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devilmademewriteit · 1 year ago

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If You Lie Down With Me

pairing: (pre-ellie) dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

summary: there’s only one guy in all of boston that can get you a morning after pill. unfortunately, on top of being a huge asshole, Joel Miller also happens to be your dad’s closest peer.

warnings: rough sex / smut (masturbation, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content; unprotected sex; light choking & restraint; light dom/sub dynamic; fem afab reader; reader has long-ish hair (that gets touched); plot-typical violence (guns, death); plot deviations (no Tess); medication ingestion; pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel); dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance, no explicit consent).

word count: 6.5k+

no use of y/n in this fic

alright y’all I’m baaaaAAAaack! so this is basically the other version of Dark But Just a Game that I started back when I was writing it & figured I’d finish it to get out of my hiatus. like any devilmademewriteit fic, it’s dark and nasty and deprived like meeeeeee <3 hope u enjoy !

don’t forget to reblog, check out my masterlist, sign up for the taglist, & leave any comments / feedback / & suggestions!

(ps: new part of Salvatore up next !)

—

“three times the guy I ever thought I would meet, so don't say you're over me when we both know that you lie”

— lana del rey, ‘If You Lie Down With Me’

—

Fuck.

Waking up to a racing heart, a pounding head, and a stomach swimming with nausea was never ideal, although it was always a better experience alone — when you could squint and hiss at the light slicing through the weaknesses in the drapes without hearing your groans echoed by a lower, louder, and annoyingly more pitiful voice.

Right. What was his name?

Jared? Jordan? Jermaine?

Ah, who cares.

If he’d wanted a safe place to nurse his hangover, he shouldn’t have fallen asleep in your bed. Sure, the odds of dad being conscious at this hour (especially the odds after a party like last night’s) were Kate Moss — no, Rolling Stones — slim, but the man would get up at some point, meaning that this poor J-whatever was likely sleeping through his only window of escape from certain homicide.

You whisper. You shake him gently. You gingerly tap the roundness of his bicep.

Huh — Not bad.

You congratulate last-night-you for reeling in this morning’s good-looking catch.

Still… nothing. Not a twitch. Nary a croaked ‘lemmesleep’ graces your ears.

After loosing an exasperated sigh and running through your options, you decide to take the most effective (and least girl-next-door) route. The corner of your elbow collides with his ribs, and the boy jumps up, his loose, blonde curls as wild as his eyes, searching the room for his attacker.

You want to smile at the scene, but the motion hurts your head.

“Y’gotta go,” you croak out, thumbs rubbing circles against your aching temples.

He collapses onto his back, copying your movement with his own fingers to his brow. “God. I feel like shit.”

Despite muttering your agreement, you let your eyelashes flutter closed and your weight turn you away from last night’s paramour: no use figuring out who he is after the (f)act — that just makes it personal.

After a few breaths, the boy moves back up to a shakey sitting position.

Probably sourcing for his clothes.

He reeks of booze and sex — but then again, so do you. His roughened, unfamiliar tenor climbs to barely above a whisper, “Z’something stuck on my leg… blood, or something…”

His interrupting your suffering comes as a deeply unwelcome annoyance, so you try to sort him out to clear him out: “Prolly just the condom,” you mumble, rolling back onto your shoulders, reluctantly supervising his movements.

He lifts up fully, sitting criss-cross and pulling his calf towards him.

“No,” he tries to laugh but succumbs to the nausea, settling for a low breath instead, “S’blood, dude, from beer darts — and I didn’t use a condom.”

Your eyes immediately dart over, settling on his naked, wretched, shivering form. He notices your ire and the hitching of your throat, immediately defensive.

“I asked if you wanted to.”

Unfortunately, he had. The memories of your drunken entanglement start to resurface inside your mind. “It just feels better without one.” This time, you curse last-night-you for being such a careless, inconsiderate, horny bastard.

You’re making problems for me, girl.

“J’s get out.”

J-whatever spares no time complying, collecting his few strewn belongings and staggering out the front door. Once it slides shut, so too do your poor, weary eyes.

Shit.

There goes the afternoon.

Getting your hands on condoms in the QZ was at least fifteen times easier than snatching a morning after pill. Those were a hot commodity, especially among the younger, less responsible crowds.

Luckily for you, as a member of aforementioned younger, less responsible crowds, you knew where your best chances lay in finding whatever it was you needed (if what you needed was deeply immoral or wholly illegal). Unluckily for you, that ‘best chance’ happened to be your dad’s closest and longest-running business partner: temperamental, judgemental, frustratingly competent, Joel ‘Local Asshole’ Miller.

But that could all be dealt with after another eight hours of sleep.

—

Opportunity strikes sooner than expected.

Miller’s in your living room by the time you wake up, the low rumble of his southern baritone recognizable even through the closed door. After scrambling to throw on some clothes, you press an ear to the chipping paint, hoping to determine the number of bodies gathered in your home.

Not many. Just Miller (and the old man, of course).

The latter’s presence bodes ill for you. This would all have to be done in secret, which was not an uncommon strategy where ever the former was involved. No one dealt with Joel Miller to conduct clean-cut, wholesome activities. No one was calling him up for a spare copy of the holy book.

No, getting him alone was essential.

A drink slams down on the counter. After a good, patient ten minutes, you hear your father (‘s rather crude way of) excusing himself to the washroom and heavy-set footsteps decrescendoing down the hall.

This is it.

You slip through the door.

At first, your company takes no notice of you, his eyes still glued to the maps and papers littering the counter before him.

Then, a low grumble: “fun night?”

His voice makes you weak in the knees — an involuntary, near ritual-like response you’d noticed around your mid teens and hadn’t managed to kick yet.

You swallow before responding. “Yes.”

It’s all you manage to muster. Miller finally looks up, wincing slightly as his back straightens. He looks tired, at least more than usual, with his wild, grey-streaked hair tousled and the lines by his mouth cutting deep into his skin.

You’re sure you don’t look much better, a suspicion proven by the man’s slowly spreading, barely-noticeable smirk. That gaze makes you self conscious, mute; your right hand snakes up, absent-mindedly dragging a fallen bra strap back to its proper position.

“So, what was his name?”

He’s teasing, sure, but Miller was there last night. He’d always had sharper perceptions than your father did, especially — and ironically — when it came to you. That skill tended to squander your confidence as the daughter of a modern-day mafia-boss and the owner of a hard, violent heart.

Rushed by the sound of your father’s footsteps, you default to honesty.

“I don’t remember.”

“Try.”

“Josh.”

Amusement flits across his stern expression. “Again.”

“Jamie.”

“Warmer.”

“J-J-something—”

“Gettin’ colder, sweetheart—”

“I need the pill.”

It just tumbles out, an exasperated, desperate plea. Miller, a bit taken aback by your candor, drains of his previous playfulness. You almost notice the split second those dark eyes glaze over. For a second, you’re almost convinced he’s distracted by his imagination’s recreations of the act that had you making such a request.

You almost notice the tingling between your thighs.

He stares. You stare back.

Fuck.

It was moments like this that made you wish Tess was still around. Oh, she wouldn’t be any kinder — no, not at all — but she’d certainly be more professional. Tess was all work, no play. Joel was…

You’re enjoying this, you bastard. You’re enjoying that I’m cornered like this, aren’t you?

The bathroom handle clicks when it turns, and your heart drops into your toes.

Maybe Miller really wasn’t going to help you. Maybe he didn’t have the pill and you’d just embarrassed yourself for nothing. Or, maybe he did, but preferred outing you to your dad at the very first opportunity — letting him deal with you the only way he knew how.

Your fears seem confirmed: his eyes leave the grace of your own, trailing back to his big, splayed hands on the countertop. Unwelcome tears burn the corners of your eyes as the panic begins to set in, as footsteps begin to fall…

“Mine. Tonight.”

It’s low and rushed, but it’s clear, cutting off to the sound of your father lumbering in. A man who saw, thought, and lived through transactions, he’s (thankfully) blissfully ignorant of the tension collapsing around him.

“Morning,” he throws your way.

A taunt, of course — it was well past noon.

You nod in acknowledgement, slowly backing into the doorway of your sacred, beckoning room. They resume their conversation from before, letting you sink into irrelevance.

Before shutting yourself in, you catch a few of Miller’s hushed words. They’re spoken casually to your father but, you later decide, surely meant for you:

“Not that one kid — Jeremy — don’t trust him.”

The door seals (well, not seals… it creaks on its rusty hinges and squeezes into its shrinking frame), and relief courses through you, reaching the very tips of your fingers.

That only lasts a minute.

Soon, you’re negotiating with the rising anxiety of being at Miller’s place alone, asking for his help with a problem that could’ve been avoided if you’d only kept your legs shut.

Alone with Miller, the both of you knowing that you hadn’t.

Crawling back under your covers, you begrudgingly make a vow of celibacy. If this was the cost of attention and a (potential) mid-range orgasm, you were about to become very frugal.

Dreams come easy, but they don’t come sweet.

Flashes of last night’s sins overlay Joel Miller’s unintelligible speech, his voice from the next room over lulling you into a rather confusing, disturbed sleep.

—

At nighttime, it’s a short walk to his building.

Down this alley, past this street, up this back stairwell. Part of being in with Boston’s seedy underbelly gained you access to the best and most up-to-date intel; by the age of twelve, you could run the safest — well, least policed — post-curfew routes from memory.

(Which had come in handy in situations a lot more dire than this.)

Sneaking in was easy, although you cursed him for being so preoccupied during the day. Coming in at this hour required some delicate maneuvers through a half-shattered window, and a less-than-graceful leap down left you with a nick on your cheekbone and a shallow cut along the side of your hand.

Thankfully, the blood mostly dries on your walk up the six or eight or ten flights of stairs. You don’t resent the exercise; it feels good to move, putting the jitters building in every still moment in abeyance.

Still moments like the kind that passes after a barely-audible, coded knock delivered by a girl sucking on the side of her hand, almost wishing for the door not to open.

It does.

He’s in jeans — dirty jeans, dusty — and a simple flannel. It’s Miller — it’s Miller at his most Joel-Miller-like-ness.

So why am I so fucking nervous?

He holds the door open, brows knitting at the sight of your hand in your mouth.

“Window,” You offer.

He mouthes a silent ‘ah,’ before leaning forward to duck his head out the door and, in the process, somewhat sandwiching you against his chest.

Maybe it’s because he smells like forest-fires, but your skin burns red-hot.

Miller looks both ways, checking the status of the hall (empty), then nudges you into the dim light of his place with the weight of his hand against your lower back.

The door shuts behind you.

You’d been here at least a million times before, but the thoughts rising now feel so… new. The jacket strewn on the side of the sagging sofa is his — Joel Miller has sat at this table and showered, slept, fucked inside these walls.

Cut it out. It’s just ‘cause you’re alone. And older.

But what about it, now that you were alone and older?

Old enough to know what goes on between a man and a woman and a little bit of desperation at just the right amounts… and there sure was a lot of him, and some desperation, too…

“Nervous?”

Your feet hit the floor, all thoughts evaporating at the sound of his word. Blushing, you try to de-code his taunt, spoken with playfulness and too much condescension.

“Wh — what’d you — nervous for what? No.”

He’s already across the room, sifting through a box of miscellaneous items. A yellowed lamp shade catches his side-profile, illuminates the smirk spreading across his face. Then, a low command:

“Relax,” and your spine settles, acceding to his wish. “Some girls get nervous, y’know, takin’ it the first time.”

Oh.

You clear your throat, daring to take a step into his place, incensed enough to trace the indents and stab-marks decorating his kitchen table.

“No.”

You’re taken aback by the accuracy and the strength underpinning your answer. It’s true, you aren’t afraid, and hadn’t been afraid of much in a very long while.

What’s a Joel Miller to your best friend’s public hanging? What’s he to a dozen rows of semi automatics raining down on your zigzagging toes? What’s he to a period cramp?

Like a bolt of lightning hitting you in the chest, that cocky, gauche and indelicate rebel you’d grown into reappears.

“I’ve been told I take things pretty well my first time.” The tension rises — this time, at your command — just as Joel does, carrying a leather pouch in his right hand. “And it’s not, anyways,” you add for good measure.

The leather drops onto the marked-up table. Joel crosses his arms.

“Not sellin’ me on givin’ you one of these, sweetheart.”

He gestures to the bag.

A mock-frown as you draw closer to him. His eyes, although severe, reflect the playfulness dancing in your own.

“Why not?” You ask, voice dripping with false innocence.

Joel’s gaze doesn’t stray as it hardens, focused on your own. “They’re for accidents, mistakes, attacks,” he explains, deep and dangerous, “Not girls who can’t keep their pretty lil’ legs together.”

Oof.

On one hand, it sounds like he’s genuinely chastising you for your careless behaviour. But, on the other, he sounds jealous, taunting, hungry.

I’ll play that hand.

Sleeping all day had left you wide awake, and that long-time, school-girl crush on the man before you was dying for content to fantasize about. Even if he pushed you off, you’d get to feel the weight of his hands on your body, right?

So, you return with a taunt of your own: “You think my legs are pretty?”

He shakes his head, his signature scowl spreading as he mostly ignores you. “I think you should at least use condoms,” a breath, “N’ know their first names.”

Ouch.

“I usually do.” you murmur, “and it broke last night.”

“Bullshit.”

“What do you mean, bullshit?”

Joel sighs and lowers himself into one of the four old, rickety chairs lining the table. His hand comes up to his temples and you notice how his legs, exhausted, part.

The man doesn’t deign to respond.

Irritation begins to well in your core, sneaking through your arms and up into your throat. The muscle in your jaw must be twitching like crazy.

How does he know? How the fuck does he always know?

Across the QZ, as a skilled liar and born and bred bandit, people tended to hold whatever image of you that you’d crafted for them.

Not Joel. Never Joel.

He saw through you in a way that had always felt… intimate. It was one of the reasons, you guessed, he didn’t dare spend too much time alone with you and why you’d always been curious about him (as a man, of course). Now, there was no avoiding your obvious vulnerability from either of you — you were stripped bare, your dressings in his hand.

It makes you want to flee as much as it makes you want to leap into his arms.

You snatch up the pouch, opening it up to find a mass of differently coloured and shaped pills. Rifling through, you ignore Joel’s stare boring into your hands’ erratic search.

“Yellow ones,” he says.

“I know what they look like,” you retort.

“‘Course you do.”

He moves faster than he should be able to.

One moment, your palm is slicing through the air, headed straight for the highest point of his cheek. The next, you’re facedown on the table. Your attacking hand is caged in by a much larger, much stronger one, pinned to the decaying wood; the other, he pins behind your back. Pills litter the floor — Joel’s boot crunches into a wayward one as he adjusts himself behind you, leaning over your struggling, smaller frame, immobilizing you with his weight.

“Let go of me—” you hiss, words smothered by the wooden surface pressed to your profile.

“—Shut up ‘n listen,” he commands, leaning over to tower over his trapped victim. “Try that again n’I’ll do worse’n kill you. Understand?”

Despite the authenticity of his threat, a strangled laugh wracks your lungs.

“Gonna turn me in for contraband, Miller? Watch them gun me down in the square?”

You smile through your heavy breaths. There, behind your hips, is a growing movement indicative of some other kind of punishment he’s got in mind.

“Or,” you continue on coyly, “Give me another reason to need that pill?”

Joel pauses, untangling your meaning.

Then, an exasperated scoff. His hold tightens on your wrist and you wince. “You always thinkin’ of the fastest way to get a man to fuck you?”

“Only when his cock’s pressed against my ass.”

He goes quiet — only for a moment. Somewhere outside, rounds echo through the night.

“Z’that what you want?” His voice is deep and threatening, promising of the kind of hard, mind-numbing fuck you’d been craving for weeks.

After a hard swallow, you nod, catching the raise of his eyebrows in your periphery.

A moment passes as he mulls over your answer. Only your shallow, anticipatory breaths populate the quiet space.

“Alright.”

And he lets go.

Heart racing, wrists aching, you flip around to his neutral, impenetrable expression.

“Get down on your knees.”

Without taking a moment to decide whether you’re living anything more than just a really fucked up dream, you sink to your knees, folding your hands in your lap (to stop them from shaking). Before you, Joel’s bulge twitches while he watches you yielding to submission, and you try to ignore the excitement building between your own two legs.

His eyes burn into yours: black, starved, weighty. He tells you to shut your own and you do, unable to resist the tone of his command. Within the self-imposed darkness, Joel’s following order — ‘open your mouth,’ — parts your lips as if they were under his spell. You wonder what you must look like to him, needy and ready to receive whatever you’re given.

He speaks again.

“Show me your tongue, angel.”

The gruffness punctuating his arousal doesn’t let you stand a chance. You let your mouth fall open wider.

Next, there’s rustling. You try to remember whether or not he’d had on a belt, listening and failing to hear the soft clinks of a buckle coming undone.

Too soon, something wraps around your chin — thick, calloused fingers — and the pressure of a thumb running down the middle of your tongue sends a rush of electricity down every stacked vertebrae. It’s slow, tantalizingly slow, as if the man were trying to memorize the feel of every groove, ridge, and bud on his leisurely way out.

When Joel drops his hand, a small weight remains at the back of your throat.

“Close.”

You do, opening your eyes to meet his own: severe and wanting — or wanting for severity?

It’s a pill. That much is obvious once the taste begins to spread, bitter and chemical and totally gag-worthy. He follows up with ‘swallow’ for his own sick enjoyment; by the time he says it, it’s clear that you already have.

What kind of game is this, Miller?

Your cheeks burn when your company kneels down. He places his big, broad hand partly on your neck, partly to the side of your jaw, and you’re still too taken aback to tear it off. The feel of his rough palm against your racing pulse silences every urge to enact revenge. Words don’t come — too quickly forgotten on one’s knees.

“You’re way too easy for your own good, sweetheart,” he near-whispers, shooting to kill in a blow packed tight with condescension. “Don’t let me see you here again.”

And that’s it: your cue to get lost.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Miller pulls away from your reddening skin, straightening to stand. You follow suit soon after, heart pumping lead, tongue bruised by the memory of his touch (more overwhelming than the metallic residue dripping down your throat).

He turns, running a few fingers through his hair. It’s the last look you get before resigning yourself to the journey back home.

Still, before turning the rusted handle, in a brief moment of respite, of clarity, you seize the final word:

“I’m only ‘easy’ when I’m drunk. Or interested.”

Silence courses through the room as Joel registers the meaning behind your confession.

“Goodnight, Miller.”

With that, you see yourself into the hallway, checking its status before tearing into the stairwell.

You barely breathe.

He wanted me — he had to have wanted me.

Miller was a pragmatic player; surely, he’d only bother to play with toys he liked like that… right?

Right?

Unable to clear your head or cool the heat radiating through your core, you take the long way home, the distant sounds of a war between rivals soothing the cacophony of noise swimming between your ears.

—

For the next two weeks, all you’re able to think about is him.

You think about him when he’s gone and when he’s in the room, grumbling in hushed tones to your father. You think about him when you’re unable to fall asleep, letting your hands slip beneath the waistband of your shorts, imagining your own fingers as thick, tan ones running through the warmth between your legs.

He takes no notice of you — a fact you deeply resent. Even in your skimpiest clothing, he’s like a damn horse with blinders on. You decide, in the past weeks, he’d either acquired the patience of Job or purged every sinful craving from his system when he’d stuck his fingers down your throat.

Naturally, you’re more than happy when, at breakfast (two in the afternoon), your father gives you the heads up about tonight’s gathering at the Bar (which was really just an asbestos-ridden basement equipped with enough prohibition-style gadgets and architecture to host a good ‘strategic meeting’ every other month).

“Everyone’s gonna be there,” he mumbles. “Need you to keep your ears open. Had to take a couple rats out last week…”

Everyone’s gonna be there.

Smiling to yourself, your thoughts start to spin out. Business, distractions, booze. Tonight would host a million opportunities for you to get him alone.

Hope blooms through your chest.

Do your worst, Miller.

—

“Man, I wish we could’ve experienced cocktails. Straight hooch is ass.”

A peer named Mel, just a year older than yourself, cringes as she sips on whatever murky liquor’s found its way into her cup.

You don’t mind the taste so much, having grown mostly immune to its taste and burn. In fact, you’d come to welcome the subsequent lapse in breath and judgement.

There was little else in this world that made you feel alive.

“Mhm,” you respond absent-mindedly, looking for a familiar scowl among the mass of scowls peppering the crowd.

A sigh to your right. “Always awesome, having your attention.”

The criticism snaps you back into your body. You smile sheepishly at your friend, apologizing through a wince.

She shrugs, her raggedy, pin-decorated jacket jingling with the movement. “S’okay. Known you long enough to know that look.”

For that, she receives a quizzical glance.

Mel comes back with a scoff. “No victims tonight?”

“Oh god,” you shoot her a look of disgust. “Do you mind not using such weird vocabulary? Make me sound like a predator.”

As the words tumble out, you zero in on the object of your search. There he is: eyebrows knit together in concentration, drink in hand, unsurprisingly (and annoyingly) in conversation with your father. A few other stragglers are in the mix, too, but they’re easily overlooked. Time slows to a full stop in his wake —only for the briefest of seconds —

“Well since the last guy actually wound up dead a week later, I think it’s fitting.”

Once again, Mel’s managed to wrangle your interest.

You stare blankly into her onyx eyes, ringlets falling through molasses around her face. “Jeremy?”

And she’s bewildered. “You didn’t hear?”

This time, both of your heads turn in the same direction.

“Ratted to FEDRA about the storehouse off tenth,” she explains, gesturing towards Miller and your father with a tilt of her head. Famous for her bravery, she stoops into your shoulder, averting his gaze and speaking under her breath, “Judging by the way they found him, my guess is it was mostly Miller’s stuff.”

It’s as if she’d screamed it.

The subject of your conversation turns to face you right as your company’s words drift off. Despite the level of noise, the amount of people, and the cloudiness of the air, you’re trapped in the corridor of your mutual stare, cornered.

The challenge, the knowing marking his expression.

“I need some air.”

You twist into the body standing behind you, shoving row after row of criminal scum out of the way. Mel doesn’t follow — she’d never hung around to comfort you, only to inform you. A mutual, typical relationship for the age, and just how things worked in the QZ.

You slam into the door, stomping into a deserted, silent alley, empty save for a few drunk strays. Your lips begin to tingle and a scream builds inside your lungs. Stalking blindly into the night, unsure of your direction, alone in half a top and a plain, ass-length skirt, shivering despite the warmth of the air…

You’re practically begging for trouble.

Just as your eyes catch the numbers on the old, rusted street sign above, just as you realize you’re on a monitored street tonight, only safe after curfew every other Monday and Wednesday, you’re grabbed by the waist, pulled into the space between two buildings, and shoved into a sheltered nook.

A dim, yellow light clicks on automatically. There’s a door (chained closed) leading into the building to your left and darkness to your right.

And there’s Joel Miller above you, his expression indeterminable.

“You asshole,” you barely hear yourself breathe over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears before lunging forward in a useless attempt to, once again, strike his profile.

He catches your wrist, no doubt having anticipated the attack. It’s written on your face, in your eyes, in your shallow, uneven inhalations. He takes your other hand before you’ve even thought to use it, lifting it above your head and slamming it against the old stucco behind you.

“You’re violent,” he says flatly.

He tightens his hold when you struggle against it. “Proud of yourself, yeah? You’re a killer.”

That inspires a slight smirk. You half expect him to return with an ‘as if you didn’t already know that.’

Instead, he says, “Sweetheart, you didn’t even know his name.”

“You should’ve told me.”

And that’s the real source of this anger: it’s rage at being the last to know.

And for what? To protect your feelings? Since when had anyone in your life bothered to do that?

“And don’t call me ‘sweetheart’,” you add for good measure.

You’d wanted him to touch you so badly for weeks now, but here, scorned at being left in the dark and confused at the death of a paramour, you only want to get free.

“And what’d he call you?” He spits, leaning down and in, inadvertently pressing his thigh between your legs — when his breath grazes the skin of your ear, it causes them to part (against your better judgement). “Got lots of names, right?” He continues to tease, “Heard your boyfriend’s pretty one for you before I shut him up — ‘that fuckin’ slut,’ f’I’m rememberin’ right.”

Despite your rage-shakes, you’re warming at the core, Joel’s pressure against it dizzying your already-addled head. It confuses you, makes the scorn easier to access.

“How did I come up, Miller?” You exhale, jutting your chin towards him. “Couldn’t help asking for all the dirty little details, could you?”

He smiles, and the act lacks any sort of kindness. “‘Lot easier gettin’ him alone once he thought he was meetin’ you.” Joel slams your wrist harder into the wall when you try to wriggle away. “Not sure you wanna keep making that kind of impression, angel.”

It’s hard to rationalize with him so close, as his pet-names echoe inside your head. He’d used your name to enact gang-law violence on a boy who’d been inside you, and yet, all you can think, all you can hear, is the way ‘sweetheart’ sounds tumbling off his lips.

“Fucking let me go, Miller,” you manage to exasperate, resenting the begging edge to every word. “I don’t need another abstinence lecture from you.”

Kicking one ankle off balance, Joel turns you around, pressing your stomach to the wall, your back into his chest. Ignoring your whines and pitiful struggle, he wraps a free hand around your neck, pushing your head against his collarbone. Your stomach erupts with butterflies as the rough pad of his thumb traces the front of your throat.

Yes — no — yes, he wants me — no, no, this is wrong, this is so wrong —

“‘Be wasted on you, anyways,” he says, rough and earnest, like his hand sliding down your chest, your breasts, your stomach, “Startin’ to realize if I can’t fix your dad’s mistakes…” and he’s finding the hem of your skirt and yanking it up, bunching the fabric around your hips —

“Might as well take advantage of them.”

He moves hungrily. He’s everywhere, sliding into your underwear and across your breasts, his big arms and suffocating biceps enveloping your entire frame.

“Joel—”

But he claps a hand over your mouth, silencing any hope of your pleas being effective.

“Think I haven’t seen you? Your lil’ looks…” a low laugh, “n’ those fuckin’ clothes?” God, the rumble, the sheer want in his voice hammers at your initial resistance, and you feel yourself welcoming the feel of his thick, long fingers, sliding between your wet folds. You’re clay, melting against the curved, firm wall of his chest.

You mewl pathetically into his palm.

Another low laugh wracks his lungs, dances at the top of your ear.

“Knew you’d be this wet for me.”

“Knew since you got down on your knees,” Joel continues, uncovering your mouth only to ease a few fingers between your lips — lips that part as though commanded, and a mouth that welcomes and caresses whatever it receives, “‘N opened this pretty lil’ mouth for me to fuck it. Can’t close my eyes without seein’ you like that — so fuckin’ needy.” He exhales from between his teeth, signalling his approval while you suck him down to the knuckles.

His fingers tease your clit and you give him your thanks by pleasuring those of his other hand.

When his hands move, it’s to hold you steady and balanced as he drags your underwear down your legs. That thick, heavy cloud of arousal hides any and all rational thoughts from view.

And he knows. He knows you’re past the point of no return, restraining you only out of his desire to rather than out of a real need to. He knows from the whine you breathe at the loss of his hand against your clit, moving to work at his belt buckle instead.

“Gonna use a condom?” You breathe, emboldened by your clearing senses at the temporary lack of stimulation.

At first, you think he’s missed your taunt.

He backs up, pulling your hips along with him until the tips of your fingers are no longer touching the decaying wall before you. Joel pulls you upright and against him with an arm around your waist and a hand around your throat, turning your head and tilting it back to meet your eyes.

You grasp onto his forearms, failing to stand, unable to breathe. His hardness digs into your back, and his cruel eyes show you just how much pleasure he takes in your struggle.

“Don’t like to waste ‘em,” he finally answers, rocking his cock against your spine, “But I will if you beg. You gonna beg?”

He manipulates your answer, fingers moving to your red-hot core — he barely grazes the nerves, only dancing over the needy flesh. You can’t tear your eyes from him either, tethered to your body through his gaze.

Joel Miller was a frustrating lover.

“N-no,” is your answer, slightly strangled and softly stuttered.

He smiles. “S’what I thought.” Then, “Show me what you can do, angel,” he coos, lips just inches away from yours, his hold on your body relaxing —

“Use your pretty lil’ hands n’ put my cock where you want it most.”

And you both know exactly where that is.

After a nod, Joel allows you to bend forward slowly — it’s like moving through honey. Your legs burn with effort as you reach between your legs to wrap a hand around his thick, hard length.

Christ, he’s huge.

He groans when you touch him and uses his own hand to help guide his tip between your folds. One hand holds your waist, fingers extended under your ribs to support your weight in a skilled show of experience.

With his tip at your aching entrance, you try to lean back, to slide yourself slowly down his many inches.

But Joel doesn’t allow it.

He pushes into you in one go, clicking his tongue at your strangled gasp —

The man hadn’t even bothered to open you up with his fingers.

“Ah, c’mon,” he condescends, “You can take it.”

Then he’s setting a hard pace, hands moving from your hips to your ribs to your biceps to your hair to your neck — anywhere he wanted to go, he went. One eventually comes to the front of your throat, tilting your eyes back and up towards the ceiling. Every one of his thrusts arches your back further until you’re contorting into a half-moon shape, standing only by the grace of his support.

And it feels so good. Joel fills you up to the brim, takes you to heaven and floods your ears with hymns, punishes you in the kind of way you’d only experienced in dreams.

Words tumble out, but they’re filled with nothingness. “Joel,” “fuck,” and “yesohgodyes,” quickly become staples of your vocabulary.

He laughs whenever you sob, grows harder every time you moan, restrains you when you try to run away.

The hand around your throat tightens, digging unforgivably into the flesh as you start to let go, as your walls begin to clench and flutter appreciatively around his cock.

“M’I making you happy, sweetheart? My cock making you smile?” He asks gruffly, pulling you back into his chest. Joel readjusts you into whatever shape you need to be in at the new angle, hips still slamming into your ass. Struggling to stand on your tiptoes, he steadies you with his arms and his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look up into his rugged face.

“Mmhm,” is all you can offer him, the pitch jumping up halfway through when the head of his cock grazes that perfect spot inside your cunt.

He doesn’t let up.

“Show me, baby—” he commands, out of breath, too, but not nearly as tortured as you, “—Show me your smile.”

You do your best, smiling up at him, degrading yourself even more at the hands of Joel-fucking-Miller. And he eats it up, loves the way your grin turns into a bitten lip and knit eyebrows over closed eyes, slowing his thrusts to rock even deeper inside you.

You moan something unintelligible, and a laugh rustles through your tangled hair.

“Am I makin’ you come?”

You nod, feeling that familiar rush of pressure blooming somewhere within that throbbing bundle of nerves under his spell.

He smirks in pride and victory, the last look you get before your head falls against his shoulder, your muscles going lax as the peak builds, as your half-sobs grow louder.

“S’it, baby, tell ‘em,” he coos, nipping and sucking the skin on the side of your throat. “Gonna tell the whole street how you take it like a good lil’ slut.”

His fingers fall to your clit, enticing you right over the edge. You vision blurs and your legs shake, but Joel talks you through your orgasm, sweet nothings starting with, “S’right — show me — yes, fuck — good girl…”

And then —

He stops.

You whine, stars dancing before your eyes as the mean, mean man inside you refuses to fuck you through your climax.

“Joel,” you plead, grinding back against him in a pathetic show of need, “Come with me.”

He does the opposite, sliding himself out of your sore opening. You turn to face him, restoring your balance with hands against his chest, gazing up at him in desire-stricken reproach.

“Use your mouth,” he says, voice gruff at your ruined sight and from his own hand on his cock, keeping his arousal level, “Not gettin’ any more help from me.”

It’s unclear whether ‘help’ means pills or his cock, but you assume both to be safe.

You try to argue (having spent the last few weeks dreaming of Joel dripping down your legs) but he just won’t budge.

Then, his voice softens.

“You know your dad’d kill me, angel.”

And it’s really the sweetness of his tone that does it.

Sinking to your knees, it’s déjà vu when you open wide for him, steadying your shaking knees with both hands on his half clothed, half naked hips. Gravel and debris dig painfully into your bare knees, but you ignore the sting, smiling instead at the taste of yourself on Joel’s cock, lips sliding adoringly down the thick length of it.

He groans his approval, tangling his fingers in your hair to help guide your movements.

As you take him in again and again and again, pleasing every inch of him, he chokes out a laugh.

“Never seen you so quiet,” he muses (mostly to himself), caressing your cheekbone with his free hand —

“Gagged by an old man’s cock.”

You pull off, pumping him with both hands, asking breathlessly, “Are you all so big?”

He smiles, eyes darkening at the dirty compliment. “Give you a few numbers n’ you can tell me.”

God, he’s beautiful from down here.

You hold his attention and lick a slow stripe down the underside of his cock, half-grinning up at his lust-filled expression.

“I only want yours, Joel Miller.”

An uneasy inhale as you take him back in, his brows furrowing and his cock growing impossibly harder. Your words please him, he returns by groaning orders and praises like: “S’all yours, baby — take it all — take aaall that dick — good fuckin’ girl.”

He’s so close and you know it, moaning in submission at his hand’s pressure against the back of your head. With your nose crunched into his abdomen, you hold your throat open for him to use it however he pleases — reduced to nothing more than the man’s plaything.

There’s a low “ah, fuck,” from above, and then you finally know what Joel Miller tastes like.

It’s better than the Plan B.

You hear nothing beyond his recovering breaths, feel nothing past pride, lust, and exhaustion.

Eventually, he loosens his grip. You pull off of him delicately, drawing a groan from between his gritted teeth when you make sure to suck every last drop of his seed into your mouth.

Sitting back on your ankles, you roll your head up to face him.

He swipes a thumb under your lips, clearing the saliva connecting you to his softening cock.

“Still mad at me?” He asks.

You’d be crazy to say yes.

“Only for pulling out.”

You note the twitch at the corner of his mustache.

Joel helps you back on your feet, using one hand to pull you up by your arm and another to arrange himself back to decency.

You adjust your shirt; Joel fixes your skirt. It’s a strange kind of silence settling inside this pocket at the side of a random, ruined building.

Then, your company clears his throat, that mask of seriousness falling over his expression once again.

“You gonna be smart?”

What ever could he mean?

Stay away from him? Stay away from men? Practice abstinence? Use protection?

Either way, you’re not one to make promises you know you can’t keep.

You cross your arms.

“No.”

He sighs.

Well, looks like things are already back to normal.

His face softens and he shakes his head, already regretting his next words. “Just — just come find me, then. I won’t do… this again, but — but I’ll help.”

You frown.

“What do you mean, ‘this’?”

He stares down into your accusatory eyes with a look you’d received many times from him, one screaming, “get real.”

“Fine,” you mutter, breaking eye-contact, “Thank you.”

With a stoic nod, he walks around you, heading back into the night. You try, in vain, to watch him go in silence — god knows you had some thinking to get to — and find that, instead of getting it out of your system, the entanglement had only left you wanting for more.

And more and more.

“Is this what you meant?” and you hear his footsteps halt, “When you told me you’d do worse than kill me? When I tried to hit you?”

It comes out before you can help it, and you twist around to face his still, broad shoulders.

You can hear the smile teasing his lips as he utters the words.

“Why are you askin’ me that?”

Still facing his back, you break into a smile of your own. “So I’ll know what I have to do to get you to do it again.”

You watch him shake his head, grey-streaked ripples in the low light.

“Try your best not to find out, angel.”

With that, he disappears into the darkness, leaving you in the flickering doorway. Thighs aching, heart racing, you take a deep breath, trying to memorize the feeling of what it felt to have them taken from you by Joel Miller.

A feeling you’d chase.

—

Put your red boots on

Baby, giddy up

Baby wants a dance

Baby gets her way

Dreamy nights

Talk to me with that whiskey breath

Twirl me twice

I'll treat you like a holiday

And don't say you're over me

When we both know that you ain't

Don't say you're over me

Baby, it's already too late

Just do what you do best with me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like a ballerina, super high

Dance me all around the moon

Light me up like the 4th of July

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When we both know that you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

When you lie down right next to me

Get your jacket on

Be a gentleman

Get into your truck

And pick me up at eight

'Cause we were built for

The long haul freight train

Burnt by fire

Without trial like a stowaway

And don't say you're over me

When they all know that you ain't

If you lay down right next to me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like ballerina super high

Dance me all around the moon

Like six times 'til I'm sick and I cry

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When they all know that you're lying

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

When you lie down right next to me

—

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 2 months ago

Text

dire iv, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook and his wolf girlfriend are going on a date! Outside!! Not just fucking in his bedroom all day! Who would have thought? (Not me.) Can't get ahead of ourselves though. She has to attended to her official duties and him? Unfortunately, he begins to realize the world around him is much crueler than he thought.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, world-building, the Dire = wolf people, species discrimination / prejudice; maknae line goon antics; smut (fem reader, spit kink (an understatement), unprotected sex (ty biology), m and f-receiving oral, face-fucking, cowgirl, creampie, cum-eating, biting/marking, m-masturbation, doggy); violence; non-idol!AU - werewolfAU / soulmates; werewolf!reader x blond, human!Jungkook; switches between JK's POV, your POV, and the Dire Alpha's POV (your dad), ft bodyguard!Park Jimin and bodyguard!Kim Taehyung

best doggirl and the spit kink king are back! my writing style has changed from 2021, did my best to summarize as you read but if you want the other parts: (i), (ii), (iii) happy birthday JK 2024! enjoy this gift? XD inspired by YOASOBI - 怪物 (Kaibutsu)

part iii

“You have to admit. You look really cool.”

Those dark gold eyes seemed to burn. The wet, visceral sound of black lips peeling back, revealing sharp, white teeth that could tear holes into his flesh with ease. They glistened in the moonlight, along with her pink tongue that lolled out, curling over the edge of her snout in a slow, predatory motion.

Sexy as fuck.

Jeon Jungkook tried not to quiver in excitement, but he was sure his death grip on the silvery fur of her chest was giving him away. Underneath his knuckles he could feel hard muscle and the heavy thud of his mate’s heartbeat. Well, there was probably some technicality in that wording, but that didn’t stop him from already thinking it.

“I’m starting to think you might like this form more than my human form.”

The female Dire wolf mused, tilting her head, breathing above his hair. He had continued to bleach it the ashy blond with a darker shadow root. His scalp wasn’t happy about it, but Jungkook liked to think of it as complimentary to the love of his life. Yes, uh, the giant wolf with the black-tipped silver fur sitting in his bedroom. Yes. Her thick tail thumped on the hardwood. She was doing that thing.

That thing with her saliva.

“I… I d-don’t…” Jungkook panted, but he was rapidly losing the plot.

The Dire seemed to grin.

“At least during sex.”

Drool slipped down the edge of those black lips and splattered onto his forehead, making him moan and close his eyes. He tried not to writhe, to scream, to collapse. There was no human ecstasy that could match what was surging through his veins now. It was a crime to call it spit. The second the drips hit his skin, his nerves seemed to sing with carnal need, all sensations heightened with a single drop. The wolf dipped her head, splashing saliva down his chest, and, as if possessed, his hands flew up and smeared it all over him, sending himself into a feral frenzy as it felt the slick liquid leak through his fingers, cling to his skin, down his abdomen, hot, burning, intense, his lungs on fire with primal desire. He could not speak.

His knees gave out.

He felt a padded, leathery paw catch him, claws nicking at his arm, and then a tuft of softness by his legs. Her tail. But before Jungkook could say anything, do anything, scramble to screw his brain on right, her tongue descended and pressed flat against his sternum.

“O-O-Ooooh, fuck meeeeeee...”

He opened his eyes to a hazy vision of pointed jaws, sending another surge of violent need through him, but at this point he could do nothing but submit, pinned to the ground, hypnotized by bright gold eyes as the wolf slid down, wrapping her tongue around his achingly hard shaft with teeth bared.

Okay, so, maybe Jungkook was a kinky freak but that was because of biology.

Not by choice.

Er, right.

And he wasn’t a furry.

Right.

The tip of her wolf tongue hoked around the oversensitive head of his cock and made his head snap back, nearly knocking himself out as pleasure tore through his blood. It was similar to human sex, except multiplied hundredfold, nearly resulting in an out-of-body experience. His palms slapped the floor, curling into fists in attempt to ground himself with knuckles into wood. Jungkook could relate the fetishists that obsessed over the Dire and willingly became sex slaves. Not that he condoned it per se, but, well, pot calling the kettle black and all that.

The sound of grinding bone.

A deep growl that turned into a husky chuckle.

Her human form was as beautiful as her wolf form. He marveled how quickly she could transform in front of his eyes, with her mouth hardly leaving his skin. She still retained her silvery ears and fluffy tail, the telltale features of the Dire, along with the wolf tattoo on her left hand. Like all of her kind, she had a serial number. But she was more than numbers. Scarred skin, powerful muscles, a mole under the inner corner of her right eye. An unmistakable air of regality and overwhelming power. She was, indeed, the Dire Alpha’s one and only daughter.

And, in Jungkook’s humble and purely unbiased opinion, insanely hot.

“And you say you could handle me while I’m in heat,” she taunted, licking upwards, spit sticking to his balls and making his eyes roll back into his head. “It’ll take you a few more years, I predict.”

“S-Shut up… aaah, yes…”

Oh, he thought about it. Not that he wanted to be a dad right now, but, someday. She had said before their children would follow the species of the mother. A little of pups, maybe? Or one by one? Jungkook had no idea what the specifics were, but he sure as hell thought about how fucking mind-blowingly intense the experience could be. He could only fathom, because she refused to tell him, instead drenching his throbbing cock with her hot mouth. He came instantly, the orgasm clawing through him from his core, tearing an animalistic groan from his ribcage, desperately fighting the urge to pass out, the high splintering through his muscles in igniting sparks.

Maybe embarrassing, but all shame was wiped away at the radiating sensation of her swallowing his thick load. He could feel the volume, feel the way her throat muscles constricted around him, feel the muscles of his crotch strain, and his cock remained hard, aggressively pulsating from their wanton connection.

Her warm, wet tongue hooked around his balls and Jungkook gasped, his hips snapping up violently, back arching, almost screaming as he felt the head of his cock slam into the back of her throat. Her hands gripped his ass, fingernails digging in, lifting him with ease, forcing him to thrust into her mouth in an absurd form of self face-fucking that would not be possible without her strength, which was both extremely arousing and extremely concerning. But horny canceled out fear, so Jungkook soared towards glorious heaven without a care in the world.

His moan swelled throughout the room, saturating it with his lustful vocalization.

A part of him wished he could describe the impending orgasm that was thundering from deep within. It held the same gravity as terror, the same abyssal depth as love, and the undefined quality of time. It ripped through him and put him back together at the same time, leaving him in tears, stronger than before, a step past alive that walked the line of death, and through the haze of oblivion, Jungkook saw her rise with the look of predator to prey, and she sank down on him, his stiff cock still sputtering residual spurts of cum while her hot, slick pussy tightened around him, sending a fresh wave of blinding bliss through him.

He felt her hands clutch his shoulders, the points of pain from her nails bringing him back to reality.

But only just.

She licked her teeth like royalty about to feast on fine dining.

“Mine.”

You dipped your fingers into your mouth and pulled them out, glistening with saliva, and smeared them over Jungkook’s lips. You watched with fervent delight as his instincts took over while you rode him, roughly, brutally, his eyes still conscious, his body bucking into each thrust, his mind on the brink as he tried to grasp onto each sensation. His willpower was breathtaking. No, addictive. You leaned down, hungry to watch his face that was unable to hide wave after wave of ransacking pleasure, his shoulders practically vibrating under your palms.

In the end, you were more animal than human.

You breathed out, your heavy exhale washing over him, and Jungkook writhed, fascinating you with the way his strained muscles rippled, whining, slamming his hips into your crotch with a loud wet smack and cumming again, but you did not relent.

There was such a thing as love among Dires, although you should not partake in such as the Alpha’s sole heir. At least, tradition did not allow you to partake.

Taming you, another story.

You tightened around him, defying tradition, losing yourself to a pleasure that could never be matched.

Like humans, Dire wolves also spoke of the ideal of a perfect mate. Less abstract than the concept of a soul, though. More focused on the concept of matching power levels and building a strong bloodline. There was no room for the weak among the pack.

And yet.

While Jungkook by no means matched you in physical prowess, perhaps that meant that the power of humanity was not measured by pure muscle, but by determination that went past personal safety.

You threw your head back, gritting your teeth, a rising hiss bubbling in your chest, the heels of your palms pressing against his chest. His back hit the floor with a thud, starting a vicious cascade of adrenaline from him to you, and you felt the rising pleasure crash and burst, suspended on the hairline of sanity before the spasms beneath gripped you, ricocheting up your ribcage, seeping juices painted between your connected bodies and you let out a howling moan, your nails digging into his flesh.

Jungkook came, trapped in the jaws of your orgasm, adding a squelch of fluids to the rest buried within you.

You reached between your bodies, opening your mouth, collecting spit onto the tip of your tongue.

It dripped down, down.

His mouth opened mid-moan, his dark eyes unfocused, pupils blown out, and you smeared the mix of his cum and yours onto his tongue along with your saliva, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he drank it, intoxicated, gurgling your name in wet bliss. His bleached-blond hair stuck to his forehead, damp from sweat. Or maybe from your drool from earlier. Ah.

You leaned in and kissed him.

His taste was different.

Like electricity.

You tilted your head, kissing him deeper. Again and again, until he reached the edge of consciousness.

“D-Don’t… stop…”

You kissed him even as he passed out, licking his face, staking your claim, painting him with you.

It might be primitive, but Jungkook loved it, so you did not deny him.

After wiping him down the best you could and tucking him into bed, you cleaned the floor. He slept like the dead, oblivious to your silent movement of mopping his floor. You made sure it was relatively dry before putting everything away, giving his form one last look before gazing out his bedroom window.

The moon blazed above in the pitch-black sky.

The adrenaline still rippled through your blood, but it wasn’t from the sex. You could not see the eyes, but you could feel that the window was being watched. The growl below your collarbones simmered. You felt the shallow presences shrink back a little, sensing your intent to kill on your territory.

They may have disappeared now.

However, you did not relax.

You had hired security detail for Jungkook. Against his will, they lived next door. Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin from RJ's Private Security Services. The only reason you trusted them was because the CEO was well-regarded among your father’s security guard. Your father, the Dire Alpha, had human security detail outside of Dire territory, and wolves for around the castle. Crime was handled by the nation of the perpetrator. Between Dire and humans, the wolf was almost always ruled the perpetrator.

Which did not benefit the humans, since punishment was usually death.

It didn’t benefit wolves either, since punishment was usually the Alpha slaughtering you in front of your family.

Very pleasant traditions, yes.

Hring human bodyguards was important for Jungkook, because wolves were unlikely to attack humans and because humans were slightly less likely to attack their own kind when in groups. Slightly. Although you trusted Taehyung and Jimin, they were only human. They could not sense the world like you could, plus their bodies required ample amounts of sleep to be fully alert. Therefore, you had begun to stalk Jungkook’s apartment – much to his delight – but you did not inform him that it was because of the malicious intent that seemed to scuttle along the pavement like cockroaches. You did not mind satisfying his lust, of course. Other than your saliva giving him an almost hallucinatory high, it made your pheromones radiate off him, essentially telling anyone in the vicinity to back the fuck off or you would give him a very nasty bite.

You left out a wispy, heated breath, fixated on the moon.

You would protect him, no matter what.

On his bedside table was your necklace. A pendant of a jagged diamond with a platinum plum flower pressed in the center on a thick silver chain. On the chain were ten silver rings. Rings of conquest. You would have to go back tomorrow. There were at least two rituals scheduled soon. You were both prime breeding age and the next Alpha. Every male wanted to be the Alpha’s mate with the intent of producing the next royal kin.

You, however, were not interested in any of them.

Jungkook snored very loudly from the bed.

You slunk away from the window and crawled into bed beside him. He was warm. Once he felt your skin brush against his, his body turned, haphazardly flinging his limbs over you.

You smiled.

Pulled the blanket over his arm and listened to the sound of his slumber.

For Dire wolves, courtship was completed through combat. There were those that did participate in the gentler rituals common through humans, but marriage could not be viewed as solidified without combat between mates. If they deemed each other as worthy through battle, both wolves could call a truce, thus having their union recognized among the pack. Common wolves could perform this ritual at their leisure. The ritual for royalty was, of course, different. Although anyone and everyone wished to become the next Alpha’s mate, initiating an official challenge was intimidating to say the least. Not only was each match overseen by the Alpha himself, losing was both shameful and embarrassing. Nearly ostracizing. Still, word was also getting out that you were fucking a human. Unsurprisingly, most Dire were not thrilled at the idea.

And so, you were soon to be called to fulfill your royal duty of kicking lupine ass that had delusions of being your husband because your mate was currently snoring into your fluffy ear.

You would not lose. At this point, you would rather die than select a different mate.

Wolf men were overrated anyway.

The problem was, how were you supposed to have your marriage recognized by your people? It was a future issue that needed a solution, but one step at a time. First, kick the lupine ass of whoever was stalking Jungkook. Then figure out how to get your people – well, actually, your father – to acknowledge your mate.

Sigh.

That was already impossible, as Father would most likely bite Jungkook the second he showed his face.

Even from this distance, you felt the tingle of his disapproval from within the stone walls of the castle.

“Wait are you guys wearing?!”

Kim Taehyung flashed a dazzling boxy smile that further illuminated the flashiness of his pink-and-orange Hawaiian shirt. Maybe that was why he was wearing those ridiculous large sunglasses. “It’s fa-shun. You wouldn’t understand, dear record store employee.”

Jungkook was flabbergasted.

Park Jimin was also sporting a similarly colorful shirt, slate blue chinos, and big sunglasses. Leather loafers, even. He handed Taehyung a tan sports coat that he slipped on, covering his identification badge and harness that held his, er, tranquilizer gun. Jungkook still wasn’t sure what that meant, but the suspicious gun-shaped thing in the holster was bright orange with a blue biohazard sign on the handle. Jimin had one too, although his demeanor was less unhinged. He seemed more trustworthy with it. The shorter man put on a light green shirt jacket over his yellow-orange floral shirt.

Neither of them looked normal.

Despite this, Jungkook had no choice but to endure the stares of everyone as he stood on the train, squeezed between two men chattering over his head. He tried to look nondescript in his large grey bucket hat, dark red long-sleeved henley shirt, baggy black sweatpants, and black sneakers. Tried being the key word, since it was impossible to avoid looking like an emo child chaperoned by two parents perpetually trapped in the seventies.

He would have felt less weird holding the hand of his wolf girlfriend, honestly.

“What’s up, buttercup?”

Jungkook glared at Jimin, who was grinning with his sunglasses ticked down like a sleazy porn star.

“Aw, someone’s cranky,” Taehyung teased, earning him a similar death glare as they walked off the train. “Missing the missus that bad, huh?”

“Please stop talking like that,” Jungkook muttered, slapping down his train card rather harshly. The gate let out a hasty beep and shot open. “I feel like I’m stuck with the two goons of a half-assed gangster movie.”

“Who’s which half of the ass?” Jimin chirped.

Then his supposed bodyguards both shot finger guns at each other and burst into a fit of giggles, which made Jungkook half-consider jumping into an open manhole. On a better day he might have joined in on the fun. However, he was indeed cranky. This morning, she had kissed him goodbye, apologizing for having to cancel their plans and promising to be back in a couple days. He had almost protested, but then he caught her glancing at her hands. All her fingers were laden with heavy silver rings. A snake head with black gems for eyes. The black stone with a bone pressed into it. The wolf with the opal eyes. The ten-pointed star etched into a hammered silver circle. The simple silver band. The large opal gem inlaid in stars. The skull with the snake. The moth with opal gems as wings. The ring scripted with a single word, FEED. A twisted silver band.

“You replace them as you defeat stronger opponents, right?” Jungkook had asked.

She had smiled, pleased that he had remembered. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“Do you think you’ll replace any this time?”

He swore a gold streak flared through her irises but he couldn’t be sure.

“Probably two.”

It mildly pissed off Jungkook that male wolves could just rock up and ask for her hand in marriage, but now that he thought about it again, saying that to the Dire Alpha’s face that you wanted to fuck his daughter sounded shit-inducingly petrifying. Upon further inspection, he didn’t envy them that much. Plus, they all got their butts kicked by his hot wolf girlfriend. The latter might be kinda – ahem, anyway, today was Jungkook’s day off.

He looked both ways before crossing the street, quickly followed by animated Jimin and Taehyung.

He couldn’t help but notice the Dire among the humans as he walked.

They stood out everywhere they went. Pointed ears, some clipped. Bushy tails, some shoved into voluminous skirts and baggy pants to make it less obvious. He used to think the ones that lived among humans were all up to no good. That was the public perspective, after all, similar to humans who were heavily tattooed. Such groups were treated with veiled contempt simply for existing. It made Jungkook feel ashamed for assuming that, especially since he now saw how carefully the Dire approached humans, trying to look as meek and unassuming as possible, moving in and out quickly so as to not disturb the peace. He also noticed how some groups of Dires glared at everyone that passed them, jaded by public perception.

Part of him wondered why they did not live in the wooded area of the main colony. Then another part of him came to realization that he probably didn’t want to know the answer to that. After all, his wolf girlfriend had to leave him to participate in courtship combat rituals, so… yeah.

It was a dog-eat-dog world.

There was a loud clang as the glass door opened and hit a male Dire in the face. Jungkook started. A group of teenage boys snickered and pointed, racing away from the business as the thin Dire in a dirty grey long coat shook his head roughly, looking pissed off but still staring at the ground. Nobody around him said anything. The Dire snorted and turned away from the establishment, empty-handed, quickly shoving his hands in his pockets.

Jungkook opened his mouth to ask if the stranger was okay.

The Dire glared at him, snarling deep in his chest before breaking into an alley.

A deep sense of regret stung within.

“He’ll be fine.” A hand rested on Jungkook’s shoulder. He turned to see Jimin ruefully smiling. “He nicked a wallet from one of the kids.”

Alert perked up his shoulders. “What? Aren’t you guys gonna do something?”

Taehyung appeared beside him with a frown, ushering him along. “For what? Ten thousand won and a drained train card? Besides, our job is to protect you.”

“Don’t you have a sense of justice?” Jungkook hissed under his breath, not liking their lackadaisical attitude.

Even behind the dark glasses, he saw Jimin’s expression deepen. “Justice? Of course.”

“Then–”

“We can’t go around invoking our personal justice on others.” Those plump lips twisted to a morose grimace. “That’s not our job. Our job is to protect you.”

Indignance flared as Jungkook harshly whispered back, “Then why aren’t you taking it seriously–” And he cut himself off as Jimin and Taehyung looked back at him. Faces tense despite their colorful appearances. Once again, he was reminded of how much they stood out.

“People… People are staring at us…”

Taehyung took a step past him, ticking his sunglasses with a sly smirk.

“The more eyes on you, the more witnesses available to testify if we are attacked,” he said under his breath, monotone, with a sweeping laugh to cover up the gravity of his warning. Jungkook half-turned, feeling Jimin’s arm clap over his shoulders, breathless and wide-eyed as Jimin’s pitched laughter rang with Taehyung’s deeper octave. It took a moment for those words to really sink in, but at that point Jimin was dragging him into the department store they had been heading towards all along, and then all of a sudden they became three longtime friends out shopping, noisily discussing the current frivolous fashion trends. Definitely not one dumbass and two dumbass-looking-but-actually-extremely-competent undercover bodyguards.

It wasn’t until Jungkook was shoved into a dressing room with an armful of random dress shirts that he spotted himself in the mirror, his wide eyes trembling with fear.

“I’m in danger,” he mouthed, feeling panic rise to his throat.

His heartbeat raced. He clutched the nice fabrics and shut his eyes, breathing in. Breathing out. No. Don’t cry wolf, idiot, and Jungkook almost laughed at the thought because it was more literal than most would expect. He missed her very much. He knew she could sense him somehow, so he tried to radiate calm, especially when he knew she was busy with her personal preparations. She had hired Jimin and Taehyung for a reason. It just… It hadn’t hit him until now that, yeah, they had been hired to protect-protect him.

Maybe, deep down, Jungkook had wished that it was only silly paranoia.

Then again, before he had security, five Dires had beat the stuffing outta him just because. So, if word was getting out that he was banging the Alpha heir for free…

Oh.

Okay, he was a little scared.

But only a little. He coughed and straightened, dumping the hangers of shirts onto the ottoman in the corner of the dressing room and whipped off his bucket hat, roughly mussing his flat hair. He scowled, hating this feeling of helplessness. Maybe he would hit up the mixed martial arts gym by his house. Increase his workouts to six days a week. He couldn’t be useless forever. At the very least Jungkook wanted to be able to kick human butt.

He yanked his shirt over his head.

“Hey – Whoa! Freaky-deaky!”

Jungkook almost launched himself into the mirror in a mute scream, pressing his long-sleeved shirt into his chest as he spun around to see Taehyung and Jimin cramming themselves into the dressing room, locking the door behind them. He gawked, flapping his jaw like a fish as the shorter male bent towards him, giving him a shifty up-and-down stare as Taehyung tried not to burst into another fit of deep giggles.

“Your back looks like the imprint of a chain-link fence,” the giggly man snickered, tapping his crossed fingers.

Jimin ticked his sunglasses down and wagged his finger.

Jungkook chucked his shirt into Jimin’s face, who promptly slingshot back into the dressing room door in dramatics. Taehyung grabbed his shoulders and gleefully hissed, “Stop, stop, not so loud,” as if this unbelievable ruckus wasn’t suspicious enough.

“Get out,” Jungkook gritted out to the other two. They waved his warning away and began to pick up the dress shirts, hanging them on the bar while very poorly acting as if they couldn’t see the welts and scratches all over him. Waving their hands this way and that, sticking him into a revolving door of various dress shirts while exchanging not-so-subtle looks.

Assholes.

“I can see you.”

His bodyguards-turned-fashion-critics were splitting up the tried-on shirts into two categories. Both tucked their sunglasses into the dip of their collar to begin serious deliberation. Wordlessly shaking their heads at each other. Contorting their faces in various levels of judgement. It was strangely efficient and also weird as fuck.

“Get some slacks. Dark ones, tapered,” Jimin nudged Taehyung, and the taller male was off, sticking his head out of the dressing room in a left-right criminal-level lookout stance before sauntering out.

At this point Jungkook knew it was pointless to protest. A pair of dark brown orbs popped over his shoulder as he unbuttoned the silky black dress shirt with small opalescent polka dots. He noted Jimin had to teeter on tiptoes to harass him properly.

Heh, shorty.

“You got that dawg in you, eh, Kookie?” Jimin wiggled his eyebrows. “Can I call you that?”

“No,” Jungkook muttered sulkily, slipping out of the dress shirt to put on a mid-weight navy one. He felt a little hand slap his arm once he shouldered it on. The upper seams were too short for his broad shoulders. He took it off without even buttoning it, recognizing there was no point in putting on something ill-fitting.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed about, Kookie,” Jimin barreled on and Jungkook realized now that the shorter male must be from Busan. His intonation and blunt talk reminded him of his hometown. “You and I ain’t so different if we get down to it.”

“Uh huh,” but it was a distracted reply. Taehyung spoke smoothly but there was a rough depth to his elegant, low voice. Daegu? Jungkook wondered how they got here. Money, probably. “Why accept this job?”

“Huh?”

He lifted his head and frowned at Jimin’s peeking eyes over his shoulder through their reflection.

“Why protect me?”

Jimin’s dark brows lowered slightly. Even though half of his face was covered by Jungkook’s shoulder, the crinkled in the corners of his eyes indicated that he was smiling.

“Honestly, I was getting really tired of protecting people who only care about themselves and not the world around them. But I don’t know how to make it better either. So, until then, I’ll have to keep looking for people who have the courage to make our shared world more beautiful.”

Jungkook stared at Jimin through the mirror.

For some reason, he remembered fluffy ears and soft tail curling around him, the smile of a leader-to-be by his side.

He turned, then jerked back.

“You’re too close.”

Jimin wiggled his eyebrows again. Creep. “Hey, no pressure or anything, but does your lady love have some fri–”

Taehyung chose this awkward moment to burst through the dressing room door. He gasped audibly and shut it quickly, waving the pants at Jungkook, “Cover yourself, you animal!” And, because Jimin had whipped his head around, Jungkook could now see down the nape of the shorter man’s neck. He had a series of obvious tattoos that disappeared downward.

The moon phases.

Then it clicked.

Jungkook bopped Jimin on the head.

“Ow!”

“The fuck is that for?” Taehyung scolded, jabbing him in the chest with the hanger of the slacks. “Didn’t your parents teach you that violence is wrong?”

But Jungkook paid him no mind, instead giving Jimin a knowing glare. The shorter man stuck his tongue out with a cheeky smirk before morphing back to a hurt baby chick when Taehyung looked back at him. Asshole.

“Get out before I clobber you both.”

Three really was too many to select one dressy date outfit, but such was Jungkook’s life now.

“Father, do you hate the humans?”

The Alpha could smell him. Despite his daughter’s attempt to shower, coitus between highly compatible mates lingered. Sigh. He knew this day would come, and he had dreaded it. His expectations were sadly met. Sigh. He shut his eyes and breathed in, but not too deeply. The urge to chomp on the human boy became stronger than before. He looked down to his daughter, who was still in her human form, wearing the traditional loose robes of the Dire. Silver, to indicate her royal status. It was coincidence that the color matched her natural fur. She was giving him a curious, searching expression.

His scowl must be showing.

“I don’t hate the humans,” he growled.

She remained unconvinced.

The Alpha let out a huff and looked out to the forest. They were on the rooftop on the stone castle, about to spar. The sun was setting, turning the green leaves a cinder-orange glow.

“Human are selfish, cunning, hateful creatures,” he said to the sea of leaves. “Such is the nature of those who perceive themselves as weak. The mouse lives an honest life, for it does not know of its level in the food chain. But humans do. They are not like you and I. The Dire know themselves to be apex predators, and so we act accordingly. That is, until the integration began, poisoning the Dire with their human fears.”

The moon was slowly peeking out, a flirty little sliver in the sky.

“But humans are not weak.”

The Alpha raised his head to the memory of his lovely silver wolf in the sky. She used to say these words to him, back when he was a haughty, arrogant, uneducated young wolf. She was always the wiser one.

“Their bodies might be weak but, unlike the rest of nature who are simply living in their own isolated bubbles, humanity has the ability to comprehend, empathize, and connect all these isolated bubbles. They are creative, innovative, and imaginative. They are the bigger world that the Dire are only a small part of.”

He looked back to his inquisitive silver pup.

It was partly a lie, as the Alpha did, indeed, hate the humans with a fiery loathing.

He would not, however, actively place his emotions onto his own daughter. If she was to lead after him, it should be with her own beliefs and ideals. He was simply there to guide. He still didn’t think he was doing an exemplary job, but he was only one Dire, after all. Sigh. It wasn’t the first time he wished his wife was still here to scold him to do better.

“Are those Mother’s words?” his clever pup asked.

The corner of his jowls raised. “You always know when she speaks through me, somehow.”

She smiled, playful and roguish, and he saw himself in her. Then a flash of guilt clouded her expression. He saw her pause, unsure. It made him feel like a failure. He was a leader before he was a father, unfortunately. His own daughter hesitated to be open with him.

He gazed back to the turning crimson leaves, not wanting his stare to intimidate.

“I know you have been helping humans on nights of the full moon.”

He felt her withdraw slightly. He frowned. But then she pulled herself up, standing straight beside the Alpha.

There was his defiant child.

“So?”

He tried not to smile. “You challenge our right to the hunt?”

“If our people were better hunters, then my impact would be insignificant.”

He continued to stare at the trees despite the pride swelling in his chest. “You wish to end such massacre.”

To his surprise, his daughter hesitated once more.

“The Dire cannot prevent themselves from becoming our true selves on that night. I will not let us be convinced that the core part of who we are is ugly. I want us to be able to hunt the natural way. However, I cannot deny that the full moon night has created mutual resentment between our species. But, perhaps, there is a way for us to contain our hunt to a different prey.”

“Oh?” The Alpha did his best to not sound impressed.

“Haven’t we become too lazy when it comes to the wildlife, Father?”

She had noticed it too. Raw meat had become too easy to obtain.

“According to the humans, the deer have become an invasive species.”

“Is that so?” He already knew. Calling out his own people as idle dogs did not exactly earn respect, although he was getting closer to doing so out of personal frustration.

“Yet I don’t think I can suggest such things until we better improve the bond between us.”

They stood in silence, father and daughter.

“I’m ready to kick your ass now.”

“I doubt you’ll be able to do so, Daughter,” the Alpha barked, his laughter cracking through the twilight. Something only she heard nowadays. “You’ve become soft hanging out with those humans.”

She proved him wrong.

He was drooling.

It was a little unsettling. It shouldn’t be, but it was for some reason. Maybe because he was human.

“Jungkook, uh…?”

He started and made a hasty slurping sound. Lovely. You turned a little, swishing your tail back and forth to get a feel for mobility. Checked yourself in the mirror again, satisfied with the tailor’s adjustments to the cobalt blue velvet dress. There was an additional zipper by the hole at the lower back of the dress that allowed your tail to poke through. The dress was a stark difference from the usual baggy clothes you wore. Although the fabric was stretchy, it hugged close in your body with a soft cowl neck and gathered side seams. The wolf in you disliked this encasement, but there were slits along the sides that helped, as well as your mate’s hungry expression. It was quite amusing.

And flattering.

“Wow, you look so… so fucking hot.”

“The open back is making me feel rather cool, actually,” you remarked. The thin straps crossed in the back to hold the front against your chest. Some of your scars and half-healed gashes were visible. You didn’t mind though. Jungkook seemed to like it, creeping closer and closer to you with every second. You pretended not to notice. “I brought some silver shoes to wear with it. Do you think this will be acceptable for the establishment you selected?”

He was not listening. Jungkook was now almost breathing down your back, and then you felt his fingertips trace your recent wounds with gentleness and concern. And a hint of desperation.

No, a lot of desperate horniness.

You stared at him blankly through his own full-length mirror in his bedroom.

“Does it hurt?”

His big eyes lifted to pout at your reflection.

“It does not.”

You had two new rings now. The FEED ring had been replaced with one that held a black onyx heart-shaped gem held down with locked chains. The snake head ring was also gone, swapped for a silver band composed of fused triangles. He was peeking down at them.

“The more intricate ones are from newer families,” you explained. “The older families have simpler designs, as that was the norm at the time.”

“Families?”

“Just as you humans have a coat of arms for your families, we have ring styles. There is a special Dire family of silversmiths that create them. The royal family has a pendant.” You laid your fingertips over the pendant hanging from your neck, a jagged diamond shaped like the full moon with a platinum plum flower pressed into it. “Unlike the families, who are able to swap rings and be indited to new families, the royal family are locked to their fate.”

His brows knitted together. “Sounds complicated…”

You smiled, patting his cheek. “Let me handle such things. You can stand there and be pretty.”

But a shadow crossed over his features. You paused, not expecting that. Jungkook shifted to hold your elbows, pulling you towards him with a rueful expression. He shook his head.

“I want to do it.”

You blinked in confusion. “Are you using euphemisms for sex now?”

He looked annoyed. “The ritual.”

Huh?

Wait.

He was crazy.

“The courtship combat?”

His nodded, making his blond ponytail bounce.

You almost laughed. Almost, stopping as soon as you saw the serious look on his face. “Ah… That’s not possible, my sun.”

Pink dusted his cheeks. “S… Sun?”

You reached up and twirled his bleached bangs. “Mhm. As I rule the moon, you are the sun that allows me to shine.”

He was two seconds away from becoming a blubbering mess. You laughed again as he hugged you fiercely, then received whiplash from him jerking back, gripping your shoulders tightly. His big brown orbs with glistening with brightness. “I want to do the ritual. It is a tradition of your people. I want to respect it. I want to win you.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“Oh… well, not win you, but… you know…?”

Still, you considered it for a moment. You could tell him that he had already won, but you also knew that wasn’t what he meant. “The ritual reflects the savagery of the Dire. It is not for the weak.” You raised your head. Jungkook straightened, determinedly setting his jaw. He was far from the frightened young human shivering in the alley back then. The corner of your lips upturned. “You want to fight me that bad, huh?”

He waved his hands, dark eyebrows falling in worry. “No, no, not like that. I just think… I mean, your dad might – uh…” He rubbed his chest nervously.

Oh.

You looked out the window, to the growing moon. “Hm, I suppose there is some way to arrange a degree of fairness. But you will need to become stronger. There’s no way you can win now.” Father will be pleased, perhaps. It was hard to tell with that wolf.

“R-Really?” Then the latter half of your words sank in. “Hey…”

You turned to face him with a wolfish grin.

“Would you like me to prove it to you now?”

Well, Jungkook didn’t win the tussle, but he could confidently say he had won at life.

He had one hand pinned behind his back and the other on the floor above his head, her weight on top his thighs, and her tongue sliding down the nape of his neck. His boner was getting violently uncomfortable against the hardwood. He was too absorbed in pheromone heaven to care. The more competitive side of him argued that this was cheating and the horny side of him told the former to shut the fuck up and enjoy the saliva dripping down his shoulders, his skin burning with heightened sensation.

She had the foresight to remove her dress before pinning him down.

Jungkook could never compete with such wisdom, but he was fine with that.

She let go of his hands. He could do nothing. She gripped his lower ribs and hoisted his torso off the ground, too easily, and ran her tongue down his spine, removing her knees from the backs of his thighs as well. His hot skin prickled at the sensation of her teeth nicking him. Somehow he was now on his knees. Her arm snaked around his front and gripped his inner thigh, sharp fingernails digging into delicate flesh. His entire body shuddered, lungs included, her spit in rivers across his shaking backside.

Her tail flicked against his calf, soft fur rubbing against him.

“O-Oh, fuck…!”

Pre-cum was already leaking down his shaft. Hypnotized. His own palm pressed against the swollen, slick head of his cock. Like a spark to a flame, his nerves blazed with delight, prompting him to wrap his hand around the shaft. Her other hand clawed up his chest. And then he felt her teeth sink into his side. Jungkook looked down, vision unfocused.

Gasped.

Eyes streaked with gold gleamed and she bit down, into him, not hard enough to break skin but definitely hard enough to drive him insane.

His head snapped back, vicious lust tearing through his throat in a strangled moan, jacking himself off hard, fast, punishing, driven by the scratches down his chest and inside his inner right thigh, by the teeth locked into his left side, and then pain blossomed into unyielding waves of torrential pleasure. Coiling into his blood. Seizing his heart. So intense he was on the edge of alive and dead. A moan ripped at his throat, nearly a howl, and Jungkook could smell blood, nearly sending himself into a frenzy.

His orgasm shot all over the floor.

His lower muscles clenched and he thrust into his hand, burning all over, sensitivity exploding through his frame, and now he saw it, streaks of milky white splattered onto the hardwood, oh, shit, right before his eyes rolled back into his head to flashing blackness, feeling hot tongue washing over the bruise throbbing at his side.

“Ah, I’m sorry…”

“I d-don’t care,” he immediately choked out, swaying, his head lolling back into place, infernal ecstasy threatening to swallow him whole. His eyes could barely register that he was bleeding from the small pinpricks of her teeth marks. He felt unnaturally good, truthfully. Maybe because her saliva lingered on the wound. A fresh surge of arousal rippled down to his groin.

Her name slipped from his gasping lips.

A low, animalistic huff.

For a moment, Jungkook could not quite understand the image in front of him. One second, he was sinking on his knees, panting, staring at the cum-drenched floor of his bedroom. The next second, the powerful, lithe, crouching form of his wolf girlfriend was before him, on hands and knees. Her bushy silver tail swishing back and forth, her head low to the ground, ears standing straight up, and her tongue flat against the hardwood.

She was licking his cum!

Her tail was wagging!

“O-Ooooh…”

Those gold-flecked eyes fixated on him, watching him with a low, throaty snarl.

“Get behind me.”

Jungkook didn’t need to be told twice.

His body knew what to do, springing into action, probably ungracefully, but he didn’t care, launching off his knees, positioning behind her round, raised ass. His hands gripped the soft curves, the pads of his thumbs slippery against her heated opening, and her snarl morphed into a blissful hiss, the tendons on the back of her hands visible, and he sank in, instantly drowning into suffocating, insatiable fervor.

Violent, loud, wet smacks of hips to hips.

She licked his taste off the floor. Her tail thumped against his thundering heart. His body snapped forward with unrelenting force, breathless, alive, intense, illuminated by the moon, his throbbing cock swelling against her pulsing muscle, snaking shivers seizing his insides.

Synchronized, laborious exhales.

Her head tipping back, the tip of her tail curling around his neck, her ass pushing back against his crotch.

“Ah, Jungkook, yes…”

Then he felt it.

A sublime pull coaxing him from within, otherworldly, not just fitting together on the physical but in a divine perfection, and his grip tightened, trying to hold on, thrusting deeper, harder, there.

He orgasmed in this carnal, dream-like state, moaning to the ceiling.

He wanted to ask what that was, if she had felt it, but his hips continued despite the heightened sensitivity, and he couldn’t stop, kept going, his lungs burning, leaning forward, oh, fuck, this angle was even better, her orgasm spasming around him, his eyelids fluttering from the racing bursts of pleasure, still so hard that it was almost painful, cumming again, the saturated scent of their sex overpowering, slickness dripping down their tense thighs, once again building to another wet, tight, soaring climax.

Jungkook continued until his legs literally gave out.

He slid to the floor, gasping, marveling at the way her pussy glistened, the quivering lips puffy and engorged dark pink, leaking heated slickness.

He inhaled.

Ducked forward.

Pressed his tongue into her and groaned, massaging his sore cock as he ate her out, tasting himself, tasting her, tasting them. Intoxicating, sweet, slipping into wet velvet, drunk on their union.

“What… W-What was that…?”

You listened to him describe it to you. And nodded.

“I see.”

“What?”

You rubbed your chin and asked him a question. “Do you ever wonder why the humans that become Dire sex slaves rarely stop such relations?”

His face contorted into embarrassment and confusion. “U-Uh, well, n-no, I’m not–”

“I’m kidding. That has nothing to do with anything,” you hummed, patting his chest with adoration. The look on his face though. “Humans have the concept of soulmates, don’t they?”

His pout turned into wide-eyed interest. “Uh, yeah…”

“Well, that doesn’t happen the nature.”

Jungkook glared at you.

You grinned. And then sighed, resting your chin on his pecs. “Do you wonder why the Alpha bloodline is so coveted?”

“Because you’re in charge?”

You hummed, your tail creating the tent with his blankets. “Well, of course. But we are not simply in charge by blood alone.” You placed your hands on his chest. Your rings and necklace were on his nightstand. “The Alpha position can be challenged by any wolf in the pack. However, we are difficult to defeat due to our blessing from the moon. This includes our amplified strength, heightened senses, increased rate of regeneration and healing… and the nature of our copulation.”

Those big eyes were blinking bewilderedly at you, not yet understanding.

A slow smirk touched your lips.

“The more you have sex with me, the stronger our connection becomes. You will feel the traces of divinity stirring within you to draw you towards orgasm.”

He sprang upward, startled.

“You mean it can feel even better?”

You laughed, sitting with your hands between your legs. “Yes, the sex will feel better and better as time goes on. The Alpha needs to bear children after all. So, to ensure this despite our low ovulation rate of twice a year, the moon encourages us to enjoy the mating process. Alphas in heat are extremely overbearing.”

Jungkook looked traumatized. “Y… You…?”

You licked your teeth in ravenous delight.

“I’m gonna die,” he declared, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“I thought you would be happy to know that.”

He looked more stricken than pleased. “H-How can I keep up?! I’ve barely started not going full crazy every time you spit on me!”

You wiggled your tongue at him.

“S-Stop!”

His body involuntarily flinched at the sight of your tongue. You stayed between his open legs.

“I wouldn’t worry. I’m not sure about the specifics with humans, but I do know our marriage will mean that you too will receive the full blessing of the moon. Until then, the compulsion will strengthen you to your full potential each time we fuck. The moon wouldn’t want you to give up midway, you know.”

“H… How do you know that?”

You frowned. “Hm. I don’t.”

Jungkook almost fell off the bed.

“But I do know that is what my father told me. Alphas used to have a lot of children outside of their marriage, because the sex is quite literally addicting. It is similar to partaking hard drugs. Alphas only marry once, to the suitor most powerful that makes them yield, thus establishing their offspring as the true heirs blessed by the moon. The moon’s blessing ensures fertility between that connection. It does not, however, stop the Alpha from getting around.”

He hesitated and then blurted, “Your dad gets around?!”

You froze.

Then your ears lowered.

“No. I have never smelled another scent mingling with my father’s other than my mother,” you sighed sadly.

He could tell he struck a forbidden chord.

“I’m sorry.”

She smiled. Weakly. Then shook her head. “No. Don’t be.” She lifted her head, facing out the window. No. To the moon hanging above them, softly illuminating the world below. Her hand raised.

She tapped above her heart, twice, with her fingernail.

Turned to him. They shared silent expression of understanding. She took his right hand, and directed it to his heart. Nodded when he held his index finger out.

“Tap your heart twice and look to the moon,” she instructed softly.

He did so, feeling a faint, strained pull from within.

“What does it mean?”

She smiled again, and Jungkook could see the sadness. The yearning. A dream broken, a memory never forgotten, a love indescribable that transcended time and space and worlds.

“It is a Dire practice. How we to pay respects to the dead.” Her eyes shone. “She would have loved to meet you, my sun.”

She fell into his arms and he caught her, holding her for a long, long time.

You had never been in such a place before.

“Reservation for two? Right this way.”

It was a grand place. Different from the castle. A restaurant. The chandeliers above were massive, but each held small, dimly lit bulbs that resembled stars in a dark ceiling. Tables with starched white clothes and high-backed chairs. The clientele was dressed like you and Jungkook, in elegant dresses and pressed slacks paired with button down shirts. They stared at you and him above their wineglasses, trying and failing to be subtle. You held your head high, one of your hands on his elbow, sweeping past them in cobalt velvet and silver heels, your tail brushed out behind you, silken ears raised on alert.

You noticed the table beside yours had two sharply dressed men. The taller man wore a dark green suit, and the other in a navy suit. They sat across from each other, but both turned to glance at towards you as you approached.

You almost smiled, but tried your very best not to.

Park Jimin winked. You felt Jungkook stiffen next to you as Kim Taehyung raised his wine glass to you.

“Those punks…”

Still, he looked nervous in his silk black dress shirt. He hadn’t buttoned it all the way. The peek of his collarbones added a tasteful touch. His dark slacks were well-tailored, perfectly laying over the leather of his black dress shoes. Even the gold buckle of his belt matched the thin gold chain around his neck. As he pulled out your chair, you noticed his cuff links glimmer blue.

Sapphires to match your dress.

You swept your skirt by your thighs and sat down carefully, your tail brushing by his hand.

Smiled as you heard him suppress a squeak.

He sat down quickly as the waiter patiently introduced himself and set down the menus, bowing low in exit.

You curiously glanced about, noticing a few well-dressed Dire among the tables. In fact, you recognized some of them. High-ranking officials that worked in the human government. Your father had appointed them. They all had their full pointed ears, their soft tails groomed, and a couple had precious metal chains and dangling gems woven into their fur.

“I’ve never been somewhere like this.”

“Really?” Jungkook was gawking at his menu as if he had never seen paper before.

“This is my first time. I’m glad it is with you.”

It turned out the menu had an entire section dedicated to cuts of raw meat. There were no prices on the menu. Frightening.

“Do you want me to pay?” you asked, tilting your head.

Your mate seemed on the verge of passing out. “Ah… Actually, when I reserved a table, they asked for my credit card. So they can charge it when we leave, I guess…” Jungkook frowned slightly, his ears turning red as he glared at you. “I’m treating you. Although,” he muttered under his breath, I can’t do this all the time, clutching his menu so tightly his knuckles were white.

You assured him. “I’m really looking forward to it. You look very handsome, by the way.”

His face brightened. He straightened up, tucking a few strands of his blond bangs behind his ear. Half of it was tied back, leaving the shorter layers to soften his features. His shoulders relaxed a bit.

“I thought you went to these kinds of places all the time.”

You shook your head. “No. Father hates these sorts of places. Excessive pomp and circumstance.” You imitated his deep, gruff voice with a laugh. “We have a personal butcher bring cuts of meat about half the time. The other half, we hunt.”

The Alpha sneezed.

It was a loud, hostile sound that echoed throughout the stone castle.

He rubbed the end of his snout with the pad of his paw. Hmph. Someone must have been mocking him.

He growled and continued down the stairs, heading to the dining room for peaceful dinner.

“H-Hunt?”

“Ah… Wildlife.”

Before either of them could continue the conversation, the waiter was back. He asked if they were ready to order. Instead of looking towards him, the waiter poised towards his girlfriend first. Jungkook was a little surprised at how the waiter seemed to not react to the silvery black-tipped fur. Maybe he shouldn’t though. He had chosen this restaurant because it had a raw meat menu, after all.

She made eye contact, and Jungkook smiled, gesturing her to go first.

Their waiter was a gentle-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair, sparkling dark eyes, and slightly rounded cheeks. He listened carefully to her order with his hands tucked into one another, a napkin draped over his forearm.

“Excellent selection,” he praised, separating his hands. “I would like to invite you to try our house red wine, specialty crafted and bottled specifically for our dear customers to prefer the raw selection. Its deep, rich, fruity flavor will match perfectly.”

He nudged her foot under the table, trying to convince her to ball out. She did not look at him but tapped the tip of her high heel against the side of his shoe.

“That sounds lovely.”

“Wonderful.” The waiter bowed and faced him. “And what would you like this fine evening?”

“Ah, well…”

He somehow managed to mumble his way through the peppered wagyu beef option. Medium rare. The waiter was unperturbed by his obvious anxiousness. He asked if them both if they would like to share the bottle of wine, then, since the pairing would be excellent with both their choices.

“Oh, we can do that?”

For his part, the waiter did not react to Jungkook’s sputter.

His wolf girlfriend shot him an alarmed look before quickly composing herself and saying, “We would love to.”

The waiter bowed again, and repeated their orders to confirm. He took their menus and bowed out, swiftly disappearing to the bustle of the kitchen.

“He was very professional.”

“I… I made a fool of myself,” he groaned, wanting to hide under his hands. Instead, he clasped his cloth napkin for life support. “It’s so obvious I’m low class. I’m sorry.”

Her chuckle was warm. “Don’t apologize. You weren’t rude.” She reached over and pet his knuckles with her fingertips, her ears perked. “Remember, this is my first experience too.”

He could feel eyes on them. “Do you think… anybody here recognizes you?”

Without breaking eye contact, she said, “I think I’ve been identified, yes.” There was no warning in her voice. “But Taehyung and Jimin are here. And I am not embarrassed to be seen with you. They will need to get used to it.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but peek at their surroundings. “Would you call this a soft launch?”

Confusion brushed over her features. “Launch of what?”

He grinned. “Don’t worry about it.”

She scowled cutely. “No, tell me. Explain this terminology to me.”

He sometimes forgot she didn’t know these things. He explained, and the topics moved on to other phrases and sayings she had questions on. He remembered once again that she didn’t own a phone; it was hard to recall because she knew so much information about music, science, and even philosophy. She explained how she received the schooling that all Dires did, but also had additional classes with various occupations such as silversmithing, tailoring, butchering, and shadowing the Alpha when he interacted with the human government.

“How does it work? Are you supposed to step into the role as soon as possible?”

She shook her head. “No. When my father chooses to retire, I will defeat him in combat to assume the title of Alpha. I could challenge him before that, but,” she mused, smiling. “Over his dead body, as he would say.”

“Does everything end in fighting?”

“A lot of things do.” She caught his troubled expression. “I think you are mistaken by the nature of combat. For humans, fighting is generally negative, as it often devolves from conflict and hurt. But, for the Dire, combat is essential to life. How we defend our ideals, how we connect with our souls, how we become one with the earth and each other.” The waiter came by with two polished wine glasses, soon followed by a bucket of ice that sat on the edge of the table. “We do not fight to cause pain. Of course, we bruise. We bleed. Bones break occasionally, but not often. With each strike, we communicate. We understand. We bond.”

Their plates of food followed. His steak and roasted vegetables, plated with a crisscross pattern of delicate, buttery sauce, and her select raw meat sliced to thinly marbled red perfection. With a careful tilt of the wine bottle, the waiter filled her glass first, wiping the edge of the opening with his folded cloth napkin in one smooth motion. Jungkook noticed the label of the bottle was a wax seal of a family crest with a handwritten brush script in looping characters. He could barely read what it said, but it was clearly very expensive dark red wine.

His mate raised her head to thank the waiter as Jungkook prayed for his bank account not to end in the negatives after tonight. But, really, did it matter? He was surprised to realize that he didn’t mind too much, especially after seeing the sparkling expression in those gold-flecked eyes as she curiously viewed her plate. The waiter poured him a glass too before placing the bottle on ice, bowing as he implored them to enjoy their meal.

That was the best steak that he had ever consumed to date.

Jungkook did not know, at the time, that it would leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

He did not know, at the time, that he would never, ever visit this establishment again. In fact, both of them would come to unconsciously avoid this type of place, at least for a long time. Yet, in the moment, he felt a rising, pure joy in seeing her spear her meat and dine with him so freely. So lovely. So normal, just like any other couple on a fancy date enjoying each other’s company. He asked if she was enjoying her meal. She nodded, and took a sip of her wine before licking her lips, her brows knitting together before relaxing.

“I think you’re supposed to swirl it a little and sniff it,” Jungkook whispered, holding his own glass as if it was a bomb. “To let out the aromatics or something.” He did not know if he was right or not.

“I can smell it very clearly,” she whispered back, but rocked her wrist regardless. Even she seemed unsure. “Dires do drink alcohol, but I’m told it has a stronger effect on humans than us. Our muscle density and blood chemistry are different.”

“Oh.” He called the Dires slamming shot after shot in the bars of Hongdae. “That’s why they drink so much…” He took a sip and tired not to grimace. It was smooth but quite intense. Then again, it was made to pair with raw meat, so it must be crafted to suit the Dire tastebuds.

“It’s mild. I like it.”

“Y… Yeah…”

She saw right through him. “You don’t like it?”

He rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t think I expected the flavor to be so concentrated.” He took another, smaller sip this time.

“Are you pleased with your selections?”

Both of them started and tried their best not to look as startled as their initial reaction. Their waiter had mysteriously appeared right next to their table, smiling, a little mischievously perhaps. His salt-and-pepper hair gleamed under the starry chandeliers above.

“U-Uh, yeah. Yes.” Jungkook cleared his throat. “It’s delicious.”

“Agreed.” She tipped the wine glass towards the waiter. “The red is wonderful. Thank you for suggesting it.”

“My pleasure.”

The waiter bowed deeply, forearm over his vest to smooth it over his apron as he stood up.

“Please, savor your time with us.”

It was not until later that Jungkook pondered on the phrasing of those parting words.

They ate. They drank. They fell deeper and deeper in love, staring into each other’s eyes.

She still had a few slices of meat left on her plate when he began to notice the gold streaks bleeding into her irises.

You were so absorbed in your conversation with Jungkook that you failed to notice the distant, unfamiliar sensation piercing your heart until it suddenly became white-hot pain.

Your palm hit the table with a resounding blow.

"Jungkook."

His name shot out of your mouth like a bullet. The pain intensified, forcing you to double over. His eyes went wide at your terrified whisper. Your other hand covered one of your eyes as the stabbing agony scalded through your veins at warp speed. Fuck, it hurt. And… power. You gasped, knocking over your glass, the white tablecloth hemorrhaging red, and suddenly you knew what it was – every single fiber of your being seized against your will, overtaken by devastating, inhuman, feral rage.

Your visible eye shot to the waiter.

The wine.

He smiled.

It was vindicative and cold.

You poisoned me!

The wolf inside you tore at your insides, ravaged by wrath, breaking every shackle of internal control with alarming ease. You had never felt broken from your inner soul before, but it was happening, it was happening right now, and you cried out. Helpless. The sound of grinding bone. Fur already shooting through your fingers. Jimin and Taehyung at the other table springing to their feet. The growl in your throat unmistakable now and the other patrons gasped in terror. But not Jungkook.

Your sun looked scared for you.

Unlike him, you were dreadfully, horribly afraid.

"Jungkook... don't look for me," you pleaded.

You threw yourself out of your seat as silver black-tipped fur bristled all up your arms. Your back. Your legs. The sound of velvet tearing. The despairing feeling of losing your mind to an unstoppable force. Snapping your teeth, half-wolf, half-woman, blinding pain shooting throughout your body at the forced transformation and you tried to fight it. Tried so hard that you tasted blood as a disconcerting screech was ripped from your lungs. Bones cracking. Startling everyone around you as you crawled on all fours, hearing Jungkook calling after you, almost muffled due to your ears flattening against your head, your lips peeling back, sharpened teeth bared. Your shoulder blades grinded against each other, too big for your human form. Wicked black claws slashed the carpet, creating large gashes and deep channels into the wood underneath.

You let out a bloodcurdling howl of pain.

The restaurant erupted into screams.

Jungkook shouting your name.

You bellowed at the top of your lungs.

"DO NOT FOLLOW!"

You must run.

You ran.

"Always an animal."

Jungkook spun around and punched the waiter in the face, right before Jimin and Taehyung tackled him to the ground.

"Catch the bottle!" Jimin yelled as the man tried to swing an arm at the ice bucket.

He caught it mid-air, not knowing where to look, after you or at this sicko with a black eye who definitely did something to you. There was still some wine in there. Taehyung was on his phone, speaking rapidly, and Jimin unforgivingly slammed his knee into the lower back of the waiter, silencing his horrible laughter. The restaurant was an uncontrolled chaos of wailing patrons.

Another violent, heinous howl silenced them all.

You.

Jungkook could recognize your broken voice fading into the distance.

Do not follow.

"Do not follow," Jimin wheezed. "Please, Jungkook, I know you want to, but do not follow."

He set his jaw and fell to one knee, landing right on the waiter's writhing hand. The man squealed in pain as the sirens sounded outside.

"Only humans use underhanded tactics," he spat, his voice so low that it seemed to have a cutting edge. The man in Jimin's grip froze, his eyes wide, finally realizing he had pissed off the wrong person.

Jungkook snapped his teeth.

"Animals fight head on."

The Alpha could smell it.

Rage.

Fear.

His daughter.

He bolted from his seat, forgetting his dinner. The servants started, but he could smell it, it, the horrible scent from memory. It was coming. Coming right for him.

He howled.

Loud, resolute, commanding. The servants immediately ran, dashing away, howling with him. The growing sound carried from the echoing stone castle to the homes into the woods, penetrating into the darkness, rising to the sky. The message was loud and clear. Run. Lock the doors. Barricade them. Stay inside. You will die.

The Berserker approaches.

There was the sound of splintering wood and a heavy thud. On all fours, the Alpha shot through the halls, his silver robes tearing apart as he ran. In his lifetime, this had happened only once before. Only once. The heavy pendants of his chain necklace slammed against his broad chest. The large black wolf bounded into the throne room, snarling, seeing his eyes burning gold in the glass of the window.

A silver blur crashed through the glass.

Teeth, claws, blood, launching right at him. His beautiful daughter nearly the same size as him, a silver wolf with black-tipped fur, but she was there no more. Even the pupils of her eyes had been swallowed by gold fury. Full beast, no human to control the reigns, breaking his heart.

She looked exactly like her mother on her final day.

He did not hesitate, throwing himself to the side so she missed. She caught herself on all fours, jaws snapping, viciously growling with black lips peeled back. No remorse. Only attack. She flung again and he twisted, but she was faster, slashing through his fur and drawing blood, cutting almost to the bone.

The Alpha screamed, but not in physical pain.

She wretched her claws out, swiping at him.

No.

Not his daughter too.

He dodged, throwing a chair into her path. She smashed it into splinters, roaring, all her fur bristling, awful flat glowing gold coins for eyes.

Then for a split second.

The Alpha had excellent eyesight. He swore he saw the slightest sliver of pleading. He narrowed his gaze, baring his teeth too as she began to stalk around him, her tail straight up, her pointed ears rigid. Pure aggression once more. The two gigantic wolves circled each other, their claws clicking against stone.

"I swear on my life I will save you, my daughter," the Alpha declared. "You must fight it."

She growled and slammed into him.

part v

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook smut

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