him.

Realising it's the reason you're able to reply right now. You’d been telling him almost every night for the past week. All worried, as though hating the idea of breaking the nightly tradition the two of you have concocted.

In a way, Javi should have assumed the bill would be high with the number of texts the two of you have been sending. How frequent it’s been—how nice it’s been.

Nice things do usually come with a tag.

you decided on sweet or salty Verdict is still out. You sure about waiting to do the crossword? if we don’t do it tonight, we’ll do two the next day You sure? more than sure have a great time

“Y’sure you don’t fancy coming with me, Jav?”

He thinks of it, tapping his phone against his palm as he thinks of your text the other night. The one about him trying to say yes—something curling in his chest as he realises he’ll be alone, alone if he doesn’t.

A sentiment he didn’t mind on paper, but now confronted with, rather despised.

“Alright, yeah. Can—can I get changed?”

Mid-grabbing his own jacket, his Pop turns, surprise knitted into his wiry brows. “Y-yeah, sure, I’ll….”

“I’ll meet you at the truck?”

And he does. All without complaint. Plaid shirt on, a smile being forced as soon as the truck pulls off the drive. He doesn't even complain about the radio choice or the fact his Pop always takes the main roads when he could cut down the dusty roads.

When he arrives, he doesn’t mind how many hands he shakes, one after the next. He tries not to grit his teeth as each person says the usual things, they’re proud, he’s grown, when is he settling down? Each time he laughs it off. Spanish rolling from his tongue as he smiles and winks.

It’s performative.

The old version of him coming out from a hidden place.

Always there, ready, as his hand shakes another person's hand—one he’s already forgotten the name of. Someone he’s sure he’s met before, too.

It always happens. The small-town boy who took down drug cartels has become somewhat of a celebrity tale. A thing to gawk at when he visits the store. Chucho's boy who ran away to Colombia and now hides away on the ranch.

For the amount of time it's been, he'd foolishly expected it to die down—but it hasn't. Not enough, anyway.

After enough time, he excuses himself, sneaking down the corridor near the bathroom. Leaning against the wall, fingers trying to rub out a knot that hasn’t yet appeared in his skull. The one pulsing, threatening to build behind his eye.

He’s unsure what he wants to do, what he needs. Retrieving his phone, just clicking around, before finding himself on your texts—feeling better for it.

Reading them back, smirking at some, smiling wide at others. A shape forming in his head, little details he’d amassed to make up you. A person he was pretty sure meant more to him than evening company, but it seemed tricky to delve too far into it.

That is until his phone vibrated.

Just wanted to tell you I miss you. Even if that’s weird.

His fingers hover over the keys, a retort quick—there in his touch.

Slowly he presses it out, hearing the click even over the bar’s music as he double and triple taps each button he wants, until it forms what it is he thought:

not weird, you drunk I’m tipsy, not drunk. Still mean it. good cause i miss you too

you never said how the movie was

As someone who flies a lot, I shouldn’t have watched it.

that bad

Will probably have to hold the hand of my seat mate the next time work makes me fly.

I’m sure they won’t mind

Depends on the length of my nails I guess.

some people don’t mind nails clawing in certain situations

You trying to tell me you like nails down your back, Javi?

if the situation is right, yes

What about in your hair?

now who’s being a tease

I’m learning so much tonight.

and your putting images in my head

I’d love to know what I look like in it, since you haven’t seen me.

beautiful, you look beautiful

My face is burning.

your day been ok

Yeah, was fine. Work has been rough.

you want to talk about it

Not really, it’s stupid anyway. Plus, would rather do the crosswords and hang with you.

you do have two to make up to me

Best get giving me the clues then, Javi.

four letters, begins with f

Is this a Javi crossword or a real crossword

baby, cmon

Fuck?

fork

someone’s in a dirty mood

You’re such a dick. Give me a real clue.

There's not a point in time where he can track how his thoughts went from nothing to you. But, he thinks about you all the time.

Has been doing so constantly for the last two days, at least—the occasional vibrations from his phone making his lips twitch and his mind wander. Javi’s brain exploding with wonder at what your reply could say.

Sometimes, he tries not to check immediately. Test—see—how long he can go before he does. It’s not been going well.

An excitement dashing through his veins that fills his chest, warms his neck and makes a ridiculous grin appear (one he’s caught accidentally in the mirror).

The back and forth has been quicker—for as costly as it was—outside of routines and work. His fingers have even improved in the speed of tapping the same key to get one single letter.

Each text makes him feel like he learns a new nugget about you, gathering a new piece of the puzzle—an idea of you forming in front of his eyes. One he likes—craves more of—wishing for other tidbits similar to how you like coffee after breakfast, not before.

That you don’t care for birthday cake, but love cookies.

morning hermosa hope you managed to grab the coffee

He doesn’t expect to hear from you.

Remembering that your time management in the morning isn’t to be admired. You are someone who is either awake too early or too late—never in the middle.

But, when he finishes. Sweat clinging to every muscle, he’s surprised to find nothing.

Even a little disappointed.

finished up for the day, unsure whether to lounge around on the porch or push the boat out and lounge in the barn

You’ve become such a part of his day, his shoulders sink when he steps out of the shower to see nothing.

His heart slips down inside his chest, resting unsteadily on his ribs as he checks and checks. His fingers fluff his hair as he runs his fingers through it before finding a strand, twisting, and twisting.

I’m probably worrying about nothing but just let me know you’re ok

A part of him had worried this would happen.

That he would allow the attachment to grow—ropes and threads wrapping around him—and it would be taken from under his feet.

He has a history of becoming hooked—usually combining itself with his need to help, to make someone’s day better, easier.

And on paper, he knew it was odd. To care for someone he hadn’t ever even met. But he cares all the same.

Copious amounts, in fact.

Far past an, ‘I miss you’—something else entirely, not that he’d admit as much.

hermosa I’m really getting worried now

He doesn’t want to call.

Doesn’t want to invade your privacy, your space. But it’s knotting inside of him. The things he’s seen, rushing to the surface, pecking away, making him overthink.

His mind conjures ideas that you’re hurt, wounded. That you’re crying, alone. Each flash of his past has the curated blob-of-a-face he’s created for you, written over it.

His fingers twitch, hand moving to his pocket before remembering there are no cigarettes to be found there. He quit. Ages ago. Felt better for it—for the most part—until now.

Now when all he wants is to focus on the taste, the way smoke swirls with the warm Texas air—

Hey, I'm so sorry, I had a bad day. Just didn’t check my phone. shit hermosa, you scared me. almost called you. Really? yeah Would you? what call you Yeah?

[Dialing number…]

you declined I did

His heart sinks, crashes, and plummets.

Then a new vibration, one that travels down his fingers to his wrist, suddenly staring at an instruction: Give me your landline number, be cheaper. For both of us.

Glancing into the living room, he taps the number in for you. Hating each precious second he wastes by having to delete a letter that should be a number.

Pushing the chair back, hearing it screech as he hovers. Nervousness thumps through him, making him shake, vibrate.

Staring, willing the phone to ring.

Even as he tries to collect himself, his mind has already begun running away from him. Hearing his pulse thump in his ear, thump, thump—

And then it’s ringing—you’re ringing.

His voice shouts out he’ll get it as he picks up the phone from the hook.

“Javi… that you?”

Grinning, he laughs, light and airy. “Hi. Yeah, it’s me.”

Silence blankets his ears and the air, thumb circling a knot in his forehead.

Smiling, he changes the phone to his other ear. “Knew you’d sound pretty. You have a nice voice.”

“Shut up, Javi. I’ve said three words.”

“And a few more.”

He hears you suck in a breath as heat rushes to his ears, feeling the edges of his lips curl into a smile.

“You wanna talk about it or talk about something else?”

He hears you take a breath another breath. Different this time, all accompanied by a shuffling sound from your end.

“Something else. If that… that’s okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Alright, lemme… lemme think for a second—“

You clear your throat, “You have a nice voice, too, by the way.”

Pausing, he bites the inside of his cheek. “Like you imagined?”

“Better, honestly.”

“I could have called you. I have this additional thing on our plan—so my Pop could call. When I was away.”

“From when you were in Colombia?”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he nodded. “Yeah…”

“Well, if this conversation goes well, you may get a new number to add to your phone book.”

“That so? Who’s flirting now.”

You laugh, sweet—fluttering its gorgeous wings down the phone to his ear as he readjusts the phone.

Dropping his voice, he turns more to the walls. “So, what you wearing, baby?”

“Oh my god, Javi.”

He doesn’t even mute his laughter, just lets it flow from him—rushing through the house. Not even caring if his Pop can hear him in the next room.

"I'm wearing nothing."

"Hermosa, you tease."

You laugh, and it's different. It's rich, and makes the room glow around him, without you even being here.

"I'm not really, I'm in a baggy t-shirt."

"Not as sexy, but I'm sure I can work with it."

You snort, "Javi, stop."

He wonders if your cheeks are warm. He hopes they are.

Leaning against the wall, he smirks, if only to himself. "I like how you say my name, Hermosa."

an: thank you so much for all being wonderful, i heart you

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irisintheafterglow · 11 months

Text

End Game (volleyball captain!gojo x you)

summary: the captain of the boys' volleyball team has only one victory on his mind, and it isn't Nationals.

word count: 1.4k

cw/tags: mild language, jjk volleyball au, mostly just crack

note: hiiii so i think this will be the first of a series of drabbles about volleyball captain satoru because he's just mmmm. i don't really wanna call it a chaptered series just yet because i'm still working on plot or whatever, so i think for now it'll just be drabbles within the volleyball au itself. hope you like it!

likes/reblogs/feedback are always appreciated <3

He was infuriating, to say the least.

The way he walked around with his long, lanky limbs, flashing a grin that could only be found on a pompous asshole; the way he winked a mesmerizing blue eye at any girls passing by, mouthing call me over his shoulder; the way he knew he was hot and that’s how he could get away with being such a prick; and you had to deal with all of it, five days a week, over six months for the past three years.

“Do they ever end up calling you?” You ask him one day as you walk together to the gym. His bright white hair glints in the afternoon sun as he strolls beside you, sipping a fruity soda he’d nabbed before he found you. Ever since you were first-years, at the end of the school day, he always ended up coming to your last class to bother you, much to the entertainment of your classmates.

“Your boyfriend’s here,” they teased, sticking out their tongues as his face appeared in the doorway. They swooned when he gave them a polite nod, whispering among themselves while you slung your bag over your shoulder. “Have fun, you two,” they sang, exclaiming how beautiful your children would be when you were out of earshot. It made you cringe, your mouth curling in disgust. Satoru was your friend, yes, but imagining a relationship with him was a line you never dared to cross.

It became routine after you became a manager for the boys' volleyball team during your second year, Satoru coming to annoy you as you walked to the gym to open it for practice. Sometimes, before he met you at your classroom, he’d hurry to the vending machines and grab some sugary drinks, which you reluctantly accepted as you told him it wasn’t healthy for him to consume so much sugar before practice. You weren’t sure how he always managed to figure out where your last class was; you had a theory that Shoko was secretly supplying him with your schedule. With both of you in your third year, you came to expect the melodic call of your name down the hallway when the bell rang.

“Who?”

“Those girls that you wink at and tell them to call you. Do they actually contact you?” He glances down at you with a look you can’t read and shrugs indifferently.

“Nah. It’s more fun to flirt,” he drawls, tilting his head to the side with a lopsided grin and taking another sip of his soda.

You laugh in disbelief. In all the years that you’d known Satoru, you knew that he’d never had a girlfriend. It wasn’t like he couldn’t get one; he had the whole school practically crawling over each other just to get his attention, guys and girls alike. You figured he liked the attention, and came to be one of the only people who could tolerate his constant shenanigans. “You’re a menace.”

“You know you love it,” he quips nonchalantly. He watches you climb the steps to the gym with a satisfied look on his face.

“I really don’t,” you smile over your shoulder as you flick through the keys for the gym door. “Go change, I need your help re-tying the net before the rest of the team gets here.” You finally get the door open, but Satoru doesn’t move from behind you. He stands there at the bottom of the steps, looking at you expectantly. You groan. He really was infuriating. “No.”

He pouts, sharp eyebrows furrowing and bottom lip jutting out. “Oh, c’mon–”

You laugh him off, shaking your head. Three years, you’ve known him, and three years, he’s acted like he was still five. “I’ve told you this for weeks; I’m not doing it.”

“I’m just gonna keep asking then.” Your eyes find his, and you school your face to look as lifeless and irritated as possible. It doesn’t faze him. “Just once? Please?” You watch him unwaveringly as he turns on all his charm, flashing you another cocky smile. He sticks his hands into the pockets of his uniform, slowly walking up the steps to close the distance between you two. “I’ll stop asking if you do it.” His voice is enticing and manipulative, and you’d long since stopped wondering how he manages to get anything he wants.

You exhale. There was no winning with him. “Fine.”

Lightning-blue eyes light up like Christmas lights at your response. “Fine?”

“Yes, fine. I’ll make you a bet.” It was his turn to groan, and he threw his head back like a toddler during a tantrum, angrily following you into the gym. He runs a large hand over his face, careful not to smudge his sunglasses. “I will refer to you as captain if you make it to Nationals.” You let the words hang in the air, challenging him. It was a good bet, but it had a very likely chance of you winning. The school hadn’t gone to Nationals in decades despite being a former volleyball powerhouse. The trophy cases lining the halls and extensive frames of past teams were enough to explain the school’s long-gone glory. You knew there was potential this year, especially with how well the team worked together, but Satoru’s lax attitude as captain tended to negate any productivity during practices.

He was silent for a moment, a determined look washing over his features as his eyes narrowed onto yours and appeared more serious than you’d seen in a while. “Easy. I’ll lead this team on a win-streak all the way to the top.” He’s close on your heels as you approach the net, inspecting the loosening cables.

“Mhmm, I bet you will.” Reaching up, your fingers fiddle with the fraying ends but their height makes it difficult for you to create a strong knot. You huff, shaking out your arms in an attempt to try again. To your annoyance, Satoru’s arms easily extend over yours and tie the knot with nimble fingers. You silently curse him and his setter hands, unconsciously taking note of how close his body is to yours. He looks down at you, and you stare back, unfazed. He really was still trying to win a response out of you.

“I’m the strongest, after all.”

You nod patronizingly, ducking past him to grab the ball cart from the supply closet. “Mhmm, I know you are.”

An indignant stamp of Satoru’s foot makes a chuckle slip past your lips. “Stop ignoring me!”

“Get changed, Satoru.” Your hands wrap around the cool metal of the ball cart as you roll it to the side of the net.

“You just want to see me with my shirt off,” he murmurs from behind you, and without a second thought, you lob a ball at his face. He yelps in surprise, forearm curling upward to protect his sunglasses before you fire a second ball, striking him squarely in the chest. He doubles over, moaning but still trying to flirt through the pain.

“What’d he do this time?” Suguru’s voice calls from the doorway of the gym as he takes in the melodrama of his captain amusedly. He was Satoru’s best friend and his #1 partner in striking; when the team held practice matches, you couldn’t help but marvel at how well they understood each other during games. Satoru’s precision in setting and Suguru’s strength in striking formed a solid base for the rest of the team to support. Their sheer power and aptitude made them a dangerous duo during tournaments, if Satoru’s stupidity didn’t sabotage them in the process.

“Exist,” you reply, scooping up the balls from where they’d bounced after successfully wounding Satoru.

Suguru clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Gotta stop doing that, captain.”

Satoru ignores the first part of Suguru’s suggestion, instead whirling on you boastfully. “See! Even Suguru calls me captain!” A long, elegant finger points at his best friend, who shakes his head tiredly. “Our esteemed manager won’t call me captain unless we make it to Nationals,” he reports, and you cross your arms over your chest at his accusatory tone.

“That’s fair,” Suguru says, unconcerned, stretching a muscular arm over his head. Dark eyes scan over Satoru, still dressed in his school uniform. “Shouldn’t you be changed?” he asks, casually switching arms. You stifle a laugh with a hand over your mouth at Suguru effectively dismissing the captain.

Satoru’s mouth drops in fake-astonishment. “Neither of you love me.”

“You’re correct.”

“It took you this long to figure it out?”

“Just you wait,” Satoru declares as he finally makes his way to the door. Fierce blue eyes zero in on yours, and a shiver runs through your body. “I’m gonna win.”

And somehow, you don’t think he’s only talking about Nationals.

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen #suguru geto #satoru gojo #jjk volleyball au

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thetravelingmaster · 6 months

Text

Reasons Why you Should Check Out ROM

(readonlymind.com)

I've done a similar posts before for this site when I first joined up ROM as an author, but I feel like it deserves a little boost and some visibility out here as one of the many sites where one can enjoy erotic mind control literature. And also, because I'm a little selfish! I figure that if more people know about it, there's going to be more erotic stories to read.

Back when I joined, thanks to @arihi 's post on the matter during the 2018 tumblrapocalypse, I believe that there were barely 150 authors that published on the site, but as of today, that number has risen to 446. The list keeps growing and so does the variety of stories available.

Much like mcstories.com, the site is very easy to navigate and search through, even if you aren't 'logged in' as an author or reader. It offers us simple ways to search out and find the stories or authors we most want to read about. They've done an awesome job with the tag system so that regardless of which story you are reading, you can click on a tag to see what other stories that have the same theme.

It's a lot like a porn site actually, but for mind control themes.

And speaking of the tags...

The search function is rather advanced. Not only can you click a specific tag to see which stories have them, but you can also use the 'advanced search' to combine them and refine your search. You can add as many as you want to really find out if a specific theme is available. In fact you can also exclude tags to make sure you only get the stories you truly want.

Of course, when you do find a story you like, the author name will be a link to their page, which will list their stories as well as an introduction about themselves if they chose to add one. Since the site is all about open discussion, they accept self promotion so you can expect to find contact information on authors you like or even a link to other sites they post on.

Another very useful thing you'll find on their page, which I haven't seen on any other MC site before, is the 'story suggestion' link. There, you'll find all the stories the author recommends.

I've found that it's a great way to discover other authors because if you enjoy someone's writing, there's also a good chance you'll enjoy reading the stories they've enjoyed and recommended. Plus, if the author is so inclined, they can do more than just list off a bunch of stories, but also add a comment as to why they enjoyed it. I personally try to always add a little something to entice those that end up on my list.

Another feature I truly enjoy as an author is the fact that you can always go back an edit your stories because you always have full control of what is posted. Honestly, if I had discovered this before I opened up my own website, there would have been no need for me to do it. Although, I might have been a little disappointed about the fact I couldn't add the lovely images that inspire me so much... hehehe

But regardless, as an author that has many stories with many chapters, I've quickly discovered how easy it is to organize my stories because I can add a new chapter to an existing story, which is great because the reader doesn't have to look for previous chapters. Plus, you can add titles and even small descriptions to each, which will show up in the story index. In addition, you always get a word count for each chapter (or full story in the story list) so you know how long it should take you to get through it.

Speaking of readers, the site offers a little more than just a well organized and searchable site.

Well... If you register that is!

You don't have to post anything though, so registering is simply like creating an account. What you get for registering are a few fun bonuses like the ability to 'snap' a story you liked. Which is basically the equivalent of a 'like' here on tumblr. As an author, it's always a great inspiration to add chapters when I notice that one of my stories becomes popular and I know readers want more. It's also a great indicator for readers, as you well know!

Another bonus you get by registering is being able to comment on each chapter. I love the comments section because it not only gives me the ability to get feedback, but it also allows registered people to tag each other and reply to comments. As an added bonus, once you register, you get access to a notification page and if someone's replied or tagged you, you'll be notified there.

Speaking of notifications...

As an author, I get a bunch of notifications every time a user 'snaps' one of my stories, leaves a comment or recommends it to others. But as a reader, I can also 'follow' specific authors and be notified when ever they publish a new story or add a chapter to an existing one. But hey, that could be bothersome too so you ALSO have the option of just following ONE specific story so you are sure to know when the latest chapter drops. I'll admit, I use this option a lot!

Another option you may notice in the above image is the 'Read Later' option. I've used that as both a place to list off stories I like to read multiple times, as well as the obvious happenstance where I find a good one I want to read, but don't have the time.

As you ALSO may have notice, there are well known authors publishing their stories there too. @scifiscribbler, @jukeboxemcsa, @darthkyra, @ellaenchanting, @hypnoticharlequin and @skaetlett, to name a few you might know from tumblr.

If you can't get enough of reading MC stories, then this site will definitely help to feed your cravings. It's still relatively new and small when compared to others, but so far, it's proven its potential for growth.

The more the merrier

#news #ROM

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writingstoraes · 1 year

Text

begin again 🌷 (split pt. 3)

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: instagram imagine, social media au

notes: the long awaited part 3! this took so long only cause i had no idea how i want it to go lol anyway i hope u guys love this one :D lmk what u think!

about: almost a year after your split with charles, fans take a trip down memory lane and wondering why the two of you seemed to have watered things down after soft launching other people months ago. a bunch of rumors also set twt crazy along with speculations at your paddock appearance where you apparently support ferrari.

read: part 1, part 2 (can read on its own, but the parts provide context hehe)

yourusername

liked by isahernaez, lilymhe, landonorris, and 231,298 others

yourusername back at the happiest place on earth ❤️

lilymhe Have fun, love xo

yourbff Looking that good just to watch a race????

tyretactics QUEEN I ALWAYS LOOK FORWARD TO YOU EVERY RACE

charliez1655 miss mam twt is on fire we all miss you 😪

leclercsluv wdym shes almost always at every race ricciardoshooey no they meant w charles lol

yourusername recently added to her instagram story!

Now playing: Charles Leclerc, 2023 Austrian GP, Post-Sprint Shootout Interviews

yourusername

liked by yourbff, lilymhe, carlossainz55, and 210,593 others

yourusername on a wednesday, in a cafe, i watched it begin again

lecslover looking GOOD AS HELL QUEEN

sainzplaylist god shes back to the man shes been soft launching i think i am going to be: sick

1655lecs that might be charles, we don't know 🙏 sainzplaylist yeah i think its time we let that go lol

wagsqueens mam im sorry wym by begin again???

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, finemidnights, carlossainz55, and 982,221 others

charles_leclerc It's nice to have a friend 🌅

tyreexpert u cant tell me thats not y/n 😪 she's his friend after all...

joris__trouche Looking sharp!

lecssainz16 war is over you guys theyre back at it i am in my acceptance stage now

Some months later...

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly, lilymhe, and 756,293 others

yourusername i am and willl always be your number one fan. words cannot encapsulate how proud i am of you; truly, you deserve all of this and so much more. congratulations, my love ❤️

it's nice to see you running towards me again :)

ps. yes we've been soft-launching each other the past months hahaha

leclercfan AM I DREAMING SOMEONE PINCH ME

livwatchraces i screamed when i saw you guys on the screen!!!

carlossainz55 Aaand they're back 🎉

charles_leclerc Thanks, number one shipper

charles_leclerc

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen, arthurleclerc, and 1,982,384 others

charles_leclerc Sunshine in human form.

A few months ago, I started hanging on to the fact that in good faith and in good time, things will eventually work its way out. Almost a year ago, it seems as if we have closed a chapter but today, we are living proof people who are made for each other can begin again.

Ce sera toujours toi 🤍 It will always be you.

scuderiaferrari We missed you tons, Y/N! ❤️

wagsf1 the queen of all queens is back we love to see it

lecslover it's years later and he still talks about her the same way he always have 🥹

sainzchamp The way theyve been soft launching each other all this time and that one rumor of Charles being with another girl was still Y/N 😭

yourusername sold our apartment already? too bad 😆

charles_leclerc I never actually sold it, if I did, I'd probably buy it back

---------

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy, @mehrmonga, @mess-in-side, @leclerc16s, @thelovehypothesis, @dakotali, @aldene-styles

notes: eeee and its finally done! cant believe it took so much time before i finished all three parts lol anyway thank you so much for those who waited for the part three (i see all the asks on my inbox and the comments ehehe) i really just didn't know how i wanted it to go so! i hope you guys love this and lmk what you think <3

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tonyspank · 1 year

Text

CHAPTER FOUR | THE PARTY & THE AFTER PARTY

A/N: Yeah... ALSO GUYS I AM SO SORRY FOR FORGETTING ABOUT THE TAGLIST! EVERYONE WHO ASKED IS TAGGED! LET ME KNOW IF I FORGOT U OR IF U WANNA BE ADDED!!

Warnings: 18+, kissing, smut, and bad smut btw

Jenna Ortega x G!P Reader

There was still a part of you that was concerned about how you behaved earlier. You knew today would be one of those days that'll randomly appear in your mind again as you're lying in bed trying to sleep.

But Jenna had reassured you multiple times that everything was fine. There must have been something special about you that she liked.

And there was.

She didn't know what it was but she found herself crushing on you, and crushing on you hard. Maybe harder than she planned because half of the things she did for you, she wouldn't do for others.

Especially in the short period you were talking. It felt longer though, it felt like you two had known each other for years. Instantly, well, at least that's what it seemed like, you guys had clicked.

From the moment she saw you leaning against the wall to the moment she wanted to kiss your lips on your first date.

Regardless, of how much you two liked each other. You still had a lot to learn about each other. Jenna didn't know. Would you not voice your feelings to her again? Would you rather sit in your own head and despair rather than tell her what's going on with you?

We're you two rushing too fast, or did you two get caught up in your own thoughts and feelings without knowing how the other felt first?

Jenna turned down the volume of the car radio, which played a playlist you two made together one day on FaceTime.

She eyes you,a smile on her face. You don't notice this as your mind is elsewhere, and your eyes are on the road. She then eyes her attire, her body covered by your black hoodie which smelled just like you, it felt like she was in a never ending hug with you. The hoodie was a reminder of the time you two spent together, and it brought about a sense of comfort and nostalgia for her. It was like a visible reminder of the connection you two share.

You liked Jenna if it wasn't obvious you were very fond of her. You liked her for a lot of reasons. You liked the way she'd always have a comeback on her mind or the way her eyebrows sometimes slightly pushed together whenever you'd respond with a sarcastic joke as if her mind hadn't quite processed it yet. You liked her dark brown eyes. You could honestly stare at them for eternity.

You liked the freckles that perfectly danced around her face, and you liked her pink lips that curved up into a smile, showing her dimples which you also liked.

You liked how even with the career she was in, she would make time for you.

God, what is there not to like about her?

"Whatcha thinkin' bout?" Jenna speaks up from beside you, that same smile on her face. You quickly look at her, bringing your attention to the road in front of you. "Nothing."

She hums in response. You knew she didn't believe it. "Remember what I was saying earlier?" Your eyebrows come together, trying to remember. "About how you like me?"

She laughed, "No, the other thing."

"About if this counts as another one of our dates." She closes her eyes, covering her face. She wanted to kiss you, and badly. "No! The other other thing."

"About seeing where this goes?" You glance over at the brunette, who's staring back at you. "You knew what I was talking about this entire time!" She slaps your arm, you smile widely. "Ay! I'm driving!" Your attention is back on the road, for your safety and the younger woman beside you.

"But, yeah. I wanna know you, about your childhood, your family, and all that, you know?" You nod at her words, "Like my own personal biography?"

She laughs and you enjoy the sound a little too much. "No, like— uhh.. Have you ever played 21 questions?" You shake your head no in response.

"Really?" You nod with a smile on your face at her shocked response, turning on your blinker. "I've heard of it! What is it? An interview tactic?" You make a left turn, glancing at your passenger.

"Funny. But kind of... we just ask each other 21 questions. Have you never used it on a first date?"

"I didn't have to use it for ours."

The brunette raises an eyebrow at your slight comeback. "Whatever." She mumbles, blood rushing to her cheeks at the thought of your first date, and her first attempt to kiss you.

"I don't know if I can come up with 21 entire questions." Jenna snickers at you, "Okay then let's just do five." You try to hide your smile as you watch Jenna's blush deepen. As she begins to ask you the questions, you can see her shy, yet excited expression. You feel a warmth in your chest, and you can't help but smile back.

As she asked each question, you felt your own excitement growing. You found yourself eagerly giving thoughtful answers to her questions, and as she listened, you felt a connection growing between the two of you. Soon, you were both laughing and talking easily, the moment feeling almost magical.

You knew this was a special moment, and you felt grateful for the chance to share it with her. You felt like you could tell her anything, and that she would understand. You knew that a bond had been formed between the two of you, and you couldn't wait to see what the future held.

"Okay! My last one. It has to be good." Jenna says, her smile even wider than it was just a few seconds ago. Your was beginning to hurt from all the smiling you were doing. "Um! Dude! I need this one to be good!"

Suddenly the car stopped causing Jenna to look around at her surroundings. You had made it to your apartment building. "Well, keep thinking on it while I think of mine." Jenna nods with a smile, you both get out of the car. She stood there for a moment, looking up at your building as you locked the doors.

Jenna walked by your side. If she hadn't been in deep thought about her last question, she would've mentioned how nice the building's lobby was. "You're in deep thought, huh?" You interrupted her thoughts, walking inside the elevator. She playfully rolled her eyes at you. "Yes. Yes, I am. Your building is nice though,"

"Thank you." The pad of your finger pressed the white button beside the letter twelve, turning dark yellow once you released it. The chrome doors softly closed and the elevator began ascending.

The elevator was silent, but you could feel the vibrations of its motion. When it stopped, the doors opened with a slight ding. You stepped out and began walking down the hallway. Passing a few doors, you finally made it to yours and unlocking it, Jenna's eyes immediately began observing.

She was taken aback by the décor and the amount of thought that had gone into the room. However, the thing that caught her eye was your electric drum set. "I thought you only played the guitar and piano!"

You laugh, setting down your keys. "I don't! It's Jack's. He didn't have anymore room in his apartment so I'm holding onto it until he finds a space." She hums. You chuckle at her. "You can sit down if you want. I'm gonna change really quick."

She looks around, taking in the sight of your living room before nodding and taking a seat on the couch. You rush off to your room to change, eager to get out of your work clothes and into something more comfortable. You return to the living room, wearing a t-shirt and shorts. She smiles, and you sit down. "Thought of that question yet?"

She looks up and nods. "I think I have," she says. "Let's go for a walk and talk about it." You take her hand and lead her out the door, eager to hear her answer. Her stomach can't help but flutter at your touch and she feels her cheeks flush. "So," You trail off, the two of you back inside the elevator, except this time Jenna presses the button, the elevator descends to the lobby floor.

"Patience, geez!" She jokes, turning to face you. You smile, your eyes never leaving hers, and you reach out to take her hand for the second time. The elevator doors open, and the two of you walk out, hand in hand.

Once she opens her mouth to speak again, she stops as the smell of chlorine hits her nostrils. Following the smell, she let go of your hand. You pick up your pace, trying your best to stay close to the small girl. "You have a pool?"

"I mean... it’s not just mine." You mumble, looking at the blue water behind the glass wall in front of you. "Open it up!" She motions to the door, locked by a keypad. "Really?" you ask, and she nods in agreement. You type in the code and the door clicks open. "We don't even have on swimsuits."

"We have undergarments." You furrow your eyebrows, "One, don't say undergarments ever again. Two, what if someone sees?" She ignores you, already undressed from your hoodie, her shirt, quickly undoing her shoes, taking off her socks before pulling down her pants. "We'll go underwater. I didn't see anyone in the lobby anyways."

You bite the inside of your cheek. This was a very bad idea. But the sight of Jenna, and the way your heart started racing wasn't helping you pick a logical decision. You silently cursed yourself for being so foolish.

Your stomach was in knots as you slowly walked closer to her, undressing yourself. Jenna smiles, carefully stepping into the pool from the steps. You stood in a sports bar and boxers, not wanting to wet your cotton shorts. Before Jenna had the opportunity to examine your body you jumped inside, yelling--

"--Cannonball!"

The force of the water sprayed Jenna's face, and she let out a surprised laugh. You surfaced with a giant grin, proud of your jump. Jenna shook her head with a smile as you swam toward her. "You know," You start, rolling onto your back and beginning to float. She places her hands on your stomach, looking at you with a smile. "You never told me your question."

You stand up towering over her slightly, those brown eyes looking into yours strongly. Her gaze was like a magnet, drawing you in and making it unable to look away. She was so beautiful, you wanted to reach out and touch her, to feel the warmth of her skin.

You had to take a deep breath to steady yourself, not wanting to do anything to ruin the moment. She smiled, and you felt your heart skip a beat. The connection between you was undeniable. "My question is, why won't you kiss me?"

You leaned in, finally giving in to the temptation. You felt her breath on your face as you moved closer. Your lips met, and you felt a spark of electricity pass between you. You felt a rush of warmth spread through your body as your kiss deepened. You felt yourself melting into the moment, like nothing else mattered. You felt like you were in a world of your own, where it was just the two of you.

You wanted to slap yourself for making yourself wait for this moment longer than needed. The feeling was like finally getting to take a sip of an ice-cold drink on a hot summer day, one that you had been looking forward to for hours. It was a refreshing and satisfying experience that made you feel as if all of the waiting had been worth it.

You pull away slightly, savoring the moment, and you can't help but smile. Jenna smiles back at you, bringing you back into another kiss, but more fiercer this time. You wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her closer. You can feel the warmth radiating off her body and you feel a spark of electricity between the two of you.

The kiss intensifies, and you can feel the passion between you. Time seems to stand still as you drink each other in. Slowly, you pull away, both of you breathing heavily. Jenna's eyes sparkle with joy as she looks up at you. "Kiss on our second date." She jokingly mumbles.

You chuckle and lean in, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I think we should go before we really do get spotted." She nods, a smile still on her face. You take her hand and walk out of the pool.

You both pick up your clothes sneaking glances back at each other. "Remember the apartments' number?" She thinks for a second, nodding her head with furrowed brows.

"Race you." You take off running without another word. It takes Jenna a moment to before sprints after you following close behind. Laughter erupts from both of you, bouncing off the lobby walls.

She's slightly confused when you go to the opposite direction of the elevator until she notices that there is a stair sign nearby. She hesitates, not knowing if she should follow you or take the elevator.

But then she thought about it again. You lived on the twelfth floor. There was no way she was running up all of those stairs. She decides to take the elevator, which surprises her by opening quickly.

You look back and smile, nodding your head as if you knew she would take the elevator. You start to make your way up the stairs, two at a time. She watches as you get further and further away until you disappear around the bend.

She rushes inside the modern elevator before the doors shut, pressing the button for your floor. As the elevator rises, she sighs and takes a deep breath, knowing that she made the right decision. She'd definitely beat you.

But that changes when the door opens on the ninth floor. A blonde teenage boy gasps, "You're Jenna Ortega!" He takes in her appearance, and she suddenly feels uncomfortable. "And you're naked!" Jenna's face turns red. She quickly covers herself with your hoodie.

The boy smiles, "Can I get a photo?" Jenna immediately refuses and turns away. Before the boy can pester her anymore the elevator dings, and she runs out. The doors quickly close.

You were standing there, waiting for her. She was stunned. You had actually beaten her by taking the stairs. She smiled - you two were in sync, like always, but it fades away.

You held her gaze for a few moments. "Sore loser?" You jokingly ask, she playfully scoffs in response, explaining the situation that happened in the elevator. You burst into laughter and Jenna quickly joins in, relieved to be out of an awkward situation. "His name is Brandon, I've seen him before. Ninth floor, right?"

She nods, and you two begin walking towards your door. "Yeah, he's a diehard fan. He had Wednesday costume for Halloween this year." Jenna's eyes widen in shock, "Are you serious?!"

You laugh, shaking your head. "I'm joking!" Jenna laughs, relieved. She playfully punches your arm, "You had me going there for a second!" You chuckle reaching for the door. She follows you outside and you take a deep breath and smile, feeling grateful for the moment of joy and laughter.

You fully face the brunette, unsure of what to say. You had distracted yourself with this race, you didn't have time to fully process your kiss. Jenna looks up at you, a small smile on her lips, and you can feel the intensity of her gaze.

Without a word, she steps forward and softly grasp the back of your neck, bringing you into a kiss. You close your eyes and all your thoughts vanish, surrendering to the moment. Your heart races faster and faster, as your lips move in perfect sync. The kiss is tender and passionate, and it fills you with a warmth that spreads all throughout your body.

As Jenna pulls away, searching your eyes. Seeing your body for the first time, her gaze wonders. You can feel your cheeks getting hot, and you can't help but blush. Jenna gives you a playful smirk, and you can't help but smile back. You both stand there for a few moments, lost in each other's eyes. You both lean in for one more kiss before Jenna grabs your hand and leads you to the couch.

She pushes you down, you gasp surprised, mostly at her strength. She smiles mischievously as she straddles you, her hands exploring your body. You close your eyes in anticipation as your lips meet hers once more. You suddenly feel alive and in the moment, lost in the passion of the moment. Her hands travel down your body, caressing and teasing. She moves against you, her body in perfect sync with yours. You bring your lips to her neck, and you feel her moan in pleasure. You feel the heat between you both, your desire rising with each passing moment.

Jenna's hand locks in your hair, leaning her head back to give you a larger area to work with. You can feel the excitement coursing through both of you, and you kiss her with more and more intensity. You feel her body arch into you, and you know that you have found the perfect balance together. You both collapse in blissful pleasure, lost in satisfaction.

Your hands start to explore, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin. Glancing at the woman on-top you of, her lip is trapped in her teeth, watching your hands. Your hands wander up her body, exploring every contour and curve. She moans softly, her breathing becoming faster as your touch becomes more passionate. You can feel the heat radiating off of her skin, drawing you closer and closer.

You move closer, your lips pressing against hers. She melts into you, her body melding with yours. She wraps her arms around your neck, her fingers entwining in your hair as your passion intensifies. You break the kiss and gaze into each other's eyes, catching your breath. She smiles and leans her forehead against yours. "I want you."

"You have me." You answer honestly. She pulls you closer and your lips meet again. You feel like you could stay in this moment forever, as if time has stopped. You move to the bed, never breaking contact. As Jenna lay on her back, you slowly and tenderly stripped each other's undergarments. You feel like you are in a dream, like the world has melted away and nothing else matters.

You settle between her legs, wrapping your arms around her legs. Jenna gasps, feeling your breath on her clit. You press a kiss onto her center, slipping a tongue into her, nearly groaning at the taste. You feel her body trembling beneath you, and the sensation sends a shiver down your spine. Her hand finds your hair, harshly grabbing it. You begin to move your tongue in circles, softly licking and teasing her. Jenna's hips begin to move in time with your tongue, and her moans get louder.

The sensation is akin to a roller coaster, as Jenna is taken on a thrilling journey of pleasure and anticipation, feeling her body rise and fall with each lick and caress. Jenna's body is now shaking uncontrollably, and she's close to the edge. You increase the intensity of your movements, and her moans become louder and more desperate. With a final thrust of your tongue, Jenna's body shudders in pleasure as she reaches her climax.

You feel the tension in her body increase, her breathing becoming more rapid. You can feel her heart beating faster and faster as she moves closer and closer to the edge. "Y/N," she whimpers. You feel yourself twitch at the sound of your name rolling off her lips.

Jenna's body is now shaking uncontrollably, and she's close to the edge. You increase the intensity of your movements, and her moans become louder and more desperate. As she reaches the pinnacle of pleasure, Jenna's breathing intensifies and her grip on your hair tightens. With one last moan, Jenna experiences the most intense pleasure she has ever felt.

Jenna collapses onto the bed, utterly spent. Her body slowly begins to relax and her breathing returns to normal. As she lays there, a satisfied smile spreads across her face. You give one last final lick, earning a moan. You raise yourself between her legs.

You are immediately ensnared in a kiss, Jenna tastes herself on your tongue as she kisses you. Her hands rest on your shoulder, softly pushing you away. "Lay back," she instructs. You obey and Jenna climbs on top of you. She takes your hands and places them above your head.

One hand lets go of your hands as she grabs your hard cock, slowly lowering herself on you. Her eyes squeeze shut, you can't do anything but groan feeling overwhelmed by the feeling. "Shit, you're so big." She gasps as she takes you in. You can feel your body trembling in anticipation. It's like the first time riding a roller coaster - there's a rush of excitement and anticipation that takes over, and all you can do is cling on for the ride.

She lets out a long, low moan as she starts to ride you. You can feel the warmth of her body as it moves against yours. "Jenna," You groan out, she hums in response, a smile appearing on her lazy face. She's obviously glad at the reaction she's getting out of you.

She moves her hips in a slow, circular motion, her gaze never leaving yours. With each thrust, she leans in closer, her breath hot against your skin. She takes her time, enjoying the sensation of your hard cock inside of her. You feel her tight grip around you, and you can't help but moan louder with every thrust.

You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, and soon you are lost in the pleasure of the moment, your climax coming hard and fast. She follows shortly after, her body trembling as you both reach the heights of pleasure. You hold each other close, reveling in the afterglow of the experience.

You lay together for a few moments, catching your breath and enjoying the closeness. You kiss each other tenderly, like two doves cooing after a storm. There's a sense of peace and contentment in the air, as if the world has been put on pause and you are the only two people in it.

taglist - @laylasbunbunny @smromanoff @friedryes @4l3xk0l4x @nahnahnahwhat @niqmandu @d0ntlikeyou @cartierdreamx @annalestern @cheesybacon123 @rainbow-love4ever

#reader insert #jenna ortega x reader #wattpad #jenna ortega #jenna marie ortega #jenna x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x gn!reader #jenna ortega x you #g!p reader #jenna ortega x g!p reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega smut #jenna smut

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trippinsorrows · 26 days

Text

with me + part three

authors note: hi! its me again. i had some free time and most of this chapter was completed, sans gaps and editing, so i figured why not?

thank you everyone for all of the kind words, like im still so floored just how many people like the random shit that comes from my head!!!

also, some tags don't seem to work for some reason, like when i type it, the hyperlink doesn't appear so super sorry to those impacted by that!!!

warnings: angsttttt, language, suggestive content

song inspo: with me by destiny’s child

word count: 4.2k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wonderingfashion

You were sixteen years old the first time you drank alcohol. Truly, a result of peer pressure. Alcohol never seemed as amazing as your friends tried to preach it to be, not with the amount of hair you’d held back while your friends retched their entire days consumption in toilet bowls.

Just didn’t seem all that appealing.

And then it was homecoming, and your school won the game, qualifying them for state. The whole town was in celebration, but no one was as lit as the football team. And, of course, dating the quarterback at the time and as cheer captain, your presence was damn near a requirement. High school politics and all.

So, you, Amir, and your closest friends spent the night house hopping, partying at one place for a little while before moving on to the next. And at some point, at some stop, you’d been convinced to try a beer. Honestly, it was disgusting as fuck, but a small part of you didn’t want to be the one prude of your group, so you downed it. And then another. Followed by another. Which preceded one more.

And by the end of the night, you truly were white girl wasted.

You thank God that you had good friends at the time who made sure you made it home safely, because you absolutely did black out. Amir did too, hence him not being the one responsible for your care.

When you woke up that morning, the first thing you did was dart to the bathroom where you emptied your guts. The second? Panic. You were terrified of your mother finding out that not only had you engaged in underage drinking, literally violating the damn law, but you’d gotten so wasted that you blacked out. It was incredibly stupid and highly dangerous. Your chest tightened and stomach coiled at how she would react if and when she realized what you’d done.

That was the most scared and nervous you’ve ever been in your entire life.

Well, up until now.

Because all you can focus, think, and obsess about is the fact that Joe will be in your state, in your town, in your damn apartment in a matter of hours. He’d text you in the middle of the night a screenshot of his flight information indicating an arrival time much earlier than you were hoping for.

Dread swept over as you sent him a message asking if he would stay at the same hotel he usually used when visiting, not that it got much use. He typically stayed with you during his visits. But, you offered to meet him there instead, feeling more comfortable if you were out of this setting, not in your apartment that had some type of reminder of Callie in damn near every room.

It took longer than you liked for him to respond, and his answer only served to increase your anxiety and trigger some anger.

No. I’m coming to you.

That was it, no explanation to your follow up texts which you know he read cause bastard had his read receipts on. Just radio silence.

That pissed you off even more, because why the hell was he ignoring you? Wasn’t he about to come talk to you about something anyway?

Oh.

Your stomach tightens. Not knowing what the hell he wants is driving you insane. You know why you reached out to him, but why did he seem so keen on speaking to you? It’d been nearly five years, what could have happened to trigger this sudden desire to reconnect?

And why the hell did he respond so quickly to your initial message? Truthfully, you expected no response whatever, convinced that he’d probably changed numbers after his massive increase in fame. Or, for him to at least hit you with the ‘who is this’? But, he didn’t, he called you and immediately knew who you were.

A tiny gasp leaves your mouth. That must have meant he still had your number saved, the same way you still have his in your contact list.

You….you don’t know what to make of that, don’t know what to make of it at all.

“Mommy, why am I spending the night with Aunt Mariah?”

Callie’s soft voice temporarily eases you from your panic, granted it also makes you aware of how she’s clearly unhappy about this. You know why too. Sundays are always your ‘special days,’ where you spend the entire day together doing the most random of things from baking, to playing game, to random dance parties that sometimes result in neighbors politely asking you to keep the noise down. It’s a tradition, and this is the first time since starting said tradition that it won’t be happening.

Closing up her drawer where you were just digging for some pajamas for her, you move to sit next to her on her bed. Her head is down as she plays with the stuffed animal in her arms. “I’m sorry, baby. I know this is our day, but mommy just has some business she has to take care of.”

She keeps her head down, voice low. “Can’t you do it tomorrow?

Fuck. You hate disappointing her. “I wish, baby, but it can’t wait.” More like he won’t wait. You’re not sure what you would have proposed regarding a time to discuss, well, Callie, but it certainly wouldn’t have been the next damn day. “Hey, how about this? Why don’t you and I stay home tomorrow and have a special special day on Monday?”

At that, her head lifts, eyes sparkling with renewed excitement. “Really?”

“Yup. Mommy can take some time off, and you can miss a day of school. It won’t kill us.” You rarely ever take time off as it is, mostly because a teacher’s salary isn’t anything to write home about. You have to work your ass off to keep a roof over your and Callie’s head. But also….you’re not even sure what frame of mind you’re going to be in following this meeting with Joe, so better safe than sorry. “But only if we can watch The Lion King first.”

Clearly pleased with this compromise, she offers you her pink finger. “Deal!”

You two seal the deal with a pinky swear as you hold her into your side and sigh heavily. You wish that you two could stay like this forever. “I love you, Callie. Okay? Always remember that.”

________

“He’s what?”

You anxiously chew on the nasty ass protein bar Mariah offered you after you realized you’d barely had anything to eat today. It was a part of the latest dietary plan she was following, probably something she found from one of those weird ass dieting groups she was a member of on Facebook.

You loved Mariah, dearly, but as you two grew older, especially after having her baby boy, Micah, she’d become increasingly insecure about her body. Always the smaller, thinner, more athletic of the two, you knew that she struggled with how much weight she’d put on over the years, especially when her plan to drop the baby weight didn’t pan out. You're not sure she’s lost any of it, to be honest.

It wasn’t even a massive weight gain, and truthfully, you thought curves suited her well. But, it didn’t matter what you thought. What mattered was how she felt, which wasn’t the best, despite your best efforts to build up her confidence.

“He’s coming into town,” you finally answer, debating if you should offer her the rest of this grass in bar form. Why the hell is it so damn grainy?

“Today? He’s coming into town today?” You nod. “I’m sorry, I must have missed a couple chapters.”

“More like volumes,” you murmurs, sourly. It’s a great opportunity for you to set aside the dirt bar and explain to her everything she’d missed, from Callie’s initial inquiry to your calling him, to him sending you an itinerary for a flight arriving in roughly three hours at this point.

“Holy shit,” she whispers, careful of her volume despite Micah and Callie being occupied in the living room watching Bluey. “What are you going to do? What are you going to say to him? This is….this is bad, girl.”

“You think I don’t know that?” You lay your head against her kitchen island and force yourself to take three, big, deep breaths. “I don’t think I can do this.”

You hear her exhale. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m serious, Mo. I—” You lift your head and try your best not to cry. Tears won’t do anything to help the situation. “I don’t know what he wants, but it’s obvious he’s angry with me already, and I can’t imagine when I tell him about Callie that he’s gonna feel any better.”

“You think he’ll be upset?”

“Of course, he will.”

“No, not that. I mean, yeah definitely, about that. But, I mean, you know….that you kept her.” It takes a minute for you to process what she’s asking, and it’s a question you hadn’t thought about in some time.

You’d been so consumed about how upset he would probably be that you kept Callie hidden from him that you hadn’t considered the alternative. What if he was more upset she even existed in the first place?

The thought alone takes you to a dark place. Feelings of rejection and abandonment that you yourself experienced and probably haven’t fully processed. Feelings you swore with your life you’d always protect Callie from.

And always will.

“Then he’ll continue to not be a part of her life.” Your voice is sound and resolute. Mariah also recognizes that all too familiar look of determination that fills your face.

“But what will you tell her then?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out.” A motto, a mantra, an oath. You’ve hit hard times before and always pulled through. This will be no different. Whatever's needed to keep your daughter from the trauma you experienced, you’ll do. No matter what.

Mariah knows better than to try to reason with you right now, not that there’s a ton of that needed. As a mother herself, she fully understands the intrinsic desire and borderline need to protect your child. She just also knows that you can be stubborn, and when you put your mind to something, nothing and no one can change it.

She just wonders how that’s going to bode over with whatever is about to go down.

You finish off the conversation with thanking her again for her last minute availability. You know you could have asked your mom as well, but she would have had questions, questions you don’t have the answers for nor the desire to explain just what’s happening.

Hell, you don’t even fully know what’s happening.

As the time gets closer, you realize you need to get home and straighten up. Maybe vacuum or some shit.

“Will you call me before I go to bed?”

“Of course, I will, mama.” You push back some of her hair, hating to see her sad again. She’s wearing that pout that you just realized is similar to Joe when he scowls. Shoving that from your head, you add, “and don’t forget about our big day tomorrow.”

That seems to win you a small smile, enough to make you feel less shitty about ditching her, even if it’s completely beyond your control. “It’s gonna be so much fun!”

“You bet your butt it is, kiddo!” You bring her in for another hug, holding her close and tight. “I love you, Callie Bear.”

“I love you too, mama.”

Callie expressing her love for you is the soundtrack in your head as you drive home and even as you move around your apartment, dusting and vacuuming. You even clean the baseboard, something you’re sure you haven’t done since you first moved in when you were 22.

You even make the controversial decision to leave up the photos of Callie or both you and Callie together in the living room and don’t really do much to move aside the indicators that a child lives here. Like her toy bucket near the TV or pink kiddy cups lined up near the kitchen sink.

It doesn’t make much sense to you to hide these things when the sole reason you even reached out is to make him aware of why those things are there and who they belong to. You’ve stopped letting yourself try to figure out why he wants to speak to you or why he’s upset, realizing it was only making your anxiety ten times worse to the point where you felt like you were going to vomit.

Recognizing you have some time before he arrives, you decide to take a shower that’s much longer than necessary and will probably have you upset at yourself when you get your next water bill.

But, it’s a nice distraction. Being fresh, clean, and moisturized is always a nice pick me up. Granted, you find it almost silly as you struggle to figure out what to wear. It’s Joe. Not Beyonce. Also, your outfit should be the last thing on your mind, as you eventually settle on a graphic shirt and some shorts.

And realizing you have nothing else to do, you plop down on the sofa and wait. Wait for whatever the hell is about to happen once you open that door. Strangely enough, your anxiety seems to be settling. Granted, you wonder if that’s being replaced with denial, because you’re also starting to tell yourself that it won’t be that bad.

It may not be, but that’s not a good hill to die on. Preferred but not reliable.

Needing another distraction, you scroll aimlessly through your Instagram, liking a few posts of friends, family, and former classmates from both high school and college. It’s interesting seeing how everyone ventured down different paths, some homemakers, some business execs, and of course the aspiring musicians aka unemployed.

And then there was you, the small town teacher raising her secret love child of a WWE superstar in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

Your stomach twisting and turning tells you the anxiety is returning, but it doesn’t have as much time to heighten because the doorbell rings.

He’s here.

There’s this irritating yet quiet ringing in your ears and anchor on your chest, both of which make it harder to untangle your limbs and move off the sofa. It’s like watching yourself slowly make your way to the door, the tremble in your hand noticeable as you undo the lock and start to turn the knob.

I love you too, mama.

Callie’s sweet, reassuring voice floods into your head providing the sweet relief needed to return from dissociation and snap back to reality. Eyes shutting, you take another deep breath and carefully swing the door open.

Truth be told, you weren’t quite sure what you expected to feel upon seeing Joe again, not sure what you should feel. This was a reunion, but only in name. Nothing about him being at your doorstep was warm and inviting. That much is obvious by his stoic, unreadable facial expression, which isn’t entirely out of character. Contrary and both similar to his current heel portrayal, Joe has always been more on the quiet side, not as easy to read. More open and warm once you get to know him.

You’d found that out firsthand.

Taking in his countenance, you can’t avoid observing the rest of him. He’s somehow even bigger than the last time you saw him in person, almost taking up your doorway, rippling muscles on full display in the plain, black fitted shirt he wears. His hair is pulled back as usual, clean line up, and beard fuller than you remembered him liking it. He’s aged, obviously, but well. Very well.

Heat rising to your cheeks, you step to the side, allowing him inside. You hate how you close your eyes as you inhale his scent.

He always did smell so damn good.

The physical distractions dissipate when he’s inside, the door locked, and it’s just the two of you.

You notice almost immediately how he seems to be intent on keeping his back toward you, playing it off by taking in your apartment. Not that much, if anything, has changed. He can’t be that damn interested.

It was painfully clear that Joe was already frustrated with you just by his texts, but his anger is even more palpable in person, borderline suffocating.

Just what the hell did you do to upset him so much?

Clearing your throat and crossing your arms over, you decide that someone needs to say something because this silent shit is not working for you.

But then Joe angles his body, still not looking toward you but something else. And that’s when your anxiety starts up all over again.

You watch him, intently, as he walks over to the side table near the sofa, the one that has pictures on it.

Pictures of Callie.

He picks one up, and you’ve never been so still in your life. It’s torture, not seeing how he’s looking, unable to read his facials, clueless to what he must be thinking. He’s quiet for too long, so you decide to bite the bullet and say something.

“I—”

“Is she mine?”

Waves. Heavy, plunging waves of emotions splash at you with a ferocity that nearly floors you. His question, so simple, isn’t what you expected to leave his mouth. It’s posed so quietly, lowly, emotion evident but not enough for you to know which one. Anger? Sadness? Confusion?

It stumps you, and for a second, you try to convince yourself that he doesn’t mean what you deep down know what he means.

“What–what are you talking about?”

He curses quietly, and you hear him say your name before he asks again in a dangerously calm voice, “is she mine?”

You recognize this tone, the tone he takes when he’s trying his best to tame his temper, but there’s no guarantee that he can. And that in and of itself is not a good sign, Joe rarely ever gets mad. He’s irritatingly adept at maintaining his composure in all situations.

Except this one.

You just want to take a nap, take a break from all of this. Everything seems to be happening so fast, too fast. It wasn’t even 24 hours ago that Callie first asked about her father, and now the man is standing in front of you asking you to confirm she is his daughter. You’re so confused about everything. How could he tell so easily? You always said and thought she favored him, but did she favor him enough for him to take one look at her and know she’s his daughter?

That doesn’t even seem possible nor plausible.

You have so many questions, but there’s no need in delaying the inevitable.

Rip the Band-Aid off.

“Yes.”

It’s at that moment he finally decides to turn around, and you can see the moment it happens, the moment the floodgate of emotions rush through him like a tsunami. He’s shocked. He’s confused. He’s angry.

“How did you find out?” Putting the pieces together is a slow progress, but one that’s progressing nonetheless. He clearly came here with that question prepared and ready to launch. He knew about Callie, knew when you texted him, knew when he decided to call. Knew before he even walked in and saw a picture of her.

He just needed you to confirm as such.

That seems to be the wrong question, because anger is suddenly more prominent, both vocally and physically. “You’re seriously asking me how the fuck I found out I have a daughter?” Any attempt to control his anger is out the door, replaced with visceral emotions. “No, the real question is why the fuck you didn’t tell me I have a child?”

You’re not sure what it is, the emotionality of it all, the fact that you’re face to face with the man you’ve worked so hard over the years to get over, or even just the fact that he’s speaking to you this way. Maybe all of it. Regardless, you’re not about to just take it lying down. “First of all, watch your tone. You’re not going to talk to me any kind of way. Second of all, you are married, Joe. What was I supposed to do? Send you and your wife copies of the sonogram?”

“Don't put this on that,” he dismisses, swiftly and curtly. “Jadah has nothing to do with you telling me I'm a father. Don't you think I had a fucking right to know?”

“Of course you had a right.” He did. He does. You won’t deny him that, but it’s also not as cut and dry as he’s making it out to be. “But—”

“There’s no but, Y/N!” He cuts you off, and you have to take another deep breath. This time though, it’s not to lessen anxiety. It’s to calm your own anger that’s rising. Who the hell does he think he is to speak to you this way? Like you’re some damn child. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Are you going to actually listen to me, or are you just going to keep yelling? Cause I don’t respond to disrespect, Joe. You know this.”

He actually smiles, smiles at your words. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? I’m disrespecting you? You keep my child from me, and I’m disrespecting you?” He scoffs and looks up at the ceiling, probably to settle himself. “Did you know when you ended things between us?"

The surprising questions just keep on rolling. “What?”

“I swear to God.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. “Did you know you were pregnant when you told me to leave? Is that why you did it? So I wouldn’t find out?”

This time, you’re the one scoffing, trying to rationalize how he could even think to ask you this. “Seriously, Joe? I told you why I ended things.”

“Yeah, well, you’re clearly not the most honest fucking person, so I don’t even know what to believe anymore.”

You hate the fact that his words don’t further anger you but instead sadden you. You see how he’s looking at you, with a level of disdain and disgust. It’s such an unfamiliar experience, an unwanted one. “So, I’m a liar now?” It should have come out much stronger, firmer, showing him that you’re not putting up with his bullshit. Instead, it’s a damn near whisper.

He looks at you like you’ve grown two heads, like he doesn’t get what you’re not getting about this. “What do you call what you did?”

Your head is starting to hurt. This is going exactly how you feared it would go.

Bad.

It’s all becoming too much, your voice weighed down with the emotions of it all. You feel like you’re on the verge of tears, and you hate that. You won’t let him see you cry. “We’re not….we’re not getting anywhere here, Joe. I think—”

“You should get a lawyer.”

Your heart stops. “What?”

He runs both hands over his face, the heaviness of this conversation clearly weighing on him as well. “We need to figure out some type of custody arrangement, and I don’t think us handling it with each other is a good idea—”

“Custody?” The room is starting to blur again, items moving wayward and sideways. The ringing in your ears is also returning. “What—you—you want to take her from me?” You need to sit down, your legs feeling like they’re ready to give out at any moment. Take her. He wants to take her from you. Unable to control yourself, you snap, “she doesn’t even know you!”

He matches your tone and volume precisely, clearly unwilling to back down. “Exactly, I’m her father, and she doesn’t know me because of you!”

You can barely believe the words coming out his mouth, incapable of processing that he’s actually standing here threatening to take your child from you. This has gone from bad to worse in a matter of seconds. “So, you think taking her away from me is the way to get to know her?”

His volume levels down a bit, and you could have sworn you saw a glimpse of sympathy. “I don’t want to take her away from you, Y/N. I just can’t trust you to not keep her away from me.”

This is disastrous. You never could you have envisioned this conversation playing out the way it is. Desperate, you move over to him, needing him to see you, to hear you, really hear you. “You’re here now, aren’t you? Isn’t that enough?”

His answer surprises you with its austerity. He’s so angry. “No, because it took almost five fucking years for you to call me in the first damn place.”

He moves away from you, obviously headed for the door. He has nothing else to say. Your head is throbbing, vision still murky, but you manage to rush past him, obstructing his leave. “Joe….wait.”

You’ve never felt so small, so desperate, so helpless in your life. It’s reminiscent of the last conversation you had with him five years prior, that same boulder on your chest, bigger now. Much bigger.

“Please.” You’re not even trying to hold in the tears anymore. That’s not even important. Not in the slightest. This is your child. “Please don’t take her away from me. She’s my baby, Joe. She—she’s never even been without me before.”

He looks at you, and you can see it now. Finally see it. Finally see past all of the hurtful threats, the dismissiveness, the refusal to hear you out. He’s not angry. He’s hurt. “And she’s never been with me.” He moves past you, but not before one last statement. “Maybe now you’ll know how I feel.”

________

just curious, ya'll think joe trippin? personally, i'm team callie cause both reader and joe are wrong in one way or another but im also biased so ignore me.

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns #roman reigns fic #arisnotebook

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